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Fruit. Hummus. Rosé. Oh my God, Julia thought, I’m so bach-ing it.“I’m looking for ice cream,” said the man, his voice that low roll. He was dressed in a dark t-shirt and jeans. Middle-aged; tall, broad shoulders, face slightly chiseled, a two-day shadow. Average. But attractively average. “Dad bod,” Julia whispered to herself.“Sorry, what?” he asked.“You’re looking for ice cream.” Julia declared, louder, trying to recover.“Right,” he said, “That kind right there.” And despite that she’d been staring at that section for God knows how long, she looked through the glass like it was the first time. Oh. She was the in Häagen-Dazs section. The fancy, expensive kind. She looked up and down the freezer, God there was a ton of ice cream in grocery stores these days.“Which flavor do you like?” she asked, realizing she was asking because she wanted to know more about this decidedly above-average man who had suddenly interrupted her admittedly zoned-out shopping.“That kind. Lemon,” he said,. Booze-boy looked over his bottle: ‘Maybe we’re not doing this correctly.’ ‘Shh! I can feel presence,’ the leader exclaimed. ‘Yes! I can feel your presence, Dark Lord!’ Even twenty metres above ground Sibyl heard the rumbling coming from the ivy-covered crypt just behind the trio. A moment of silence followed, then the door flew open, creaking in its rusty hinges. From the dark rectangle a ghoul appeared, tramping backwards and pulling a rather new lead coffin into the open. ‘Oh, shit! Oh, shit!’ — ‘What is that thing?!’ — ‘Run! Oh, fuck! Keep running!’ Sibyl had trouble assigning the hysterical voices. The three teenagers kept yelling as they took flight through between the gravestones, tripping over tomb slabs and tree roots. Not that the ghoul was chasing them. It let go of its loot, probably more scared than the lads and lass (ghouls were cowards by nature). When the coffin bumped to the ground, the creature had already disappeared in the nearest grove. Nonetheless it could be.
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