Archive of Our Own

Church hated halloween. He fucking hated it. It was this time of year that kids got the bright idea to whip out the Ouija boards, trying to summon deadass spirits who want to haunt their houses or some shit. Nine times out of ten, one of them would move the pointer thing anyways. What was even the purpose of calling him there? Church hated it. 

Like, okay, October did have its perks. For starters, it was the time he actually had the most communication with the living, being a ghost and all. That was pretty nice. He had very little memories still intact from when he was alive, and being around living people sometimes brought them back. And he really liked the smell of pumpkins, which was all over the damn place this month. So cool. October. Not cool? The responsibilities of being dead.

Every time a person put their grubby little fingers on the Ouija board, the nearest ghost was summoned. Okay, yeah. That makes sense. It just sucked that, in Church’s little suburb of Valhalla, he was pretty sure he was the only dead guy who cared to stick around. 

One perk he got out of that? Messing with people.

It was twenty days until Halloween when he got yet another call. Every time this happened, Church felt like his stomach was being dragged up his throat by a vacuum cleaner. This time was no different. He choked on air, as if he needed to breathe, and then suddenly, bam ! He was in some random house in the middle of town. Grand.

“What do you even want ?” He grumbled. Of course, they couldn’t hear him. There were four kids sitting on the floor there, each with one hand pressed to the pointer thing. Church hadn’t been dumb enough to mess with this shit as a kid. Like, come on. You’re begging for trouble.

“Uh, dear dead guy, or something,” one of them said. He wore a obnoxiously teal (aqua?) shirt, and for some reason held his head down in prayer. “Welcome to my house, I guess. I live here. It’s pretty great. Bet you’re glad to be in my presence. But uh, hey. Don’t like, kill us, I guess. Amen.” The other three nodded, one in dark blue a little more enthusiastically than the others. 

That first one of the kids- okay, hold on. They weren’t really kids. They were somewhere around seventeen, old enough to know better. That almost pissed Church off even more. “Okay, guys,” the dude said. He had dark black hair cropped close to his head, with a darker skin tone than the rest. “We need to remember to be, like, polite and stuff. I think. Maybe. Or wait, did it say aggressive? I don’t know, I’ve only looked this up on wiki-how once, in like, seventh grade.”

“Thanks, Tucker. Nice preparation. Always great to hear you have an expert on your team,” a second guy said. Ginger, curly hair, glasses. Looked like a fucking dork to Church.

“Let’s just get this over with. Why can’t we like, sit around and eat popcorn and watch movies like normal teenagers?” This third dude looked kinda… Hawaiian, almost? He definitely had a point, though. These motherfuckers could be doing literally anything else, and they chose to summon ghosts. Great.

“I like ghosts. My cat Apples was a ghost once. She came to me in a dream,” said the fourth one. Don’t do drugs, kids , Church thought to himself. Even sitting down Church could tell this guy was tall as hell. Something about him seemed familiar. Fucking druggies. There was always one of those in a group, it seemed.

“That’s nice, Caboose, but we’re not here to summon a dead cat. Don’t think they can talk, anyway,” the first guy- Tucker- said. “Alright, come on. Let’s think of some questions.”

“Ooh, I know. What is your favorite color?” The Caboose guy said. Church felt his face fold into a scowl. He came all this way for this ? Who the hell cared about his favorite color? He was a ghost, for Christ’s sake! At least ask about, like, ghost stuff! Or something! 

Either way, he was bound to the damn thing. “Hey, look! It’s actually moving,” nerd boy said. Church touched the pointer, sliding it across the board. The four teens started in awe, watching it glide slowly. Church didn’t have fucking time for this.

“Uh… B- wait, no- oh, yeah. B-L-U-D? Blood? Oh my god it’s gonna kill us! Why the hell couldn’t we have just like, watched Star Wars like you guys said we would? Holy shit I don’t wanna die,” the Hawaiian guy said.

“Shut up, Grif, it’s B-L-U-E. Blue. Dumbass,” nerd boy said. 

“Oh. Hah. Right,” Hawaiian guy- Grif- continued. “Favorite color blue. Gotcha.”

“This isn’t even real, it’s not like it matters,” nerd boy complained.

“Oh, boo hoo, I’m Simmons and I don’t believe in things I can’t see,” Tucker mocked. “Grow a pair, dude. Grif, your turn for a question.”

“Right. Uh, I guess… What’s your name?”

