Book 1: A Ghostly Tale: Spellbound

Chapter 5: Soap Opera's are for Whimps

After a rather unsuccessful therapy session with the Doc, Stretch, Stinkie and Fatso belly laughed and smoothly glided out the door, opening it with their fists. They left James at his desk, head in his hands and papers scattered everywhere.

"Thank you Doc, for anothah fulfilling and enriching appointment that taught us absolutely nothin'!" Stretch said as he flew through the door.

"Sweet dreams Doc!" Stinkie waved.

"Don't let the desk-bugs bite!" Fatso smiled.

James just waved his hand without lifting his head or making eye contact. They all laughed and collected into the main parlor where they plopped down in sync onto a large purple sofa and turned on the TV. Stretch yawned and made a loud groaning sound. Stinkie popped his neck, his back then his knuckles and picked out some earwax out of his ear. Fatso scratched his stomach and belched, making the room shake.

"Seven and a half." Stretch said not looking away from the soap opera on the screen.

"What?" Fatso interjected, outraged. "That was clearly a ten! No hesitation."

"Not in this afterlife, you overgrown sack of flour." Stretched waved his hand half heartedly. "You break all the damn windows in the kitchen like Stink did back in '49, then we'll talk." He squinted. "Oy!" He yelled, pointing to the TV. "What the hell is Julia doin' back on the TV? I thought she ran off to Mexico with José to find her birth mother!" Stretch folded his arms and scoffed.

"Nah, you's thinkin' of Janice. See, she ran off with that blonde fleshie—what was 'is name..." Stinkie snapped his fingers trying to remember.

"Greg!" Fatso suggested.

"No, Greg was da one who was sellin' all that alcohol to those high schoolers and got himself arrested." Stinkie said.

"Oh yeah." Fatso said smirking. "What a guy! Jeremy?" He asked.

"Jeremy died two episodes ago when his drug dealer ran 'im over with the car!" Stretch yelled. "Don' ya remembah? The funeral was last episode and Kerri kept crying every five minutes."

"Shhh!" Stinkie slung his arm around his brothers' heads, covering their mouths with one hand and flapping the other excitedly. "I'm tryin' to listen!"

Stretch raised an eyebrow and removed his brother's hand slowly, but stayed silent. On the television, a man and woman stood in the small living room of a cabin in the snowy mountains, holding hands.

"But, Brad!" The woman said in an exasperated tone. "What'll happen to..." she looked at the camera dramatically. "...us?" She put a hand to her forehead. Suddenly a short man in a ski mask holding a bulging sack beat the door down and held out a gun.

"Oh, no!" Brad said pointing to the masked villain. "It's the man with the gun!"

"This plot is too predictable," Stretch said, unamused, lighting a cigar.

"Shhh!" Stinkie said again, making a face at his brother and glueing his eyes back to the screen.

"Who are you?" The woman said flipping her hair. The man pulled off his ski mask to reveal a handsome, blonde-haired fellow with blue eyes. The woman gasped and fell to the floor.

"Her twin brother Harold?" Fatso gasped, putting a hand over his gaping mouth

"My twin brother, Harold?" She whined.

"Goddamn," Stinkie emphasized.

"I KNEW IT!" Fatso rose immediately pointing at the television.

"Okay wow, I didn't even see dat comin'," Stretch laughed, one arm griping the sofa and one hand raising his cigar to his mouth. "She bettah get that nice blonde ass o' her's movin' or she's gonna be buttered toast," he raised his eyebrows.