“How come Hissin’ Pete doesn’t hiss about climate change?” Max turned to look at PJ. The fearful spirit was perched on his chest like an imp in a Renaissance painting’s ode to sleep paralysis, and had been for about an hour now. “Hey,” groaned Max, staring back at Hissing Pete. not with the one-sided duel raging all around the room, nor with the eyes of the strange little quivering man an inch away fixed wide upon him. Luckily, and much to his chagrin, there was no chance that Max would be caught napping this fine Mayview evening. For all he knew, Scrapdragon was perfectly capable of pulling him into a trance while he was sleeping and chomping off his head the grudge seemed animal and volatile enough to bite the hand that fed it spectral energy. Max had been wary of keeping his haunted baseball bat close by lately, ever since his last encounter with his spirit. Now Max’s tool laid against the far wall while PJ pursued the severed hand around the room, squeaking in frustration when his every thrusting plunge was deftly parried PJ had asked Max to spar with him-hero training, as he’d called it, beaming brightly-but, surprising both of them, Lefty had stepped up to bat when Max refused the much more literal request to do the same. Ka-shwing! That was the sort of cool sound clashing weapons might have made, were they not a toilet plunger and a cutlass made from gas.
What he’d forgotten, brand new spectral that he was, was just how many roommates he’d accrued. His dad was busy canceling his credit cards, having never found his wallet, and with Zoey downstairs charming Corner Store customers with how adorably she was defying child labor legislation, Max was certain he’d earned solitude at last. Hey all! Paranatural will be on break until July 13th while I visit my family on the east coast! Take care until then, and thanks for reading!Īfter the morning he’d had, Maxwell Puckett wanted little more than to be left alone to rest.
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