13 Ghost Stories in 13 Days
El Mariachi de los Muertos
It was a Thursday night at that new music joint in the hip part of the city. Lucy and Miranda always went on the off nights because they could hear the more experimental stuff and the margaritas were half price. On stage three skeletons in sombreros played a somber mariachi song.
“The guitarist is kind of cute,” Lucy said. “Don’t you think?”
Lucy was doing extremely well in life. She was about to be named partner in her law firm. She had a really great dog and owned a little house in a good neighborhood. Still, she had a weakness for bad boys in bands.
Miranda frowned.
“They’re skeletons wearing sombreros,” she said. “They all look exactly the same to me.”
“I love mariachi music,” Lucy said. “It’s so romantic.”
Miranda sighed.
“My Spanish is a little rusty,” she said. “But I know what ‘muerte’ means and I know ‘el diablo.’’ And some of those other words…”
“Death metal,” Lucy said, getting that wistful look she got when she had a crush. “Wicked. Rock on.”
“This song is basically them saying they want a girl to fall in love with them so they can steal her soul and trap her in the underworld for all eternity,” Miranda said. “More or less. Like I said, I haven’t used my conversational Spanish in a while.”
“So emo,” Lucy said.
The mariachi band finished their mournful tune with a haunting trumpet solo, then bowed to the crowd. The scene was kind of dead, but the skeletons got a smattering of applause from the few people who bothered to look up from their guacamole. Lucy whistled between two fingers.
“Let’s get out here,” Miranda said.
“We just got here,” Lucy said.
The skeletons moved to the bar and immediately started doing shots of tequila, which immediately splashed to the floor through the opening below their exposed rib cages. The barback went and got a mop.
“Let’s talk to them,” Lucy said. “You used to be into skinny guys.”
“I can’t abide by this,” Miranda said. “I know I say this all the time, but these guys are quite literally the tools of Satan. And, gross, one of them is vaping.”
Every time the bartender turned around, the skeleton that Lucy had been making eyes at was sneaking furtive drags on an electronic cigarette, which were not allowed inside the bar. The vapor, barely visible, rose from the cracks between his vertebrae.
“You know I like bad boys,” Lucy swooned.
She grabbed Miranda by the hand and pulled them toward the mariachis.
“Wicked set dudes,” Lucy said. “You guys rock.”
The skeletons stared back blankly.
“So how’d you guys get into mariachi?” she asked. “Who are your influences?”
One of the skeletons opened his mouth. No words came out and an eerie silence fell over the entire of bar. Miranda zipped up her leather jacket and shivered.
“Did you feel that?” Miranda asked. “Like someone stepped over my grave.”
“Will you stop,” Lucy said. “It’s ambiance.”
Miranda looked down at her phone.
“John’s on his way to pick me up,” she said. “We’ll give you a ride home.”
Lucy groaned.
“Excuse us,” she said to the skeletons, moving Miranda out of range of the holes where the skeletons’ ears should be.
“Ever since you met that guy at work you’ve been a real Mother Hen,” Lucy said. “You used to be fun. Whatever happened to Miranda, Who Appears Whenever the Party Starts?”
“I just think this is too creepy,” Miranda said. “I’m trying to look out for you.”
“I’m an adult,” Lucy said, downing a double shot of Patron. “And don’t act like you’ve never danced with the devil.”
That was a low blow. Miranda grabbed her bag. There was no use fighting when Lucy was like this.
“Hey,” Lucy said to the undead mariachi guitarist as soon as Miranda left. “You wanna get out of here?”
The skeleton looked at his bandmates blankly. They shrugged their bony shoulder blades, as if to say, “why not?” Then she grabbed him by him by a metacarpal and led him out the door.
Later, Lucy emerged from her kitchen with two long-stemmed glasses and a bottle of Pinot Grigio.
“I guess I ran out of tequila on Saturday,” she said. “Hope white is OK?”
The skeleton was backed into a corner near the back door. Blocking his movements was her Labrador retriever, which growled from a few feet away.
“No Kurt,” she said. “Down.”
The skeleton looked pitiful, clearly frightened of dogs, as all skeletons are, since they are made of bones. The dog began barking furiously.
Lucy grabbed him by the collar and rubbed under his chin.
“He’s usually really friendly,” she said. “Aren’t you, boy?”
A low, guttural growl issued from the back of the dog’s throat. He never took his eyes of the mariachi skeleton.
“Do you have a cat at home?” Lucky asked. “Sometimes he chases cats. A squirrel? You can pet him. His name’s Kurt. Like Kurt Cobain? I figure you might like that.”
The Lab wriggled loose from her grasp, leapt at the skeleton and chomped off his shin bone. Then he ran through his dog door and took the lower leg, foot and all, into the back yard.
Lucky looked at the now one-legged skeleton in horror.
“I swear he’s never like this,” she said, running out the door.
She chased Kurt all around the back yard until finally catching him near the old oak tree, where he buried favorite bones. She thought about tying him to the tree. It had been so long since he had a date. But the dog was a constant. Through every punk that didn’t call, every drummer that stole her credit card, every songwriter that was just using her as a muse, the dog was always there cheer her up when it was over. Sexy undead mariachi or not, she couldn’t date a guy who her sweet puppy didn’t approve of. She headed back inside, ready to tell the skeleton he should call the cab.
She found it hobbling down the street, escaping her house as fast his one leg would allow.
“Don’t forgot your bony foot, loser,” she said, throwing the severed leg in the direction of the skeleton. “Lose my number, creep!”
Kurt the Labrador came running out and licked her face. The mad dog from earlier in the night was a distant memory.
“What a jerk,” Lucy said. “Why do I always fall for the bad boys?”
Kurt looked up at her with his adorable puppy dog eyes. He was unable to communicate with her, because he was a dog, but if he could, he would have told her that he only growled at the skeleton because the creature was moments away from stealing Lucy’s soul and dragging her down into a life of eternal damnation. Since he could not express this, he put his muzzle into her lap and snuggled up against her.
She rubbed him behind his ears and a few minutes later they went to bed. There were a lot of losers out there, she thought, but at least she had one good man in her life.
The only rule of 13 Ghost Stories in 13 Days is that the story must be posted the same night I started it.
Previously on 13 Ghost Stories in 13 Days:
Day 1 The Ghost’s Girlfriend
Day 2 The Girl with the Puka Shell Necklace
Day 3 The Time I Went to the Old Church Later Than I Should Have
Day 4 Ride Scare
Day 5 Miranda, Who Appears as a Portent of Death
Day 6 A Halloween Carol
