The last time I’d been near Gutter’s Swamp, I’d been tipsy, half-naked, and more than a little willing to engage in a little mutual satisfaction, if you know what I mean.
This time, I was fully clothed, covered in someone else’s blood, and attracting an alarming number of mosquitoes.
I kind of wished this was just a mojito-induced nightmare, but I was pretty sure it had really happened.
Don’t panic. I can tell you’re panicking. It’s not LIVING blood. It’s ghost blood.
See, last time I was here, I saw the two little kids standing at the edge of the swamp line. Nobody else saw them, but their creepy stare was enough to stop any warm and frisky feelings I might have been about to sink into.
I apologized to my date and drove myself home (mind no longer even a little bit fizzy) to get my kit.
I hate that I have a “kit”. I’m not Buffy the Vampire Slayer, here.
Unfortunately, ghosts are a whole heckuva lot realer than people want to admit, and once you see them, they get dangerous. Up until you see them, they’re pesky at best, but a full-fledged appearance means they’re powerful. And if they’re powerful, that means they’ve fed lately.
Go ahead, check the papers. Bet you’ll find some unexplained deaths near Gutter’s.
They might look like kids, but they’re probably older than my grandpa. Someone’s got to put a stop to it.
Biggest problem I had now, aside from the mosquitoes, is that ghost blood looks an awful lot like human blood, and I saw some flashing lights up by my parked car a bit ago.
Explain why I’m here, alone, bloody, and holding a shotgun full of rock salt? Or disappear into the freaking Everglades and hope I don’t find a hungry gator?
I hate my life. I didn’t even get laid.