MOO

I have three things that make me special. Different.

I know what time it is without a clock. 11:04pm? I can do you one better. 11:04 and 32 seconds, baby. This chick is never wrong.

I can see ghosts.

And I make a killer peach cobbler.

Okay, okay, back to the ghosts. Ever since my older and slightly crazy brother Tanner pushed me on my scooter down a hill as a kid, ending in my head hitting a silo (think Deep South country) and lights out for Daisy (moi), I’ve seen the occasional spirit. Most are harmless. Some are mean as a trapped skunk, but they can’t do anything to me. They can’t touch anything or kick up a big wind or poltergeist the hell out of me, so it’s cool. Sticks and stones and all that.

So, it’s mostly just an interesting distraction in my Southern-Single-Mom-in-a-Dead-End-Warehouse-Job Kinda Life.

Speaking of which. I adjusted my brown curls going all haywire under my hard hat, holding my cell phone with difficulty, and twirling my swivel chair at the warehouse’s main desk.

“Mmm-hmm.” I tried to sound like a competent adult to the 16-year-old babysitter on the line complaining about my son. “Put Hunter on, Abby.”

“Hey, Mommy,” piped my little hellraiser. “When are you coming home?”

“Not till late, angel. Although you haven’t been much of an angel, have you? Sticking boogers on poor Abby.”

I sighed as I finished up with my five-year-old boy and hung up. Kids. You gotta love them or strangle them. Sometimes both.

This job bored the hell outta me. A nighttime shift with no one in the building for hours.

“Mooo …”

Yes, you heard right. Not ‘Boo.’ ‘Moo.’ When I crashed into that silo, the last thing before lights out that I heard was a cow lowing. So now whenever a ghost appears, guess what I hear?

It’s not funny.

I looked up to see a golden-colored young woman in a waitress uniform staring down at me. Yes, all ghosts are the color of gold, from skin to eyes and clothes. Weird, I know, but at least I can tell the dead from the living.

“How can I help you … Mandy?” I noted the nametag on the waitress’s outfit. It didn’t hurt to be polite.

“Um … er … I’m not sure.” The ghost gazed off in the distance.

Spacy chick.

“I’m here to help you—I do know that,” she continued. “Just can’t quite remember …”

She floated to one side, making room for a tall, slim man making his way to my desk.

“Gary!” I sang. “You don’t call, you don’t write … how ya be?”

The delivery man paused, his green eyes glittering, and—holy crap—he pulled out a freaking gun!

“Sorry, Daisy, but you are about to become my ninth Bride-in-Death. Or are you?”

“G-gary? I thought you were single,” I inanely answered.

“I follow my Brides-To-Be, lock them in a room with a hidden bomb to defuse in time, and see if they guess right. So far eight have failed me. Will you be the one?” Gary looked more excited than his usual delivery-man demeanor, waving a gun at me and smirking.

Mandy lit up. “Oh yeah, I was gonna warn you about this guy. He blew me up the other day.”

“You don’t say,” I glared at her. “Info that would’ve been great 10 minutes ago.”

“Sorry,” Mandy vaguely spoke.

“Whaa--?” Gary looked confused, not seeing the ghost. Then he shook his head. “Okay, Daisy, hand over the cell phone.”

Shucks. I was hoping he’d overlook that. I reluctantly gave it to him, and he smashed my phone! And I didn’t have insurance!

Gary kicked the phone away. “Now. Time to go.”

Sticking the cold gun uncomfortably in my back, Gary directed me down the warehouse aisle to the storage room. Mandy floated behind him, looking apologetic.

“Okay, my Bride-To-Be. It’s 11:12pm.”

“Actually, 11:13 and 14 seconds, but who’s counting?” Hmmm, maybe it’s better not to antagonize the gun-toting serial killer, Daisy.

Gary shoved the gun barrel harder into my back and made an annoyed sound. He ushered me into the storage room and Mandy drifted to my side. I glanced around, noting that objects were off the shelves out of boxes, placed on tables around the room. My eye caught a miniature Disney dollhouse, child’s beginner violin, toy drone, boxed walkie-talkie set, among other items.

“Looks like the shipment today is children’s toys,” I commented, trying to keep my panic at bay. I’ve heard secondary locations are not where you want to be with a serial killer.

“Yes, and I’ve assembled many around the room for my future Bride,” said Gary, proudly.

“Um, congratulations?” I turned to quizzically look at the maniac who might end me.

“No, Daisy.” Gary seemed frustrated. “The point is somewhere in one of these toys there is a bomb. First, you must find it. Second, you must defuse it. By midnight. And the fun of it is, you have no idea when that occurs, so you’ll anticipate the explosion every second,” he snickered. “Unless you find the countdown device, my Bride. There may be a hint,” he said mysteriously. “And know that if you are successful, we will ride off into the sunset together.”

He looked enraptured by the thought.

“Well, that might be tough, given that it’s almost midnight,” my snarky mouth just had to say.

Gary gave me a mean look. “Of course, if you fail, I will have nine Brides-in-Death, which holds an appeal of its own.”

“Quite a collection,” I gulped.

Gary backed out of the room with the gun. “Good luck, my Sweet.” Then he slammed and locked the door.

My heart sank. I glanced over at Mandy. “So the next crew doesn’t come in till 2am. We’re on our own. Hey, do you know anything about defusing a bomb, girl?” I was desperate.

“Well,” Mandy thought aloud, “I know what NOT to do.”

