“It was just something to do. I didn’t get out much.”
“Joining a revenge group called Return to Sender and victimising women is not ‘just something to do’. It’s deplorable.”
“But I’m not all bad. I did good stuff too. That’s why I’m stuck here.”
I stared at my screen and then back at him.
“The woman you dumped woke up, visited the bathroom, and then left embarrassed with the words still on her forehead because it wasn’t her eyeliner like you stated on your arrival report, was it? It was a marker pen. She went into a branch of Boots to ask about cleansing wipes or any other way of clearing her new forehead motto and the male assistant giggled. She smacked him with the ‘Wet Floor’ sign and killed him.”
I glared at Jacob, but he didn’t meet my gaze.
“Two months later you died from a bacterial infection you’d gotten from biting off nails that were coated in grime because you’d not washed in so long. The supporting evidence for you to go to Heaven is that you were depressed and also that you donated half of your benefits money to heart charities because your mother died of heart disease.”
“Yep. Got to donate to those. You never know if the money I donated might save a life, and if it did, that would mean I did a good thing and should go to Heaven.” The bastard smirked.
“Let’s see, shall we?” I turned to the computer. “Please show me a breakdown of how Jacob’s donations have affected the heart charity, and then show me another of the effect of the death of Bruce Jones.”
The information appeared on the screen.
“Your donations amounted to £1262. The money went straight into production of prospect letters to the general public along with a free pen and a notecard. No one donated in return and so there was no benefit to the charity.”
His smirk had fallen right off his face.
“Bruce Jones also donated to a charity through his wages. A children’s one. Because of you, his life was cut short and so also were his donations. They would have helped children who were being treated cruelly by their parents.”
He’d pissed my inner vamp off. I felt my vision change and everything was in shades of red.
“Ooh-err, you’ve made our vampire queen’s eyes fire up,” Spence pointed out.
“Jacob, go to Hell,” I commanded and with a shriek he was gone.
“Queen, you were amazing. Fair, but amazing,” Spence said.
“One down, twenty-two to go.” I hit the computer keys for the details of the next one.
Mya
After asking me if I was okay at breakfast, for which I once again told him I was ‘Fine’, Death left me to carry on. I chose more men who’d dumped women and even being impartial, it was 95% Hell, 5% Heaven so far. Spence had got bored after the first two despatches and left me to it. I wasn’t bored. I was in my element.
However, I was mindful I needed a break, so I had my evening bag of blood and decided to visit the library for some new books.
I pushed open the door, walked up the winding staircase and into the turret, marvelling once again about how beautiful it was.
“Hello? Librarian,” I called out.
The words SILENCE appeared in front of me in glittery sparkles which then disappeared.
“Huh? How do I get books then if can’t ask for them?” I muttered.
SILENCE appeared again.
“You can put it in glitter, it doesn’t make it any less rude,” I stated.
A book fell off the desk in front of me, so I wandered over and picked it up.
Rules of the Library.
Great. More rules. Not the reading I’d intended on doing.
I opened the first page.
Welcome to Wayward Souls library. Your silence here is appreciated at all times and this includes sighing, groaning, and most definitely whining and wailing. Write all enquiries on the notepad on the desk and these shall be addressed at The Librarian’s earliest convenience.
Someone loved their position in charge a little too much. However, I walked over to the notepad, grabbed the pen from beside it and sitting at the desk I began to write.
Hey, Librarian.
Thanks for the books you left in my living room. It was astute thinking to leave me a book about a cupcake café. My tastes in the last day or so have changed however and if you have any serial killer books or revenge books about a woman who was mugged off by a bloke after sex that would be much appreciated.
Also, I found out there is a weekly book group in Gnarly and wondered if you knew about it and wanted to contribute in some way?
Thanks in advance.
Mya.
I’d gotten up from my seat to depart the library when text appeared on the page.
Good evening, Queen Mya.
I shall leave you a few of your book choices on your bookcase, along with the sequel to the cupcake bakery book for when your current tastes change again. I do not have involvement with Gnarly Book Club because they only pretend to read. They are not interested in books of any literary worth, and every one of them reads the reviews on Goodreads and the book stores and makes up their entire feedback based on this. The book talk usually lasts five minutes at most before they eat cupcakes and gossip about village life.
In all fairness, I think you’d love it anyway, but if you could influence them to try to read a book it would be much appreciated, in which case I would be happy to supply copies to each resident.
The Librarian.
I wrote back.
Dear Librarian.
Thank you for your honesty and the books. I shall see what I can do at Book Club. What is your name?
Mya.
Dear Queen Mya.
My name is The Librarian.
I shall not be seen, or heard, but I am here for your book needs.
The Librarian.
Okay then.
“Thank you,” I called out and the glittery SILENCE appeared again. I turned back to the book.
Dear The Librarian
My apologies. I will get used to not speaking in here, but if you had known me in life you would realise how hard that is for me. I worked in a bookstore and chatted away there to customers to help them, so this is not my natural environment.
Mya.
Dear Queen Mya.
I know. You have much to learn and get used to, but you have all the time in the world. Be patient… and everything will work out.
The Librarian.
Be patient? Easier said than done with thousands of spirits crowding the place. However, now I was having a break, so I’d give up for the rest of the day, go back to my rooms, read a good revenge book where I’d imagine Death was the slain victim, and eat a couple more cupcakes from my delivery. Tomorrow I’d get in touch with Stan and see how quickly he could come sort out the plumbing. I was going to keep busy and out of Death’s way and show him how perfectly ‘fine’ I was about the fact he’d dumped me.
Even decadently eating two triple chocolate cupcakes in bed couldn’t take away my annoyance at being left with bedsheets that smelled of sex and Death. In some strange lament, I wouldn’t take them off to be laundered, instead having a good old pity party for one where I allowed myself a third cupcake, excusing my greed as being part of the healing process.