It's Go Time

Spunk walked with dedication towards the shed where Saffold’s body was stored in a very classy trash bag. Between him and the shed stood Edie’s father and Edie, looking stoic with their signs proclaiming the sex store customers to be hedonists and destined for hellfire unless they repented.

Spunk couldn’t exactly walk up to them and ask to talk to Edie alone. Her father would know something was up. But this was her best chance of getting that abortion that she so desperately needed, and time was tight.

He cut his path a tiny bit closer towards them, even though it took him farther away from the shed where he was headed. He wanted to be close enough where they would feel obligated to interact.

As he neared them, he scanned the ground for any object that he might pretend to trip over. It was perfectly smooth. No rocks, no dips in the ground. No cracks in the pavement. Guess it’ll be the hard way, then. He thought to himself.

He waited until neither of them were shooting him looks - a feat in itself -- and then promptly dove to the ground swearing.

“Fucking God Damn!” He shouted as he tried his best to imitate a face plant without actually hurting his face in the process. He tumbled to the ground in the most unacrobatic fashion that he could, his feet nearly reaching his head behind him as he landed. He made a nice thumping sound. It burned.

Despite trying to fake it, he somehow managed to knock the window out of himself. He gasped for air, his chest burning as he rolled around on the ground, half a show for attention, and half to try and re-inflate his dying lungs.

“Ugh.” He groaned as he lay on his back in the bright, balmy Epsilonian sun. He thought he heard footsteps and was glad his ruse had worked.

“Are you okay?” He heard Edie call to him and he groaned again for theatrical effect. “Stay right there!” He heard her order and he knew she had fallen for it. Or, in the very least, had sense enough to realize that he needed to talk to her.

He felt a shadow over him and looked up as she crouched down. He tried to peer around her to see if her father was with her, but couldn’t tell.

“Where’s your dad?” He half wheezed, half whispered to her as he gripped his knee like he had busted it open.

“He hasn’t moved.” She whispered back. “Are you hurt?” She said louder, reaching out to touch his knee. He shied away.

“We need to go. Tonight.” He whispered. “Come in as soon as you’re able to get away.” He let go of his leg and allowed her to grab it and examine him.

“You’re not bleeding…” She said loudly as she stroked her hand over his leg. “Can you sit up?”

“Ugh. I think so.” He wheezed out. His lungs still weren’t operating at full capacity. Talking at full volume was hard.

“I’ll be there when I can. How long..?” She asked, shooting a worried look over her shoulder.

“He’s going to think you ran away. Or that I kidnapped you. There’s no way around it.” He said, allowing her to help him to a sitting position. “We can deal with that when we get back.”

She nodded as she let go of his arm. “There you go.” She said. “Doesn’t look like anything is broken. Do you need help getting back inside?”

He shook his head. “I’ve got to get something from the shed. Thank you. You’re so nice.” He said winking at her. She stood up from her crouching position and helped him to a standing position as well.

He half faked a limp as he staggered off towards the shed in the original direction he had been traveling. Edie, in her simple plaid dress, rejoined her father, looking demure and almost too innocent. He hoped that her father didn’t suspect anything, or it was going to make the next few days very, very difficult.

The shed’s big, old school padlock seemed to be a good deterrent for potential thieves out in the middle of nowhere for some reason. Plus. all of the good stuff was in the shop, not in the shed. The only thing in the shed was a horny Neval and some more garden tools.

Spunk fished the key out of his pocket and stuck it into the rusting large keyhole on the padlock. It clicked twice to the right and the steel bar holding it together came loose. He pulled the rest of the lock free from the handle and pushed the plywood door inwards. It opened with a grudging creak and moan.

The shed was practically empty except for the glowing blue plastic trash bag in the middle of the floor. Oh, and the ghost form standing over it like a fretting mother on her kid’s first day of school.

