It was a broad, dry street, near sundown, somewhere off in the new wild west, and four of the roundest, whitest, healthiest skulls came rolling on into the town right after the last big day of the Dead. They rolled into a closed-down bar and hopped up on four tall, skinny stools. "Gimme a whiskey," drawled one. The other three wanted beer.
"You skulls must be new around here," said the ghost-barkeep, setting down their drinks. "What brings you to these parts?"
"We are gamblers," answered the smallest skull, who had a chip above his left eye-socket, somehow hefting his mug for a long refreshing draft.
"Yes," the middle and two larger skulls confirmed, also lifting and draining their drinks with some kind of strange power that gave them that ability as disembodied skulls. Then the smallest, chipped one spoke again. "We have been so long with the sound of war, we need something satisfying to refresh us
after all that dusty battle," he explained, smiling tightly.
"Here, I'll turn on the faucet," the bartender offered. They all just sat there trembling on the stools as that refreshing sound kept rushing out, thinking about their lives and how they felt trapped in this dimension of war and fear now even though they were peaceful by nature. Then the largest skull remarked how they must be wasting water by running the faucet like that, so the barkeep turned it off and the four skulls sat there on the barstools with the sound of war growing back into them all very slowly. Bad memories kept building up and every few hours they would ask the bartender to run that faucet again to wash them out. They kept hoping the sound of war and fear would wash away entirely, but none of them was certain, so they waited. They loved the earth.
Near the end of the night a tall, slender man burst in, twisting the ends of his moustache. "What's going on here!" he demanded, for no good reason. He was the town laughing-stock and this sort of impertinent outburst was part of his nature, breaking into abandoned bars and shouting things. He was wearing a red top hat and a long red travelling coat, one of the last remaining dandies from the old days before all the banks went bust and the people all crowded together
on the street searching for dimes and pennies underneath all the buses and cars.
"Hey not much, Mr. Sneed, how are you?" said the ghost- bartender. They were old friends. "What are you having?" He stood there wiping his hands with a phantom towel.
"Why, I'll have a-wait a minute, Charleston, what are these skulls doing here?"
"Well, gosh, sir, I don't know, they just came rolling in and hopped right up there on the-"
"We are the skulls of four children you murdered," said the smallest of skulls in a small, cold voice. "You, Jonathan Hackworth Snodgrass-Sneed!"
"Snodgrass-Sneed! Snodgrass-Sneed!" the other skulls intoned in a spooky chorus.
The town laughing-stock, who had, in fact, snuffed a few children here and there in the course of amassing his stake in the world, was quickly overcome and gathered his outlandish coat about himself while racing away through the dusty black streets with a quavering cry.
The four skulls laughed and laughed until the bar's roof shook. Even the ghost-barkeep thought it was funny. The skulls were glad to find a kindred spirit in him. They'd come all the way there out of hell full of laughing and mischief, and now they felt like having fun. For the rest of the night, with Charleston's help the skulls played pranks on anybody who entered the old closed-down bar. Sometimes they would pretend to be ornamental then start talking suddenly. Once an old hobo staggered uin off the street and started taking a leak in the corner: "Hey, easy there, mister! Ha ha ha!"
Things are strange in the unseen world. Sometimes we humans only sense it. These four skulls were buddies and emerging authors where they came from, and they'd been invited by their publishers to an "Adults Only Easter Egg Hunt" later that night. They sat around drinking and talking about it.
"So what does that mean, ‘adults only'?" uttered Percy, the smallest. "With fully matured pudendae?" The four skulls were back in the dusty street. All the living people in the town were fast asleep.
"Well, one hopes it refers to a higher attainment of sophistication," said the dry Daunforth. He wore a cowboy hat and a bandana. "Ha ha ha!"
The street was cobbled with small hard stones stuck in black tar. With a stick you could pry them loose to fling at all the cars and buildings, but these four skulls were in a hurry. The affair was to be held in the Blistering Ballroom just off Old Pebbles Lane downtown in the hardware district, right next to an all-night ghost breakfast joint called Happy Charlie's with a big smiley face on the window.
Charlie himself was smoking a corncob pipe when the skulls came rolling in for a bite before catching the show. He'd been dead for many years himself, but he came alive one night a year for the easter egg hunt. "Good morning, everyone!" he shouted at them in an unnaturally loud voice as they hopped up into a booth. "Sorry about that," he bluffed in a more reserved tone, knocking out his pipe against one shoe. "Let me offer you an Egg Breakfast Serenade, sir. You'd like one of those? Yes!"
Happy Charlie moved into the kitchen, emerging rapidly, loaded with saucers and plates. "And for you, my good sir, here is your Holy Toledo Egg Biscuit. For you, sir, it's an Egg Tornado Homeo-path . . . yum! What about you, Miss? One Horatio Horseshit Eggs! Of course! I'll fix an order right away!"
After eating, the four skulls went outside and ascended the tall, narrow staircase next door to the Blistering B. At the top, Comelco was handed a purple plastic egg stuffed with cornmeal. Above the stage hung a giant stuffed egg Baphomet with papier-maché horns affixed to lend the proceedings an air of the mystic.
"Good lord," hissed Daunforth, "What form of heresy is this?"
"It's an Easter egg Hunt," grinned little Percy, "Adults only! Follow me!"
Comelco and Daunforth rolled forward after him into the crowd of dead people who looked alive and well, which was already forming into eager groups of egg hunters. Only lovely Maria stayed behind. A waiter named Rodrigo with a tray of drinks worked his way over to her with a glistening smile.
"Care for a cocktail, Miss?"
Maria smiled, tilting slightly to one side for a better effect. "Make it a double, big boy!"
"You know," said Rodrigo, who fancied himself a ladies' man, "I'm very intrigued by you, Miss. You've come so far, all the way from the other side of life from the looks of it . . . and tonight you came rolling right into the Blistering Ballroom-to me!" He stooped down and gave her an impromptu tongue-kiss while precariously balancing the huge tray of drinks it was his lot in life to carry around everywhere. "Mmm, baby your mouth is so dry. Oops, sorry, wrong hole!"
But this romance was not to be. Comelco got into a fight with a gang of local farm boys swinging pitchforks, and Daunforth, Percy, and Maria pitched in to help defeat them. The waiter even lent a hand, and ended up cracking his ribs and dropping the whole tray of drinks, which crashed in twinkiing shards all over the floor as he did so. Poor Maria tried comforting him, but he'd had enough. "Well, at least I hope you'll read my book when it comes out next month. Will you?" But the waiter said nothing. "Poor Rodrigo!" wailed Maria.
"Come on, Maria, it's okay," said Percy. "You'll get over it. Come on."
"Yeah, Maria," said Comelco. "Just get over it."
"Let's go," said Daunforth. The four healthy skulls started rolling away down the road as the alleycats picked through the gutters for food and a new sun came on in the sky overhead, one more chance for everyone.
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