If Church was able to kill them, he just might. Everyone started with that stupid question. Like, he was never asked anything of relevance. ‘Hey Church, what’s it like being dead?’ ‘Hey Church, do you want us to light a pumpkin candle?’ ‘Hey Church, how do you feel about not eating?’ Nah, instead it was a bunch of bullshit about favorite colors and names. Ugh. It drove Church nuts.

He did toy with the idea of giving his first name. Then again, who respects a ghost named Leonard?

“C---H-U-R-C-H. Church. Huh. That’s a weird name,” Tucker said. He then turned his head to the ceiling, shouting at what he probably thought was Church. “We didn’t ask you your place of worship, dude!” Church sighed.

“Oh look, he’s spelling something out again!” Grif called. 

“I-M… okay, I’m, what’s next? Oh. J-E-W-I-S-H. Hey, he’s Jewish,” nerd boy- Simmons- said.

“Never said he was a dude,” Grif said. Simmons bit his lip.

“I- I just hope it’s a dude, I wouldn’t talk well to, uh, lady ghosts I don’t think-” Simmons stuttered out.

“Apples was a lady ghost,” Caboose said. “Oh! I know! Ghosty-man, do you know Apples?” Church laughed. If there was a druggie’s cat-ghost floating around with him, maybe life would be a little more interesting. All four teens started intently as the pointer moved to “No.”

“Whelp, sorry Caboose, looks like our Jewish Church here doesn’t know your dead cat friend,” Tucker said. “Church! Tell me buddy, are you the only ghost here?” 

Church looked around the room. Of fucking course he was. Everybody else died and got to go up or down, but Church? He didn’t know. They couldn’t find a place for him, so they stuck him in the middle. Figures. He was alone his entire life, why should his afterlife be any different? He moved the pointer to “Yes.”

“I don’t know guys. I don’t think this is real. Tucker, are you moving it?” Simmons asked. 

“The only place my fingers will be moving tonight is inside your sister. Bow chica bow wow.”

“I don’t even have a sister, assbag,” Simmons said. “Now grow up. This is fake and we all know it.” He stood to leave.

“He’s the only reason I’m here. He’s out, I’m out,” Grif said.

“Wait!” Tucker called. “Here, let me- Church! If you’re hearing me, prove you exist. Like, I don’t know, float something or whatever.”

This was another thing Church hated about Ouija boards. The people behind them almost never knew what they were doing.

Church moved the handle to “No” again. Tucker whined.

“Aww, come on man, don’t be like that!” Tucker said. Church rolled his eyes. “Wait guys, don’t leave, he’s moving it again. Uh, C-A-N-T. Can’t. Oh, come on. Dammit, Church,” Tucker said.

“Right. You two have fun with your fake ghost. We all know it’s you,” Simmons said. Caboose looked up at him with wide eyes. “Well, at least, Grif and I do. Now if you don’t mind, I’m gonna head.” He left Tucker’s bedroom, Grif trailing behind.

“Hey, ghost-Church,” Tucker whispered. “If they leave the house, you should haunt their asses.”

Okay. There was one rule of the Ouija board that it bugged the hell outta Church if people didn’t follow. That rule was saying goodbye. Like, not only is it common courtesy, but it leaves the portal stuck here. He’d have to stay in the shitty room where the kids were goofing off, and he couldn’t leave until they opened it again and closed it properly this time. If Church had learned anything about these motherfuckers over the past twenty minutes, it was that they certainly wouldn’t know how to close it. That aside, he didn’t want to see what Tucker got up to in here, his bedroom. Fucking gross.

If they did ask him to do something, like a haunting, where he’d need to leave the house however… and he agreed to it… he wouldn’t be stuck here. That sounded nice.

“S-U-R-E. Oh my god he’s actually gonna haunt them,” Tucker said to Caboose. “Dude I wasn’t being serious.”

“T-O-O, too what? L-A-T-E- oh god, dammit,” Tucker swore. “Fuck.”

“Maybe ghost-Church could say hello to Apples for me. I know they’d be best friends,” Caboose said. He still seemed a little too familiar.

Behind him, Church heard a door close. He followed after the noise, knowing Simmons and Grif to be the culprits. Afterall, he had some haunting to do.

“Ooh, it’s really cold all of a sudden,” Simmons said, wrapping his arms around himself. Church knew that was his fault. Stand too close to someone and wow, it’s like they’re a living icicle.

