Roadkill TUEBL Edition by Leonard Kirke Page B

Dog and the Skunk ran
after him, trying to keep up.

Five
    They came to a place where the forest receded from the
roadside. In the clearing was a row of houses. The Possum approached the first
one they passed. It was a small, one-story white house with blue doors and
shutters. A light shone through one of the four windows, but aside from that
there appeared to be no activity, at least none that posed any threat to the
ghostly travelers.
    A large plate of food sat on the front porch. It appeared to
be some sort of pet food, a type of kibble. Unlike any pet food any of them
recognized, however, this food was glowing light blue, the same color as their
own spectral bodies. After inspecting it for only a moment, the Dog and Skunk
began digging in as if they hadn't eaten in days. The Possum smiled as he
watched them eat.
    "See? I told you it was good!" The Possum was
clearly proud of himself, and satisfied that he'd atoned for his pranks
earlier. "There are other houses that do this, too. It's like a ritual or
something around here. They leave out food for ghosts!"
    "I wonder why they do that?" the Dog spoke between
mouthfuls, "How do they even know ghosts are around, or that they get
hungry? I've never heard of leaving out food for ghosts before."
    "Isn't that a religious practice in Asia
somewhere?" the Skunk wondered aloud, "You know, to honor the spirits
of ancestors?"
    "Hey, yeah, I think I have heard of that." replied
the Dog, "This isn't Asia, though. I don't know why people would do
something like that around here."
    "It is odd..." the Skunk mumbled with her mouth
full, "maybe it's an Asian neighborhood."
    Suddenly, one of the trashcans near the end of the driveway
toppled over. Garbage spilled out onto the lawn and along with it was a ghostly
Raccoon.
    "Hey!" shouted the Dog, "What are you doing
here? Were you eavesdropping on us?"
    "I'm here for the same reason as you. Food." The
Raccoon seemed rather unconcerned with being found, as he focused nonchalantly
on picking the garbage out of his ethereal fur. "But I'm not going to eat
any of that "ghost food" crap. Look at yourselves. Look at what it
does to you."
    The other three animals examined themselves. At first, none
of them seemed to notice any difference. But as they began to compare
themselves with the Raccoon, they did notice something rather different about
him. He was more...opaque.
    "I...I thought it was my imagination," the Dog
muttered, "are we...lighter than we were before?"
    "You got it, slick," the Raccoon replied
confidently, "that stuff makes you more and more transparent. That's why I
stopped eating it. It turns you into more of a ghost until you're so ghostly
that you don't even exist anymore."
    "How do you know that?" the Possum asked,
skeptical of the Raccoon's self-assured manner.
    "Logic. Food equals greater transparency. Food plus
more food equals a lot more transparency. Too much transparency equals ceasing
to exist." The Possum's hope to humble the Raccoon didn't work out, as the
Raccoon sounded even more self-assured than before.
    "Wait," the Dog interrupted, "even if that's
true, and this stuff does make you more transparent, how do you know it doesn't
just make you invisible?"
    "Invisible?!" the Possum said excitedly,
"I've always wanted to be invisible! Give me that!" The Possum
grabbed the plate and began scarfing down more of the
food.
    "I know," continued the Raccoon, "because of
logic plus observation. Think for a minute. How do you feel now, after eating
that stuff, compared to a few minutes ago?"
    "I feel warm and full..." said the Skunk.
    "Yes, but besides that?"
    "I guess I kind of feel...I can't put my finger on
it..." the Dog struggled to find the words, "...more tired? It's like
it's harder to focus."
    "Trust me," the Raccoon said with unwavering
confidence, "the more you eat that stuff, the more you feel that way. When
I realized what it was doing to me, I swore off of it."
    "But it's soooo good..."
the Skunk whined.
    "No argument