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Mom took one of the cookies and tasted it. "He mixed up the salt and the sugar," she replied horrified.
It was a mistake very unlike Pipistrelle. "I bet it was that witches' brew," I said. "I bet he's still seven sheets to the wind."
"Oh dear... OH my party!"
"Don't worry, Mom!" I said. "I grabbed some cookies he made at Mindy's. They are in my backseat."
Before she could say yea or nay, I headed for the front door. I kept my head down and marched towards the front, ignoring the cold spots I passed through.
"Maggie! You walked right through Mr. Howell!"
I heard my mom apologizing for me but I didn't stop. I opened up the door and took a deep breath. The faux fog Mom had spilled into the front garden was swirling around pockets of nothingness. I'd rather wade through a thicket of spiders than brush shoulders with the dead, so I guess it was nice to know where to avoid. I tightened my leather jacket, made a run for it, opened the gate, and jogged to my car.
My door was unlocked and the cookies were still on the backseat. I opened the door and saw that Dad had grabbed most of the empties, but there was a single unopened longneck wedged in the doorsill. I figured that I should stick it in the refrigerator in case Dad was unsuccessful. I jammed it in my pocket and turned back towards the house. That's when the front gate was ripped off its hinges.
Fucking poltergeist.
"Excuse me," I shouted. "Is that the way for a guest to behave?"
The ghosts who had been hanging out on the lawn suddenly disappeared. Whoever or whatever ripped the hinges off the gate seemed to be riffraff they'd rather not associate with. He was busting up my mom's party, literally and figuratively.
"Listen, every party loves a pooper and that's why we invited you, sir," I said with false bravado, impotently holding the plate of cookies in my hand and SO not wanting to lay down the hammer on this guy. "But if you got a beef, you hash it out with me."
Out of nowhere, the fog in the front yard began to boil as if it was water on a stormy sea. The wind began to pick up and I had to spit my long, dark hair out of my mouth. It was a hot October evening, but I could taste the salt in the air and the stinging rain on my cheeks.
On my parent's porch, there stood a man. He wore a navy blue turtleneck sweater and a white captain's hat on his head. He had a beard, peppered gray, but no mustache. His eyes were wild and he pointed at me, shouting something. And then he ripped a post off my parent's porch and harpooned my car.
I decided maybe I'd sneak in through the back door.