“It is fall, dumbass,” Grif said. “Here, take my jacket.” He shrugged an orange jacket off of his shoulders, passing it to Simmons.

“You sure?”

“I don’t need a jacket, I’m always hot ,” Grif boasted. Church smirked, taking a step closer to Grif. Grif visibly shivered.

“Grif, you’re a fucking liar. Now come on, we can’t just stand here on Tucker’s doorstep all evening. We still on for pumpkins tonight?” Simmons said.

“Oh yeah! I almost forgot about that. My mom did buy them this morning, so they’re ready whenever you are,” Grif said, walking off the porch. Church was all but beaming. Not only did he get to fuck with these bozos, but he fucking loved pumpkins. If only he could eat, man. His (after)life would be complete.

The two of them walked silently, side by side down the autumn streets. Leaves were everywhere. Yellows and oranges and dark reds. It was kinda pretty.

And damn, what Church wouldn’t give to have the energy to read their minds right then. Shame he got so tired after a seance, because usually that wasn’t a problem. The joys of being a ghost, he guessed.

“Hey, Grif, can I ask you something?” Simmons said, looking over. 

“Yeah, sure,” Grif said. “You want to borrow the jacket?”

“Uh… y-yeah. Right. Thanks,” Simmons said, his face suddenly flushing red. Grif passed him the coat, and he shrugged it over his shoulders wordlessly. A few moments passed before he said something. “Ugh, it smells like smoke.”

“Well, I smoke, my mom smokes… and I’m pretty sure Kai smokes weed,” Grif said. 

“It’s gross. You’re gonna get cancer and die, dumbass,” Simmons said.

“Yep. That’d leave you sad and lonely.”

“Ppsh. Yeah. I don’t know what I’d do without you eating all of my parents’ food and making bad first impressions. And second impressions. And really, all the impressions,” Simmons said sarcastically. 

“You eat all my parents food too,” Grif protested.

“Uh, yeah. If by that you mean I eat half a serving and then you finish mine, yours, and Kai’s without even asking, then yes. I do eat all your food,” Simmons said.

“Don’t make me take that jacket back, Simmons,” Grif said. 

“Is that a threat?” Simmons said with a chuckle. Church looked between the two of them. He was having trouble telling if they hated each other’s guts or there was just a lot of, uh… tension . Romantic tension? Sexual tension? Friendly tension? Just plain regular tension? It beat Church.

They arrived at Grif’s house a couple minutes later. He opened the door, sliding into the house. It wasn’t even locked. Church was pretty sure that when he was alive, he must have been born in a city, because he hated unlocked doors. Something about them just set him off. He wasn’t sure what. Simmons shut the door behind him and Grif, and Church took a bit of his energy to lock it. Something about unlocked doors, man.

“Sister! Mom! You guys home?” Grif called. No one responded. “Whelp. Guess it’s just you and me, Simmons.” Grif waltzed into the kitchen, checking twice for good measure. Nope. No one else was here. A line of six pumpkins sat on the counter next to the stove, and some newspaper was spread out across the floor. 

It kind of reminded Church of when he was a kid. It wasn’t a clear memory- those rarely occur- but it sort of seemed like something he’d done. The spreading out the newspaper, cutting off the lid, collecting the pumpkin seeds to put in the oven… It was familiar to Church. 

Something about that made him wonder what year he’d died. He had no idea.

“Cool. Let’s grab some knives, it looks like we’ve got some pumpkins to carve,” Simmons said. Grif grinned. 

“Hell yeah we do,” Grif said. He pulled down two of the six pumpkins off the counter. “Bigger one or smaller one?” 

“Eh, whichever one you don’t want,” Simmons said.

“Dude. It’s a pumpkin. Just pick one,” Grif said, sitting down on the newspaper. Simmons plucked two knives from the butcher’s block, sitting down next to Grif.

“Fine. I’ll take the smaller one,” Simmons said.

“Hey, I’ve always said size doesn’t matter, it’s what you do with it,” Grif joked. Simmons gave a forced smile.

“Heh, yep,” he said quickly. His cheeks were going red.

“Oh, relax. Grab the pumpkin, nerd,” Grif said.

“You’re a fucking pumpkin,” Simmons muttered under his breath.

“I heard that,” Grif said, nodding his head. “And Simmons, you know I can’t let that pass.”

“Grif, Grif, don’t- Grif-” Simmons said, but it was too late. Grif tucked his fingers into Simmons’ side, tickling him relentlessly. “Grif, Grif!” Simmons chuckled.

