“I smiled. “Nick, this is my dead boyfriend, Robbie. If you can’t see him, at least you’ll be able to see the salt carton hanging in mid-air. My dog is a zombie, and I’ve got a friend that’s a witch.” “Oh,” he said in a very small voice. I nodded. “That’s pretty much what I asked you over to tell you. So, what’s new with you?”

“It’s my spider, Jeffrey. He’s a tarantula.” “Yes, he certainly seems to be.” “He’s my pet.” “Better you than me. I’m not overly fond of spiders. Too many legs.” “No,” Ernie said simply, “he’s got the right number.”

“Daisy was my beloved bulldog, who had some problems of her own—the main one being that she, too, was no longer alive. However, she wasn’t a ghost like Robbie. Daisy was a zombie. Long story.”

“My hand found its way back to her knee. I hoped it was to comfort her. I’d hate to think that my right hand was straight. “Soon. I’ll call her this afternoon and get back to you.” She nodded. I removed my right hand, thankful that I was left-handed. I’d hate to have to try masturbating with a straight hand. It probably wouldn’t cooperate. And then where would I be?”

“Sounds good. What sort of fun did you have in mind?” I rubbed my nose against his. “It’s kind of like putting together toys on Christmas morning. You have to insert dowel rod A into slot B until it fits firmly….” “Oh, yes?” “…and then you move things around until you break something and make a big mess.”

“By standing and with me sitting, he was showing he was the dominant male in the room. I, however, had a .38 in a holster under my jacket, so I won.”

“Gina’s brow furrowed. “I’m a witch not fucking Harry Potter. You want miracles call the 700 Club.”