Faced with a smear campaign, I decided to sway public opinion back in my favor. What better way to do that than with a TV spot? After all, Rideford’s record was too damn clean to swing back. (And don’t you think I didn’t try that road first!) Ramose got some checkered past on Rideford’s secretary, Eliza, but I didn’t want to pick on her. So Ramose and I trucked on down to the KSLV station and I convinced a reporter that it was worth his time to interview my pretty self in front of the cameras to be aired on the evening news. I think it went alright.
Also, Corpsetaker skipped bodies on us. He (she, it, whatever) jumped into a university student and then killed the professor who’d been serving as a host up ‘til then. Great. We hadn’t known that he was playing disposable hosts.
After that, I had a chore to accomplish without the guys. Corpsetaker is a nasty piece of work, trapping ghosts for his own ends. I had wrangled poor Lola from him, but I needed to send her home proper. Problem was I didn’t know how to do that. Papa’s letter didn’t exactly come with an instruction manual. I need one of them books like they had in Beetlejuice, you know? Lola told me her remains were at the dump. Me and the zombies made our way and, sure enough, there she was – not much more than a skeleton – in an old refrigerator. I had the boys gather her up and we made our way to the cemetery, where I asked Mr. Lansky if he had a bit of space for an orphan. I got the zombies to make her a nice hole, but then… Well, I faltered a little. Like I said, I don’t know the rituals for all this. But, when you’re on stage you gotta dance. So, with all the ghosts watching me, I made one up. I wish I remembered it, but I had to be born to the pantheon of body snatchers. Some of the ghosts took to calling me “Miss St. Cyr” after that, though.
Before I left, Mr. Lansky asked me to get his grandkid Joseph to a synagogue, what with the end of the world coming and all. I’m not sure how I’m going to sell that one, but I’ll figure something out.
Next day I come to find out that Corpsetaker in her new getup had hijacked my frat boys. That just ain’t funny. Jolene let me know that she’d seen them hanging about the Orleans. The last thing I needed was them spitting gasoline on a fire I was trying to put out. Besides, I told the damn fools, through Michele, that they were supposed to stay the hell away from the Orleans. Michele wasn’t picking up her phone and I had a mad on. I made my way to the frat house to figure out what the hell they were up to. What I found was not pretty at all.
In the basement rec room, I found out why Michele wasn’t picking up. She was tied up proper on the couch while a zombie I didn’t know munched on somebody’s severed head nearby. “Severed” may give the wrong impression here. “Ripped right the hell off” would be more like it. I called Chris and Ramose for backup, but I couldn’t exactly just wait for them in the kitchen. I managed not to get eaten long enough for them to show. A messy pile of frat boy pieces in the back made my lunch anxious to leave the way it came. I didn’t even know Ramose could go that pale.
Not knowing what else to do, I figured we’d better go collect my surviving boys and suss out what the hell was going on at the Orleans. Maybe not my best decision ever.