“I’ve got you now!” Grif called, laughing himself. Simmons had fallen over, sprawled out across the newspaper, giggles leaving his mouth.

Church stared down at the whole thing with one eyebrow cocked. What the hell. 

Grif pulled away, panting with laughter. “Are you really out of breath from tickling me? Wow. You really are a fatass,” Simmons said.

“Kissass,” Grif panted out, falling next to him on the papers. 

Simmons met Grif’s eyes. They just sat there for a second, making weird eye contact for longer than Church knew to be normal. Or at least, thought to be normal. Was everyone more comfortable with each other in the future? It beat Church.

Grif’s eyes flicked down for a second. Just a second. But Church knew what that meant. Simmons tilted his head, his eyes closing.

That’s when they heard someone pulling the door.

“Hey, dirtbags! Who’s bright idea was it to lock the door?” A harsh, almost southern accent filled the front of the house. 

Grif groaned, rolling away from Simmons. Simmons jolted up, rushing to get to the door.

“Sorry sir,” Simmons called, “It was probably Grif.”

“That no good, lazy, son of a gun…” the southern man said, his words trailing into muttering.

Within the few seconds of the man coming to the door, both Grif and Simmons’ demeanors changed entirely. The two of them went from being relaxed and content and- maybe about to kiss?- to Grif starfished out on the floor grumpily while Simmons was wearing the biggest grin in existence. Church didn’t know what was going on, but he wasn’t sure he liked it.

Simmons unlocked the door, grinning up at the man who stood behind it. He had greying hair with a military buzz cut, and a bit of stubble surrounding a firm scowl. “Took you long enough,” he said.

“Sorry, sir. Grif and I were about to start carving pumpkins,” Simmons said. “Would you care to join us?”

“Join you? Grif, how dare you start pumpkin carving without your dear brother!” the man called. He pushed past Simmons into the house. Simmons, instead of protesting, just sat up straighter. He struck Church as the type to always be eager to please. The man made his way to Grif, looking down at him sprawled out on the newspaper. “At least wait for Donut.”

“Listen here, dickhead,” Grif said, sitting up from his position on the floor. “Just because you got with my mom doesn’t make you my dad. And it sure as hell doesn’t make that stupid son of yours my brother!”

Oh. Now Church could see what was going on. This man was Grif’s stepdad. That Donut guy was his step-brother. Got it.

“Oh, hey boys!” Someone else was standing in the doorway, looking between Simmons and Grif with a grin. Just by his looks Church could tell this guy was named Donut. He just… looked like a Donut. Short blonde hair, a pink tank top tucked into denim short shorts- if that didn’t scream Donut, Church didn’t know what did.

“You know what? Fuck this. I’m going to Simmons’ place. At least his parents seem to ignore me,” Grif said.

“My parents hate you, Grif,” Simmons said.

“As they should! All you do is eat and sleep! Why can’t you be more like Simmons here, listening when people tell him things-”

“Really? Thank you, sir!” Simmons said.

“-and then misreading them entirely, messing it all up! At least that’s humorous!” the step-dad said with a hearty chuckle. Simmons took a second, his face falling.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” Grif said. He stood at his full height, narrowing his eyes at the man. “Come on, Simmons. We’re leaving.”

“Yeah. See you later, Sarge. Bye, Donut,” Simmons said, following Grif outta the house with a shrug. Church sighed. He really wanted the smell of pumpkins.

With that, Church felt a tugging feeling in his gut, like his stomach was being dragged up his throat by a vacuum cleaner. He knew what that meant. Another seance! Great. Just what he fucking wanted.

“Dear father, son, and holy ghost- we come with peace in our hearts and curiosity as our intention. We wish no harm and only to learn of the other world. Vile spirits be warned. Amen,” started the first guy.

“Amen,” the group chorused. That group being distinguishably recognizable. Dammit. Church was ready to kill a man. 

This was probably the last place he’d wanted to be. But, as cruel as fate is- he was back in Tucker’s bedroom. 

This time, though, an Indian teen in a purple hoodie was leading the seance, blocky black glasses over his closed eyes. He’d gone and lit some candles, too. They weren’t pumpkin candles, but hey. It was close enough. At least someone had some respect for the undead.

