The bright fire crackled and burned, yet those sitting around it shivered. Halloween. You could almost feel the ghosts and spirits in the air.
"Evil Editor," I said. "He's really a ghost."
Robin rolled her eyes. "Okay, I'll bite."
"It's the house. He's there. He died a few years ago, according to the locals. No wonder it was dirt cheap."
"How do you know it was EE's old house?" Buffy asked.
"Their description of him. How many men do you know wear muttonchops in the twenty-first century?" I countered.
"He was working on a Grisham novel and just keeled over before finishing it. Now he roams in search of the perfect manuscript to edit."
"But what about his blog?"
"Oh, he runs that. His computer pops on at odd hours of the day—on its own."
"So you're living with the ghost of Evil Editor."
"Is he here now?" Dave asked. He sounded skeptical.
"I don't think so."
"Make him show himself."
"Oh, the only way he'll do that outside the house is if you have Grisham on hand. EE's got a bone to pick."
"Does he?" a new voice said. We all sat up. We could barely see him beyond the smoke of the fire, but we knew those blue eyes anywhere. "John Grisham!" I yelled.
"Bring him out."
"No need," said yet another voice.
EE came out of the shadows. "Your manuscript literally killed me, Grisham. I can't get any peace since I read it. Tell me how it ends or you will meet the same fate."
"Oh, EE, you know I can't do that. Contractual obligations and all."
"Fine," EE said. "We'll fight over it."
Grisham smiled. It was unpleasant. "Yes, of course we will."
The battle of the titans had begun.