Prom Nights From Hell: Five Paranormal Stories

“Whoa,” Will said.

“Thank you, son,” the old man replied. His words came out mushy, because of the no-teeth thing. “Reckon I best skedaddle before the storm blows in.”

“I think it already has,” Will said. Past the driveway, tree branches thrashed and creaked.

“This weensy old wind?” the old man said. “Aw, now, this is just a baby waking up and wanting to be fed. It’ll be worse before the night is over, mark my words.” He peered at us. “In fact, shouldn’t you children be home, safe and sound?”

It was hard to take offense when a toothless old-timer called you “children.” But come on, this was the second time in twenty seconds.

“We’re juniors in high school,” I said. “We can take care of ourselves.”

His laugh made me think of dead leaves.

“All right, then,” he said. “I’m sure you know best.” He small-stepped onto the porch, and Will gave a half wave and shut the door.

“Crazy coot,” came a voice from behind us. We turned to see Madame Zanzibar in the office doorway. She wore hot pink Juicy Couture sweatpants with a matching hot pink top, unzipped to her clavicle. Her breasts were round and firm and amazingly perky, given that she didn’t seem to be wearing a bra. Her lipstick was bright orange, to match her nails, and so was the end of the cigarette she held between two fingers.

“So, are we coming in or are we staying out here?” she asked the three of us. “Unveiling life’s mysteries or leaving well enough alone?”

I rose from my chair and pulled Yun Sun with me. Will followed. Madame Z ushered us into her office, and the three of us scrunched together in an overstuffed armchair. Will realized it was never going to work and lowered himself to the floor. I wiggled to make Yun Sun give me more room.

“See? They’re sausages,” she said, referring to her thighs.

“Scooch,” I commanded.

“Now,” Madame Z said, crossing in front of us and sitting behind a table. She puffed on her cigarette. “What’s your business?”

I bit my lip. How to put it? “Well, you’re a psychic, right?”

Madame Z exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Gee, Sherlock, the ad in the Yellow Pages tip you off?”

I blushed, while at the same time bristling. My question had been a conversation opener. Did she have a problem with conversation openers? Anyway, if she really was a psychic, shouldn’t she already know why I was here?

“Uh … okay. Sure, whatever. So I guess I was wondering …”

“Yeah? Out with it.”

I gathered my courage. “Well … I was wondering if a certain special person was going to ask me a certain special question.” I purposefully didn’t look at Will, but I heard his spurt of surprise. He hadn’t seen this coming.

Madame Z pressed two fingers to her forehead and let her eyes go blank. “Ahem,” she said. “Hmm, hmm. What I’m getting here is muzzy. There is passion, yes”—Yun Sun giggled; Will swallowed audibly—”but there are also … how do I say? Complicating factors.”

Gee, thanks, Madame Z, I thought. Could we dig a little deeper here? Give me something to work with?

“But is he—I mean, the person—going to act on his passion?” I was brazen, despite my knotted stomach.

“To act or not to act… that is the question?” Madame Z said.

“Yes, that is the question.”

“Ahhh. That is always the question. And what one must always ask oneself—” She broke off. Her eyes flew to Will, and she paled.

“What?” I demanded.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Something,” I said. Her message-from-the-spirits performance wasn’t fooling me. She wanted us to think she’d been suddenly possessed? That she’d had a stark and powerful vision? Fine! Just get to the bloody answer!

Madame Z made a show of pulling herself together, complete with a long, shaky draw on her cigarette. Looking dead at me, she said, “If a tree falls in a forest, and no one’s there to hear it, does it still make a sound?”

“Huh?” I said.

“That’s all I’ve got. Take it or leave it.” She seemed agitated, so I took it. Although I made cuckoo eyes at Yun Sun when Madame Z wasn’t watching.

Will claimed not to have a specific question, but Madame Z was oddly insistent on relaying a message to him anyhow. She waved her hands over his aura and warned him sternly of heights, which was curiously appropriate as Will was an avid rock climber. What was more curious was Will’s reaction. First his eyebrows shot up, and then a different emotion took over, like some secret anticipatory pleasure. He glanced at me and blushed.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “You have your sneaky face on.”

“Exsqueeze me?” he said.

“What are you not telling us, Will Goodman?”

“Nothing, I swear!”

“Don’t be stupid, boy!” Madame Z harped. “Listen to what I’m saying.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about him,” I said. “He’s a total Mr. Safety.” I turned back to Will. “For real. Do you have a fabulous new climbing spot? A brand-new shiny carabiner?”

“It’s Yun Sun’s turn,” Will said. “Yun Sun, go.”

“Can you read palms?” Yun Sun asked Madame Z.

Madame Z exhaled, and she was barely engaged as she traced her finger over the plump pad below Yun Sun’s thumb. “You will be as beautiful as you allow yourself to be,” she told her. That was it. Those were her pearls of wisdom.

Yun Sun seemed as underwhelmed as I was, and I felt like protesting on all our behalves. I mean, seriously! A tree in the forest? Be careful of heights? You will be as beautiful as you allow yourself to be? Even with her somewhat convincing touches of atmospheric creepiness, the three of us were getting cheated. Me in particular.

But before I could say anything, a cell phone on the desk rang. Madame Z picked it up and used a long orange nail to punch the talk button.

“Madame Zanzibar, at your service,” she said. Her expression changed as she listened to whoever was on the other end. She grew brisk and annoyed. “No, Silas. It’s called a … yes, you can say it, a yeast infection. Yeast infection.”

Yun Sun and I shared a glance of horror, although—I couldn’t help it—I was also delighted. Not that Madame Z had a yeast infection. I mean, ick. But that she was discussing it with Silas, whoever he was, while all of us listened in. Now we were getting our money’s worth.

“Tell the pharmacist it’s the second time this month,” Madame Z groused. “I need something stronger. What? For the itching, you idiot! Unless he wants to scratch it for me!” She twisted on her swivel chair, pumping one Juicy Coutured leg over the other.

Will looked up at me, his brown eyes wide with alarm. “I will not be scratching it for her,” he stage-whispered. “I refuse!”

I laughed, thinking it a good sign that he was showing off for me. The Madame Z experience hadn’t gone as intended, but who knew? Maybe it would end up having the desired effect after all.

Madame Z pointed at me with the lit end of her cigarette, and I ducked my chin contritely, like Sorry, sorry. To distract myself, I focused on the strange and varied clutter on her shelves. A book called Magic of the Ordinary and another titled What to Do When the Dead Speak—But You Don’t Want to Listen. I nudged Will with my knee and pointed. He mimed choking the poor deceased bastard, and I snortled.