“Peaceful spirit, we ask you to please state your name,” hoodie said, pressing his fingers lightly against the pointer. His eyes flickered open. The group- consisting of Tucker, Caboose, and some blonde guy in gray and yellow- followed suit.

Church sighed. He was so sick of this.

“C-H-U-R-C-H. Oh, hey there, Church, buddy!” Tucker called. “I was hoping you’d be back.”

“ I wasn’t,” Church grumbled, but it fell upon deaf ears.

“Church! We wanted to tell you not to haunt Grif and Simmods!” Caboose said. His eyes were squeezed tight, as if he was trying to mimic the guy in the hoodie. He wasn’t doing it very well.

“His name is Simmons, you fucknut,” Tucker said. “Anyway. You can stop haunting them or whatever, but first you should definitely tell us any dirt you caught on them. Any secrets? Any mystery women? I mean, come on. Grif strikes me as the type to hold an illegal sex ring.” 

Church had never realized the capacity of stupidity. These people freakin’ embodied it.

“Grif wouldn’t. I wouldn’t put it passed you, Tucker, but then again, I wouldn’t put much of anything passed you,” the blonde guy said. His whole face said ‘exasperated.’

“Why are you even here, Wash?” hoodie said. “You are obviously a skeptic of the supernatural arts. I can read it all over your face.”

Blondie-- Wash-- rolled his eyes. “I was told there would be cats. As of yet, I have seen no cats,” he deadpanned.

“Cats? Did you see Apples? I want to see Apples!” Caboose shouted, his eyes slamming open.

“Seriously. Shut up,” Tucker said. “Back on topic, Church! What did you dig up on our friends?”

Church moved the pointer with a sigh. These people were ridiculous.

“T-H-E okay the, wait not the, T-H-E-Y-’-RE. They’re. They’re what?” Tucker translated. “G-A- game? Y. They’re- oh.” Tucker paused. “They’re… They’re gay .”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Wash said. “Have you seen the two of them?”

“I knew it! I always thought Simmons was a secretly a gay robot,” Caboose insisted. Church raised an eyebrow. For as strange as that sentence was, he swore he’d heard it before, somewhere.

“Ppsh. No you didn’t. That’s what you used to say about… uh, Leo,” Tucker said. At those words, everyone got real quiet. Wash’s head hung down. Hoodie bit his lip. There was something going on, and Church couldn’t tell what.

“Tucker,” Caboose said. His voice was lower than usual, almost at a whisper. “I miss him.”

“Me too, buddy,” Tucker said. He moved his hands from the pointer, swinging an arm around Caboose’s shoulders. “Me too.” Caboose’s eyes stayed locked on the board. He wasn’t moving.

“Caboose. It wasn’t your fault,” hoodie said.

“Thanks, Doc,” Caboose whispered. “But you do not have to play pretend. I did bad.” It almost looked like he was going to cry. 

“He was your best friend. There’s no way you would have done that on purpose.” Wash said.

Church took a second, looking at the people across the room.

That’s when it hit him.

Church had that feeling again. The stomach sucked through a vacuum cleaner kind of feeling. Except this time, he wasn’t travelling in space. His mind was going back in time.

A flashback. A flashback of when he was alive.

He knew where he was, somehow. He was outside Michael’s house. He stood with his hands in his pockets, a beige newsboy cap over his messy black hair. He could kind of see his breath, if he tried really hard. He had to squint to really see it.

He must’ve been like, eleven at the time.

It was such a vivid picture. For the minutes it took, Church felt like he was actually there. The details of Tucker’s bedroom faded out as the muted yellows of Michael’s house faded over his vision.

He rapped his knuckles on the screen door, waiting a couple of seconds. Church rocked back and forth on his heels. It was mighty cold outside, especially for the time of year. Leaves were a muted brown and red, occasionally bright yellows sticking through. It was October. His birthday was coming up. He was gonna be a big twelve year old soon, and he couldn’t wait. One more year until he could actually get into PG-13 movies in the theatres! He wished his mom was still around. Maybe she could have taken him. God knows his dad wouldn’t.

“Michael! Hey, Michael! Michael J. Caboose, open the damn door!” He called to the upstairs window. Of course he didn’t think to try the handle. It was always locked. That’s how the Caboose family was- always locking things.

This was the one time they didn’t.

Church rocked on his heels again, whistling some melody off key. Two flights of stairs up, a certain Michael leaned over the window, looking down at Church with a grin on his face. Boy, was Leo gonna love him! He had the funniest idea for a prank. All he had to do was startle him, drop the thing twenty feet to his left, and laugh about it later. Nothing could go wrong. It was the perfect plan.

