“If I’m late, Grandpa will lose his temper again!”
As soon as Vanessa finished, Tony snarled at me:
“Consider yourself lucky tonight, bastard. Next time I see you, you’re dead meat!”
Without waiting for me to reply, he drove off with Vanessa.
I stood there, bemused, muttering to myself:
“So this is the gentle, well-mannered Vanessa Lee Grandpa told me about?”
“Her personality is nothing like what he described. With such an arrogant, overbearing fiancée, I’m not sure I can go through with this marriage…”
I shook my head and let it go.
Even though Tony had drunkenly swerved and hit me, I didn’t call the cops.
After all, I had eight urns in my van. If the police showed up, I’d have a hard time explaining.
Most importantly, I had to get those eight “passengers” delivered to Greenwood Cemetery before midnight. No delays.
Just as I restarted the van, my eyes went wide—I nearly shouted.
Only seven urns remained.
One ghost was missing.
Could it be that while I argued with Tony, one of the “passengers” slipped away?
This was bad.
My family has always walked the line between the living and the dead.
We bless the living, guide the dead.
Each generation hides its true role behind an ordinary job.
My great-great-grandfather was an executioner.
My great-grandfather ran a funeral home.
My grandfather served as a county coroner.
I had hoped to become a mortician at a crematory, but they only hired college graduates in mortuary science. That was frustrating.
In the end, following Grandpa’s advice, I got a driver’s license and became a “black car” driver.
Tonight was my hundredth job.
If I delivered these eight “passengers” safely to Greenwood Cemetery and through Hell’s Gate, I’d be considered fully trained, ready to carry the family mantle.
Then Grandpa could finally retire and spend his time line dancing with the ladies at the senior center.
Who would’ve thought tonight would turn into such a mess?
The seven ghosts left in the van stared at me, as if restless.
I snorted, bit my fingertip, and drew protective sigils of blood across the urns.
At once, the ghosts settled down.
Slamming the accelerator, I sped off in the direction the Maybach had gone.
The missing “passenger” was a deranged woman.
She’d once worked as a clerk at a luxury boutique, dealing with wealthy clients every day. Over time, she grew arrogant, looking down on the poor.
But just days ago, her life fell apart. Her husband fled town with gambling debts, she lost her job, and when creditors came knocking, she snapped.
Grabbing a kitchen knife, she lashed out—only to slip on the stairs and fall to her death.
Tonight, on Halloween, the gates of Hell stood open. And it was also her seventh night of returning.
If I didn’t send her through Hell’s Gate soon, she’d turn into a vengeful spirit and wreak havoc.
I was certain she was now inside Vanessa’s car.
