CHAPTER FIVE

Zeek woke to a knock at the door. He was lying sideways on his couch, and a river of drool flowed from his mouth. He sat bolt upright, upturning a precariously balanced bowl of popcorn.

Pickles opened his sleepy eyes from beside him.

The knock came again and Zeek sprang up from the couch, popcorn cascading from his body. He looked down at himself. He was practically naked, wearing only his Zelda boxer shorts.

“The messenger is here!” he said to Pickles, and his cat stood up and stretched into the shape of a rainbow. “I should put some clothes on.”

The knock came again. “Coming,” he yelled, and darted into his room, searching for his jeans. He caught sight of himself in the mirror. His unruly hair was pressed up on one side, making him look like he’d gone to the barber and asked for the bookend. He franticly licked his fingers and pressed his hair down. It sprang back.

Pickles strolled into the doorway and began licking his paw and wiping at his ear.

“Just like that, huh?” Zeek said, and Pickles blinked a few times, then sat on his bum and began cleaning other areas of his body.

The knock came again, faster and harder.

“All right, already!” Zeek gave up on getting dressed and darted out of the bedroom, striding over to the door, still furiously pressing his hair down. He peeked through the peephole and took in the face of a teenager with a giant zit on the end of a round nose. The peephole magnified it, and it looked like a cream cheese volcano.

Zeek pressed his back against the door and said, “He’s here!” Then he shivered, thinking about the volcano. “Man that thing is dis-gus-ting.”

“Yeah,” came a voice from behind the door. “I can hear you. Can you answer your door now, sir?”

Zeek jumped back, took a breath, and pulled open the door.

The guy stood before him, wearing a brown uniform and cap, staring Zeek up and down. “They’re some lovely boxers you have on, sir.”

Zeek leaned forward, until his head stuck out from his apartment, forcing the guy to lean backward. Zeek looked left and right down the platform, then held his hand up to the side of his mouth and whispered, “Are you him?”

“Ah, am I who?”

“The messenger.”

“Um, is this apartment number thirteen, Roaches Motel?”

Zeek nodded with wide eyes. “Tell me your message so I can complete Death’s mission and bring the fugitives to justice!” Zeek clenched his fist between them.

The guy looked at his fist. “Ah, sure thing, just sign here, sir.” He reached out with an electronic device and gave Zeek the stylus pen.

Zeek signed a Z on the screen, just like Zorro.

The delivery guy pulled a small box from behind him and handed it to Zeek, before turning and walking away, feet turned outward like a duck. “Yep, that one takes the cake.”

Zeek watched after him with narrowed eyes, then shut the door and looked at the box in his hands, turning it over. His expression of curiosity warped into a gleaming smile. “Holy smoke grenades! A delivery from Death.” He tore off the padded wrapping and stared down at the packaging. “BBQ Lightsaber Tongs? Hey, I ordered these.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Zeek snapped his gaze up to see an attractive young woman sitting on his couch.

“Aargh!” He screamed, then dropped the tongs and covered his nipples with his hands.

The girl sat with boots up on the coffee table, legs crossed, wearing purple striped stockings under a denim skirt. She had a black hoodie and a canvas messenger bag across her lap. Her shoulder length hair was grape-purple, and her face was young, cute, with a button nose.

“Please tell me you’re not the Spirit Hunter,” she said.

“I ... ah, who are you, and how did you get into my apartment?” Zeek looked around.

“I’m Death’s messenger.”

Zeek turned to look back at the door, pointing a finger at it. “Then who was ... ooooh.” He looked down at himself, and rubbed at his bookend hair self-consciously. “Do you mind if I put some clothes on?”

“The damage is done I’m afraid. I can’t un-see that.” She stood up and crossed her arms, leaning her weight on one foot. “Let’s get the intros over with. Name’s Bess, and you, I’m guessing, are the Spirit Hunter.”

“Actually, I prefer the term Ghost Cleaner. I consulted a marketing team one time, and they thought it best I go with that title because it’s more approachable.”

Bess stared with wide eyes. “Well, Zeek, the Ghost Cleaner, I’ll be assisting you in hunting down hell’s fugitives.”

Zeek’s eyes widened and a broad smile broke out across his face. “You mean like a sidekick?”

Bess’s brow furrowed. “No. Not at all like a sidekick.”

“Will you be by my side as I hunt down the bad guys?”

“Well, technically ...”

“Yes!” Zeek sprang into the air. “I have a sidekick!”

“No, you don’t have a—” Bess grunted, eyes burning with fury, foot tapping.

“I’ll go change!” he said. A second later, his head appeared into the lounge-room. “Make yourself comfortable, sidekick.”

Want to keep reading? Then don't stop, head over to https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07NV6CKX2

Cheers! Billy