Church didn’t hear the window upstairs slide open. He certainly didn’t see the bright orange of a pumpkin being pushed out of said window, a smiling Caboose looking down over him. And he definitely wasn’t awake long enough to feel the brute force of the impact, the pumpkin smacking into his head and his head smacking the cement. It all happened too fast.

Caboose’s smile slipped slightly.

“Hey guys, we’re back. We- oh, come on. You’re still playing with that ghost bullshit?” Simmons’ voice interrupted. Church’s flashback came to an abrupt end. Grif and Simmons stood at the door, Grif peering over Simmons’s shoulder. His eyes were trained on Church, almost as if he could see him. But he couldn’t. No one could. 

Church took a step back, suddenly heartbreakingly aware of the people in the room.

Tucker. Lavernius Tucker. He’d lived on Second Street, right down the block from Church’s house. They’d learned to ride bikes together.

And Doc. Frank DuFresne. That idiot thought he could heal anything, though he’d barely even earned his nickname. Hell, Church was the one that gave it to him. Once put a band-aid on Church’s mouth to get him to shut up.

Simmons. Richard. And Dexter Grif! They were the two kids on the playground who would always fight over who got the basketballs at recess… Dexter would only fight Dick about it to piss him off, and Dick would throw a hissy fit. God. It seemed like forever ago.

Wash didn’t ring that many bells, but even Donut was starting to seem familiar. He knew them. He’d known them.

And Caboose. Michael.

He’d killed him.

“And like, dude,” Tucker continued talking to Caboose, as if Simmons and Grif still weren’t there. “We’re not stupid. We know why you turned to ecstasy in the first place. But like, man, it’s really fucked you over,” he said. “It’s been five years. You need some closure or some shit.”

Caboose still hadn’t moved his eyes from the Ouija board. Church took a second, looking at this broken man. He was labelled as a murderer at twelve years old. And, as Church slowly realized, he’d turned to drugs to forget about that. To forget about the one time he fucked up and ended his best friend’s life.

But he couldn’t.

Church didn’t have much energy left, but damn if he wasn’t going to try his best. No hands were left on the pointer. In the moment, that didn’t matter.

“Wh- guys, it’s moving. What?” Simmons said. He took a step further into the room, Grif on his tail.

“What’s it say, what’s it say?” Tucker said.

“Will you be quiet? The spirit is trying to contact us, how could it possibly think over all this chatter? What you guys need is some Chamomile tea, that’d calm you down,” Doc said.

“Doc, shut up, I’m trying to read it,” Grif said, squeezing into the circle. All six of them crowded around the board, watching quietly as Church moved the pointer slowly, carefully. All of his energy was going into this. It was all he had.

“Caboose. It’s me. It’s Leo,” Church muttered, using the pointer to spell his words as he spoke them. “Leonard Church. I’m here.”

“Holy shit. Holy fuck he’s here,” Tucker said. “Holy shit.”

“Maybe this is the reason I stuck around, my unfinished business. It’s been years, dude. I’ve always been here,” Church said. Caboose’s eyes were going glassy. He still hadn’t moved from his position, and hadn’t uttered a word. “I forgive you. It wasn’t your fault. Well, yeah, it kind of was, but you didn’t mean it to be.” At this point in his speech, Doc had begun writing his words down letter for letter. Church noticed this, and used it as an excuse to move the pointer a little faster. “You aren’t defined by mistakes, Caboose. Michael. You’re defined by your decisions.”

Caboose pulled his knees up to his chest, blinking his eyes hard and fast. This was getting too much for him.

“And, yeah. You’re a fucking dumbass. So am I. But I’m starting to think it’s time to let go.” He paused the pointer here, looking around the room. Six faces stared at his hands intently. Five people he’d known his whole life, but hadn’t known until just a few minutes ago. Candles were lit around him, and faintly in the October air, he could smell a trace of pumpkins. It was time to go. “I’ll say hi to your cat, buddy, if I see her,” Church said. “Good luck.” With that, Church used the last shred of his energy. He moved the pointer hesitantly to the ‘Goodbye.’ 

Six faces looked up, searching each other to better understand. Their friend was gone, but up until now, he wasn’t really. No one said a word.

Huh. Church had always wondered what would happen when he ran out of energy. 

He guessed he’d find out.