“I-I’m terribly sorry, but could you help me?”

The witch turned around and around in confusion. “Yes, hello?”

“I’m here, I’m just… invisible. Sunlight and all. Out of phase.”

“Oh! Simple matter.” A spell was cast and what had appeared to be an abandoned shopping cart was soon joined by a fanciful phantom.

So set, the phantom continued her shopping: mermaid hair pasta, hag’s breath herb bundles, imp horn garlic. Over the sauce choices she fretted, “I have a date tonight, you see,” she told a passing pixie before asking about her brand preferences. “Every detail must be perfect.”

A phantom is overcome with meal prep at the Grossery Store. Not to worry, plenty of creatures come to her aid.

“Do you have a bread picked out? I’ve dough rotting at home, I’ll cut you off a batch.”

“Are you serving a wine? I have a bottle of liquid shadow that would go perfect with his bread, I’ve had it, it is die for. Well, die again for.”

“What of dessert? Very important you know! The bakery is having a special, poison oak crumbles.”

By the time the phantom finished at the check out, a small army had been inadvertently assembled. By moon rise, in addition to the above, floating candles had been found, a table cloth/mourning shroud had been retrieved from a grave, and three severed hands helped with the kitchen prep as a floating head rattled off instructions, taste tested everything, and finally declared it all perfect.

Right on cue, the doorbell bellowed with the screams of the damned and the phantom rushed everyone out the back door, thanking them profusely and promising updates in the morning. The doorbell screamed again and the phantom rushed to answer — taking one last look in the mirror and adjusting her hair and dress. “I hope this looks alright,” she said to the reflectionless surface.

The phantom opened the door with a moon-bright smile, and in awe of her date, forgot to speak, forgot to invite her in for a moment.

“I… hiii…” she blurted out with joyous nervousness.

From seemingly everywhere, music crept through the crisp night air like thieving fingers.

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