“You’re not going to carry me in that.” Saffold said accusingly as Spunk bent over to grab the bag. “It’ll break!” He cried.

Spunk eyed the ghost with disdain. “Do you have a better idea?” He asked. He let go of the garbage bag and stood up, crossing his arms confrontationally. “Because I don’t.”

Saffold’s ghostly head whipped around in a disconcerting, three hundred and sixty degree fashion. It would be days before Spunk got that particular image out of his brain.

“What about that bucket?” The ghost asked, pointing to a dusty metal bucket in the corner. “That should be big enough to hold me.”

“And if someone sees me carrying a big, glowing bucket back to the shop?”

“Were they not going to see you carrying a biolumiscent garbage bag back to the shop?” Saffold asked. Spunk shrugged.

“You’ve got a point.” He admitted. “Can you, uh… crawl? Ooze?” He asked. He bent back over the garbage bag to open it.

“It would be slow. Can you just… transfer me?” Saffold seemed uncomfortable with the question. “Sorry.” He said, the second time of the week.

“Sure.” Spunk said. He opened the mouth of the bag wider and awkwardly scooped it into his arms. “Hang on just a sec.” He said. He flung the tippy top of the bag over his shoulder and walked to the corner where the rusty five gallon bucket was. There was nothing but spiders and dust inside, and so he balanced the back on his knee and, for lack of a better strategy, tipped the entire thing upside down over the bucket.

There was a single moment where the goo was … stuck. Spunk hovered with his awkward, heavy load, waiting for Saffold’s body to release from the bag and make its way into the bucket. He expected it to smell like death or skunk or something, but instead… Saffold’s body smelled of metal and flowers, of sunshine and shame.

Finally, something let loose and Saffold’s goo slipped out of the bag and into the bucket with a slow and steady plop, plop. The bucket filled nearly to the brim but did not overflow, as Spunk had originally feared. He looked into the bag and found it sparkling clean and dry. He had half expected leftover blue resider to stain the inside of the bag.

“Thank you.” Saffold’s ghost said gratefully as it moved to hover over the bucket. “If you want, you could uh, wrap me in the bag. It might take some of the glow away and make me less noticeable.”

Spunk nodded. “Good idea, good idea.” He agreed. He set the bag gently down on the ground and spread the opening so it was as wide as it could be without tearing. He grabbed the rusty, creaky handle of the bucket and gently lifted it up to position it above the bag. He grabbed the lips of the bag and drew them over the top, tying them gently together between the handle. It didn’t completely cover the glow, but it certainly cut down on a lot of the weirdness.

“Are you going to… hide?” Spunk asked the ghost awkwardly as he bent down to pick up the handle. “You might be pretty obvious.”

“Oh, yes.” The ghost said. “I will stay here until you call me. I have quite a radius on my projection so it shouldn’t be problem. I can’t like… separate from my body.”

“Ok then. I’m going to take this,” He hefted the bucket. It somehow seemed heavier than when his body had been in the bag. “To the ship.”

“Do you know where we’re going yet?” Saffold asked and Spunk shook his head.

“No, I’ve got Amalyn running some search queries for me. Hopefully she finds something. I’m sure she will.”

Saffold looked worried. Spunk wasn’t sure how to comfort a ghost.

“Look, uh, hang in there. Everything will work out in the end.” Spunk offered awkwardly as he walked toward the shed door. “I won’t let you down.”

“Thanks.” Saffold said his ghostly voice audibly grateful. “It means a lot that you, a near stranger… would do this for me.”

“I’ve got skin in the game too, man.” Spunk gestured towards the shop. “Those bastards seemed to mean business. Uh, see you tonight.” He said as he closed the door behind him.

He set the bucket down and slipped the padlock back through the door handle, clicking it twice shut before picking the bucket back up and heading towards the shop. He walked slow and made sure to keep his limp, although the heavy bucket certainly made it easier to fake a limp with. The dastardly item kept hitting him in the knee.

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