Afterlivin' ('series')

"Oh, crud..."

Shamm shuddered as the doorbell spelled doom throughout her mansion. He was here. The apprentice. The geist jumped up from the armchair with a sudden rush of adrenalin and threw on her fancy 17th century dark blue overcoat. She figured she might as well look intimidating. First impressions can be very important you know.

"Heh, hope he doesn’t have a weak constitution," Shamm muttered to herself, gazing around her ‘humble’ abode while floating across the room for the door.

The mansion was anything but your typical haunted house stereotype. Sure it was dark and cobwebby, but Shamm had added her own, lavish, and, personal touch. Snapshots, newspaper clippings, portraits, and Worlds of Fun caricatures of the infamous poltergeist hung all over the walls in the most random places. But of course, that was how Shamm preferred it - random. The living room was um, fairly simple. The enormous black leather couch that started at one side of the entrance doorframe and wound it’s way around the walls of the entire room stopping only at the other side of the doorframe, wasn’t even the most noticeable feature there. Neither were the two large, squishy, red armchairs, one of which, was the chair previously seating Shamm. No, the most noticeable feature was the fireplace. It was the biggest one in the history of the world! (No really, we checked the record books) There was no hearth because, if you were paying attention, you would know that the couch would be there, blocking it. Actually, it started where the top of the sofa ended. One enormous, roaring fire blazed inside the gorgeous, ragged stone fireplace. But it was a warm, comfortable fire, nothing menacing or overpowering, that was Shamm’s job.

The bedrooms were all different but with one common theme - dark. Each one assigned for a certain type of company. (Not that she had much, but luck favors the prepared) One room was completely windowless for a vampire, and one with a cauldron and wart remover cream for a witch. And it went on like this. The only creature there wasn’t a room for was a zombie. Shamm was much too sophisticated (and scared) to let one of those filthy, uncivilized creatures inside her house. Besides, she had no stock of rotting human flesh for them to snack on, so a zombie probably wouldn’t want to be there anyway.

Her bedroom had black and blue walls, (which incidentally just looked like on big giant bruise) and a large, wrought iron bed with a blood red comforter, that was tattered and shredded at the ends. One bedside table with a small reading lamp that had an eyeball for the bulb just about ended the number of objects in the room.

Her kitchen was practically nothing because, being dead, Shamm rarely ate. When she did, it was usually only a spider (preferably black widow, but if another type happened to scuttle by, there was no sense in wasting it).

C’mon people, there was no bathroom, your bodily functions kinda die along with your body.

Alright enough of the tour, on with the story!

Shamm hesitated slightly at the door. She wondered what he would be like. Heck, she was stuck with him for a while. Was he tall? Short? A jerk? (She wouldn’t put up with impertinence) Shy? Or worst of all, a BABY? She winced at the thought. A kid was one thing, but the ghost had absolutely no idea how to care for a baby. One might think she had no idea how to care at all! The only thing she knew about him was that his name was Eddie Dunkel.

"A dorky name if I ever heard one..."

The dread mingled inside her stomach as she opened the magnificent front door....and gasped.

Shamm had foolishly assumed that her new apprentice would be a child. But as she gazed at the figure before her, it became quite obvious that Eddie had been a grown man when he died. Shammelia Rox was tall, there was no doubt about that. But this ghost stood an easy three inches taller than she. And he was beautiful. Pale, almost white, with black, unruly hair reaching barely past his pointed ears. He had purple death rims all around his coal black eyes. He had no flaw as far as our poltergeist was concerned.

Speaking of Shamm, this may be a good time to describe her features. She had never considered herself attractive in the least, (though many a man would dispute that) Her shaggy, shoulder length crimson hair held a single black headband. The headband served a purpose. Behind her left pointed ear, stuck in place with the headband, was a regular playing card, the nine of diamonds. Shamm had always been superstitious about the number nine, regarding it as lucky. She too, had a chalky white face with traditional, ghost-like purple death rims lining her luminous green eyes. Her top lip was painted black and the bottom one, a deep red. She normally dressed in a black and dark blue suit with tails and webbed pants. She wore a webbed undershirt, the neck just barely visible before the sophisticated overcoat consumed it. On her hands, she wore webbed gloves, reaching to the middle digits of her fingers. Basically, Shamm cut an overall intimidating figure, but at the same time almost comical what with the card behind her ear and the mischievous glint constantly in her eyes.

Shamm stood there in the doorway, mouth agape, staring stupidly, before she hastily remembered herself and snapped it shut.

The figure of beauty gave her a light, twisted smile. Shamm gulped.

"Uh, hi. I’m Eddie Dunkel, are you perchance..." he consulted a piece of paper in his hand, "..Shammelia Rox?"

Shamm grinned almost lecherously and leaned casually, arms folded, against the doorframe.

"Just call me Shamm,"