The Edge Of The Cemetery Read Free

a tall, sturdy woman with salt and pepper shoulder length hair that was always neatly pulled back into a pony-tail, and she had an endless supply of khaki pants and polo shirts that she wore like uniforms.
    “Hello, George. I'm so glad you're here!” Margie was a good natured woman and almost always in an upbeat mood, but she seemed a little distressed this morning, and I was pretty sure I knew the source. Billy.
    Billy, like me, was one of the most powerful ghost killers to have been born in quite some time. In fact, the last two that were as powerful as us were my mother and Billy's grandmother, Wilhelmina Wilkinson (also known as Billy), who were both dead now. Billy was also one of the most brazen, obnoxious, and generally difficult people I'd ever met. She had piercing green eyes and a wicked ability to use those optical beauties like a weapon—an especially focused glare usually meant impending danger to the recipient. It was unsettling, and had sent many a stronger man into a state of panic. But, much to my surprise, she'd become one of my closest friends.
    Reluctantly, I asked, “What's wrong?”
    Margie sighed. “Nothing…no snide remarks, no eye-rolls. She's been positively pleasant and polite! I can't take it anymore; if I don't get one of those devastating glares from her soon, I'll lose my mind! But thankfully she's also much better, and with a hope and a prayer,” Margie made the sign of the cross and looked upward toward Heaven, “you can get her out my sight for a while.”
    I looked down at her in surprise, “She's been nice?” This was new…and a bit disturbing. I would have thought that being locked in the house for the last few days would have ramped up Billy's obnoxiousness tenfold.
    Margie gave a hint of a smile, “Yes, even Justine is worried.”
    “Where is she?” I asked, still stunned by this strange behavior.
    “She's in the living room. Go, I'll bring some coffee,” Margie said as she pushed me toward the entrance of the room.
    Billy was sitting on the couch, her legs curled underneath her, reading something on her iPad. She was wearing flannel pajamas, her hair loosely pulled back. The large lump that had graced her forehead a few days before had entered the final stages of healing and was hardly noticeable now. Ghost killers come with a slew of fun skills; seeing and killing ghosts, exceptional speed, strength and agility, and the
crème de la crème
, we heal very quickly. That last one was my favorite, as it came in handy whether it was a nasty paper cut or a nasty fight with a possessed victim. Either way, it was a winner.
    “How ya feeling?” I asked, trying to shake the shock of Margie's complaint from my voice.
    “Better…what's wrong?” she asked, almost politely. Who was this woman?
    “I…ah…well, Margie says you've been acting strange and she's concerned.”
    Her faced hardened and her eyes flashed, her signature dagger-like stare attempting to cut me in half. She said, “I've been trying to be nice to the woman who's been waiting on me hand and foot so I could get better and
help
you!” she chuffed. “And obviously the sooner the better; what happened to your face?”
    I'd come out of last night's Tenderloin fray with a few cuts and bruises, but nothing too bad. I smiled broadly at her less than pleasant attitude…my detestable Billy hadn't gone anywhere after all. Margie had come in with the coffee tray just as Billy finished berating me, and as she passed me, she winked and said, “I knew I could count on you to bring out her shining personality.”
    I sat in the arm chair nearest Billy and asked, “Seriously, how are you feeling? You look pretty good.”
    “I'm fine,” she said amicably enough. She poured two cups of coffee and handed me one. In a not-so-amicable tone, she asked, “So what happened? Why are you all beat up?”
    I regaled her with the previous night's exploits and she cocked her head to the side and asked, “No musketeer sighting this