“Good point. Okay, so we know it’s 11:22pm and 43 seconds. I guess the Ol’ Time Sense is coming in handy.” I wiped my sweating palms on my pants. “Let’s take a look at these toys.”

There were dozens of items stacked everywhere. Boy, Gary-the-Crazy-Killer had gone all out in assembling tons of toys. It was going to take time to find this bomb. Time I didn’t have.

“You take the right side of the room, Mandy. I know you can’t touch the objects, but maybe you can take a peek inside each one to see if it carries the device. I’ll take the left side.” I tried to use my Mom-in-Charge Voice, hoping it would give me confidence.

It was a work in progress.

Mandy dutifully drifted over to the right, sticking her face through each toy, while I examined the tables on the left. Seconds, then minutes, passed. Time of which I was all too aware.

“So, you were a waitress?” I decided some small talk might defuse the tension. Defuse. Heh heh. See what I did there? Mentally, I kicked myself. So hilarious, Daisy.

“Yes,” Mandy murmured. “But not a very good one. I could never remember the orders right.”

“You don’t say?” I tried to sound shocked, while I examined a small, wooden windmill. No luck.

“Wait!” I pounced on a plastic clock of the Cow Jumping Over the Moon. “Something’s different about this one.” I studied it, while Mandy gazed her golden eyes my way. “Oh! The clock is working. I hear it ticking. Maybe that’s why Gary made a point of being mysterious about a hint?”

Breathlessly, I took apart the bovine.

Hey, what is it about me and cows?

Sure enough, I saw a timer set for six minutes and seven seconds. Those glowing red numbers counted down, matching my time sense to land at midnight exactly. My tense tummy tightened. Wires came out of the bomb … more than one.

“How many color wires are there? I see at least a green and a blue.” My voice shook.

Mandy floated over to a nearby shelf. “Here’s a box cutter, Daisy. That can help cut the wire.”

I snatched the tool and started carefully, oh-very-carefully, picking through the wires. My palms were wet again.

“Oh, great,” I despaired. “I count six different color wires. Blue, green, pink, red, yellow, and purple. The odds ain’t good, Mandy.”

I sat down on the concrete floor and took off the hard hat, wiping my sweaty brow. I felt like throwing up.

“I can’t believe the last convo I had with my son was about snot.”

Mandy looked more confused than ever, but I saw her golden face grow more determined. A new look for the chick.

“Six colors? Well, we know it’s not blue. That was my choice,” Mandy said helpfully. “And we have a secret weapon.” The ghost almost looked cheerful.

I didn’t need to glance at the clock to know it would read 2 minutes 57 seconds.

“Pray tell,” I begged.

Mandy whistled sharply. I jumped. So shoot me—sudden noises around things that go boom kinda spook me.

“Girls!” Mandy called, smiling.

“Moo … moo … moo … moo … moo … moo … moo …”

Wow. A cacophony of cows.

Seven other “Golden Girls,” not the sweet old ladies from the screen, I mean, but young yellow women, appeared in the room.

A tall no-nonsense ghost spoke up. “Okay, Miss Forgetful, what now?”

Mandy was on a roll, though. “Ladies, we have a chance to make things right. Less than two minutes left to the bomb on Daisy here. Let’s pool our resources and narrow down the color wire, so this young mom doesn’t suffer our fate.”

Go Mandy.

My hand clutching the box cutter relaxed just a smidge.

“Not the blue one,” Mandy repeated helpfully.

“Not the yellow one,” stated the no-nonsense ghost.

“Not the pink one,” cooed a cute plump chick.

“Not the green one,” chorused two other Golden Girls.

“And don’t pick the purple one,” added the last two ghosts.

I brightened. Hey, maybe I would see Year 29.

I took a deep breath. My internal clock told me it was 11 seconds to midnight. Nothing like getting down to the wire.

The wire. I just can’t help myself. Humor as defense mechanism, Daisy? Hey, whatever works.

“So … here goes … the red wire, chicklets—wish me luck …”

Sawing with the box cutter, I gulped.

SNAP!

A collective gasp.

Shaking, I patted my body.

“Still here!” I crowed. “And it’s midnight!”

The ghosts clapped.

“We did it!” Mandy crowed.

But then I saw the doorknob slowly turn. Oh yeah. Part two. Being a dumb bride of a stupid serial killer.

Hey, at least I’m alive.

Gary poked his smug face in the room. “My Bride! Ninth time’s the charm!”

The no-nonsense ghost commanded. “Use the box cutter, girl! Now!”

Okay, I’ve never stabbed anyone before, but desperate times and all. Without letting myself think, I lunged at the tall maniac and struck. I heard a wet “thwok” sound at his chest, and Gary was down for the count.

The ghosts cheered.

***

It was my lucky day. Okay, maybe not with a gun-toting serial killer in it, but hey, a cute police officer took my statement. And asked for my number.

Score.

The ghosts congratulated me and faded away. All but Mandy.

“I know I’m a little forgetful,” she offered shyly, “but, um, I did help, didn’t I?”

“You’re a peach,” I smiled. “Thank you for everything.”

As Mandy disappeared, the handsome police officer winked.

“You are welcome, Miss Daisy.”

I refocused my smile on those warm chocolate eyes. Yummy.

The police and I wrapped it up, and I climbed into my battered blue Honda Civic to go home to my beautiful, booger-y, baby boy. Life was good. The only thing that would dim my euphoria about now was …

“Moo …”

A golden Gary appeared in the backseat.

Gulp.

Uh oh.