The Hexorcist

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Plexi Glass and Tupper Ware were in the cobwebby basement of Plexi’s massive abode, standing in front of the gated wine cellar wherein Plexi’s undead husband was being held against his undead will. Tinted Glass, the Lazarus-esque husband, had just uttered a warning which made no sense to either of our anti-heroines.

Plexi: “Maybe we just misunderstood him.”

Tupper: “That’s entirely possible, especially since I’m drunk.” As if to reinforce her status, Tupper leaned down and retrieved another healthy martini dollop from her portable bar.

Plexi: “How did you get that mess down the cobwebby stairs? I didn’t hear a thing.”

Tupper: “Oh, I never go anywhere without my vice chest. One would think that you should know that by now.”

Plexi: “And I think you should ask Tainted Tinted to explain his dramatic proclamation from the previous episode.”

Tupper: “Why me? Especially since I’m drunk.”

Plexi: “Because you’re the one who has been sleeping with my husband, not me. I think that gives you a bit of an edge.”

Tupper: “Good point. And we both loved playing leapfrog in this basement. Why, just over there, next to what I think is a threshing machine from 1786, we played Napoleon and Josephine. You know, when the man is considerably shorter than the woman, there are some very interesting positions that one can achieve if you have enough gumption. The Battle of Waterloo took on a whole new meaning when Tinted-”

Plexi suddenly shoved Tupper closer to the gated wine cellar. “I don’t care. Find out what Tinted meant when he said we were going to die in Woodybonn Manor.”

Tupper gulped and took another step closer to the cobwebby gate of the wine cellar, behind which Tinted was standing in an odd, uncoordinated manner, which is understandable considering he was undead and all. “Pookie?”

Tinted grunted and his rolling eyes seemed to focus. “Hey, Girl. What’s up?”

Tupper: “Well, I understand that you died and all, sorry to hear that. But we also didn’t quite hear what you said a minute ago about maybe joining you in your little club. I think you can understand why we might need a little more information about that.”

Tinted nodded. “Uh huh. And you know what I need? For somebody to unlock this damn gate. I’m not having a good in here, Josephine.”

Tupper giggled. “That was fun, wasn’t it? When you were pretending to be the prisoner and I got to use that cattle prod you found behind the thresher? Good times.”

Plexi: “Tupper! Focus!”

Tupper: “But I’m afraid I can’t let you out just yet, Pookie. Mainly because undead people shouldn’t be let out of cages once they’re in them.”

Tinted: “Then give me your martini. If there was ever a time that I needed a drink, this is it.”

Tupper stiffened, although not in the way that Tinted was stiffening. “Absolutely not. Momma never lets loose of her cocktail.”

Plexi: “Give it to him, Tupper!”

Tupper: “But he’s on the good side of the wine cellar gate. There are bottles all around him.”

Tinted sighed, partly out of exasperation and partly due to another possibly-important patch of his undead skin making a break for freedom. “I don’t have a corkscrew. And even if I had one, my motor skills are not what they used to be a few hours ago. If I had known that I was going to become a zombie when I went to bed last night, I might have packed a few essentials for the road trip, but that didn’t happen.”

Plexi: “Hand over the drink, Tupper. You’ve got enough backup in this vice chest to survive a nuclear winter. Well, in your case, to survive until midnight. Give it!”

Tupper made a pouty face, similar to the one Marie Antoinette made when she was approaching the guillotine. “Fine.” She took another step closer to the gate and held out her glass. “Here. Sorry about the backwash. I dribble a bit when I’m lit.”

Tinted lunged forward, but his brain-dead hand was no longer functioning in a respectable manner, and he managed to whack the glass to the cellar floor, causing the nectar within to splash upwards and coat the bars of his impromptu prison. Undeterred, he began licking at the liquor with a surprisingly large licker.

Plexi: “Holy cow! I never knew his tongue was that big.”

Tupper, smiling demurely: “Oh, I did. He can make your toes curl if he’s given the right military campaign.”

Tinted suddenly crumpled to the ground, sobbing. “I can’t taste the alcohol.”

Tupper, mortified: “Oh my God! That’s worse than death itself!”

Plexi suddenly rushed forward, squatting down and reaching through the bars and laying a hand on Tinted’s decaying shoulder. “Don’t be blue. Maybe there’s some way we can help you.”

Tupper, indignantly: “Don’t you be touchin’ my man.”

Plexi: “Really, Tupper. This is not the time or the place. Take this glass and run get yourself a refill.”

Tupper happily did so, because she had focus issues.

Plexi, trying to ignore the fact that her hand was feeling something a bit squishy going on with her husband’s shoulder: “Tinted, despite our differences and bed partners, I really do care for you. I don’t like seeing you like this. But if we’re going to help you, you’ve to help us. Why did you say we were going to die? Because that would be a big hindrance with the helping you part, if we’re dead.”

Tinted wiped away his tears, which was perhaps not a good move since the wiping did not play well with his no-longer-anchored skin. “I don’t know where that warning came from. It’s like a spirit invaded my body and took control of my mouth.”

Tupper, returning with a fresh jug of martini: “Spirits? I know all about spirits. And how they can take control of your mouth.”

Plexi: “Tupper, stop making this about you. Haven’t you already been featured enough in this story?”

Tupper: “No, really. I know a medium who specializes in spirits who take control of your vocal cords. I met her in Ibiza on that trip when I meant to go to Malaga but I clicked the wrong buttons on the Expedia website. We’ve been friends ever since.” She whipped out her phone and stepped away as she scrolled through her contact list.

In the interim, Tinted reached through the bars to clutch Plexi’s other hand that was not already clutching his shifting shoulder. “I really do miss you, you know.”

Plexi was hesitant. “Is that the dead Tinted talking or the live Tinted talking?”

Tinted: “Both, really. I never stopped loving you. I just hated you for a while.”

Plexi: “Oh, that’s really sweet. But you have to understand that I have trust issues. Especially since you’re dead.”

Tupper suddenly walked back into camera view. “I found her number. She’s in a different time zone, but it shouldn’t matter. She drunk dials me all the time and I always answer, because I never know what time it is.”

Plexi: “Can she really help us?”

Tupper: “I think so. She’s very famous in certain circles. I don’t know what those circles are, but she doesn’t automatically follow you back on Twitter, so there’s that.”

Plexi: “With all due respect, that doesn’t sound very promising. People in social media are generally never who they pretend to be. What’s her name?”

Tupper: “Irony. Irony Skillet.”

Plexi: “That’s an absurd name.”

Tupper: “Really, Plexi?”

Plexi: “Duly noted. Maybe she can help the writer figure out where this totally flash-fictioned story is going to land. Call her.”

Tupper punched a button.

Everyone waited with bated breath. Except for Tinted, who was no longer breathing.

Tupper punched another button. “My bad. I accidentally checked my horrorscope.”

In the south of Spain, mainly on the plain, a ringing phone was answered. “State your business and don’t waste my time.”

Tupper: “Irony Skillet?”

Voice: “No, this is her sister, Home. As mentioned, please get to the point or this call will be truncated.”

“This is Tupper Ware. And I have an issue.”

Home: “Ah, you should have led with that. The Hexorcist has been awaiting your call. Please hold.”


Click here to read the next entry in this sordid story…


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