Page 2 of Tall, Dark and Haunted

The reporters rush towards the fountain, their cameras trained on my dead body and exposed lady junk. There are several flashes before the police realize what is happening. And one of the reporters definitely gets a snap of my hoo-ha.

“Hey!” I shout, because the last thing I want is my naked bits all over the internet. Not that it should matter. What does a dead person need modesty for, anyway?

“Enough of that!” one of the police officers calls. “Show some respect.”

“Who is she?” a reporter asks, still trying to worm his way closer.

“Does it look to you like she has ID on her?” the officer retorts with a scowl as he pushes the reporters back behind the yellow crime scene tape.

“At least they don’t know who I am. Phew!” I mutter to myself.

“Oh my God! Is that Rhiannon?!” a familiar voice carries over the crowd. Damn it! I guess I spoke too soon.

I don’t have to look to know it’s Alice from my pottery class. The same Alice who always criticizes my art… and my hair. Countdown to catastrophe. 3… 2…

“Miss! Miss!” The reporters converge on her. “Do you know the girl in the fountain? Who is she? What’s her full name?”

“Don’t tell them!” I cry.

Alice can’t hear me. To be fair, if she could, I doubt she would listen.

“Margam Rhiannon Scott. She goes to our arts university,” Alice says.

And there it is. Margam.

This is what I get for being named after Margam Castle. Yes, that Margam Castle. The one with the creepy abbey ruins. The one that’s haunted… because that’s where my ancestor was brutally murdered. What on earth made my parents think naming me Margam was a good idea? Couldn’t they have gone with a great aunt I have never met or a famous celebrity like normal people?

But no. Not my parents. They go with the haunted castle down the road. It’s no wonder I go by Rhiannon—not that it seems to have done me any good.

“Do you know Margam well?”

“Can you make a statement on camera?”

“Can we take your photo by the fountain?”

“Of course.” Alice preens.

“Are you all insane?” I cry.

Obviously, she ignores me. She checks her reflection in a window of a nearby car, then starts swiping away false tears. “This is so tragic. We’re best friends. I mean we were… best friends,” she wails. “We were practically inseparable.”

“No, we weren’t!” I shout. Of course, no one hears me.

“Do you know what she was doing out here?”

“Suicide, obviously. I didn’t think she’d do it, though. I mean, I knew that she was absolutely heartbroken after Richard dumped her.”

“Was not!” I cry.

“I never thought she’d go this far!” Alice wails.

“So you think it was suicide?”

“Definitely.” She nods her head. “I’ve got a video of their breakup. It was tragic. Here, look.”

“You bitch!” I zoom through the air towards her as she takes out her phone, preparing to tackle her to the ground, only to fly straight through her. Damn it! This ghost business really, really sucks.

What sucks even more? I feel a force starting to pull me away from my body and the Venus fountain.

Am I being pulled up to heaven? Do they let naked people into heaven? Will I have to spend my afterlife looking like a drowned rat with my hoo-ha on display?

“No. Please! I’m not ready. I haven’t even sold a single painting yet!” I cry to the heavens, but there’s no fighting the afterlife. No matter how much I try to keep my eyes open, everything begins to go black. The voices around me fade away. Yup, I’m definitely dead now.