YOU’RE SO DEAD TO ME (GRIMDALE GRAVEYARD MYSTERIES #1) BY STEFFANIE HOLMES – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Steffanie Holmes
- Language: English
- Genre: Paranormal / Sci-Fi
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Bree
“Go on, dearie. Let me have a little sniff of that salty goodness.”
“No,” I snap under my breath as I snatch the pretzels from the
tray table and stuff them in my pocket.
For your information, I’m not hanging out in the world’s grossest sex
club. (That was two years ago in Amsterdam. My shoes stuck to the floor.)
I’m sitting in my seat on a flight somewhere over the United Arab Emirates,
minding my own business and trying to ignore the ghost of a blue-haired
old biddy who is annoyingly fascinated by my airline snacks.
“Pleeeeease? Just hold the bag out so I can have a whiff.”
I glare at her before turning my body toward the window. Outside, the
world is dark – the kind of deep, unsettling darkness that makes you
remember you’re hurtling through space at a gazillion miles an hour with
only a computer, a hopefully not-drunk pilot, and the laws of physics
standing between you and a fiery, dramatic death. We’re somewhere over
the Middle East, but the cloud cover is so thick that it looks like we’re
flying into a black hole.
Most people in the cabin are settling down to sleep, but I won’t get any
peace as long as Chatty Cathy insists on a running commentary of my
snacks.
“I know you can see me, dearie,” she sighs. I watch out of the corner of
my eye as she hovers over the empty seat beside me. “My good friend the
headless pilot told me all about you. Well, he didn’t tell me so much as
gesticulated. He said your thighs were much bigger. You should eat more,
put some meat on those bones – starting with those pretzels in your pocket.”
I groan. Stupid ghosts. They have no right to be gesticulating about the
size of my thighs, which are perfectly fine as they are, thank you very
much.
It figures that airplane ghosts talk to each other. There aren’t that many
of them compared to, say, hospitals, old asylums, and Starbucks stores.
They generally stick to the plane where they died but they can hop off at
airports and float around in the terminals like some kind of spectral hen
party, swapping gossip about their flights. The Headless Pilot and I had a
run-in on my flight from Bali last year, and it was not a pleasant experience.
I was on the loo, reading a smutty romance novel on my phone and
enjoying hour three of absolutely no dead people when he stuck his torso
through the bathroom door and shook his neck stub at me. I screamed
bloody murder because that’s what you do when you have a see-through
neck stub in your face, and the stewardess had to break down the door
because she thought I was having some kind of fit.
They didn’t believe my
story about seeing a spider, and I’ve been banned from that airline for life.
Ghosts are nothing but trouble.
Usually, airplanes are one of the few places in the world where I’m
blissfully free of ghosts for a while. Statistically, not that many people die
on planes.
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