A/N: The picture of that girl (no clue who she is) is what inspired Macabre and Annabelle's character.  Just click the over button.                                    

                                                      Macabre: the Gothic Boutique

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I frowned at the purple and black flyer stuck to my car windshield. Snatching the flapping paper, I stepped back, eyeing my car, or Smo as I called it. The truth is that my car was evil, evil to the core. Christine had nothing on Smo.

I lifted the garish advertisement and read it again. "Three hundred—" I tried to whistle, but it sounded more like a fart. I glanced over my shoulder making sure no one had heard my lame attempt. "Are these people high?" I mumbled.

Smo had holes and cracked leather seats that pinched. Passengers had to straddle either side of the floor or risk losing a foot. The AC spat out a molding, blue cheese smell. If I wanted music, I had to sing to myself. Now maybe the people distributing this flyer didn't know that, but the gaping holes and rust spots on the outside of the brown death trap were obvious. Either they didn't have eyes, or they were on some serious shit.

The paper crinkled as I fisted it. Not having the heart to litter, I opened the door and tossed it in the back seat. Swinging my work bag off my shoulder, it followed, landing across the caving seats. I shook my keys out of my pocket and plopped down. Heaving a sigh, I smoothed my hands over the steering wheel and tried to swallow down the guilt of hating my car as I prayed that it started.

I'd wanted to get rid of this car so many times, but it fell to two things: I was broke, and the car had been a 'going-away-college' gift from my dad. He loved projects and rationalized their condition to me because it was a classic that 'the two of us could fix up together.' More like a classic piece of junk, I figured, but who can beat free? Plus, I was too ashamed to tell him that I could barely afford rent, let alone new parts for a '71 Oldsmobile.

The sad part was that Dad thought I was attending my first year at the University of New Orleans. The truth was that none of us could afford my college tuition. So I lied and told my parents I'd gotten a full ride.

"Sorry, Pops," I whispered, knocking my knuckles against the dashboard. "Fourteen more months and I'll have enough for the first two semesters."

I worked third shift at a nursing home. I liked interacting with residents, but third shift paid more. It allowed me and Maggie, my best friend and tag-a-long, to search for another job during the day. No luck yet, though Maggie didn't do serious looking like I did.

Frowning, I glanced back at the flyer. I guess we haven't tried everywhere.

I aimlessly reached into my bag, searching for my cell phone to call Maggie. "Mags, pick up! It's seven AM, time to start looking. You're dad's not gonna give you any more money if you don't pay off your credit cards and you can't do that if you don't have a job, so you better be awake when I get there!" I turned in my seat and squeezed my arm between the middle consoles to reach for the paper. "I think I have somewhere you might like too."

Maggie's father had money, a lot of it. He was some CEO founder of this large company that I didn't care about, but other people did. He wasn't super stingy with his money, but when Maggie said she was moving with me to New Orleans, he pitched a fit. I wasn't exactly his favorite person. I was the Podunk girl from the wrong side of the tracks whose parents lived paycheck to paycheck and allowed their daughter to dye her hair and get multiple piercings from an unlicensed gang member making some side money.

The day I met Maggie's father I'd looked like a bad version of Sailor Neptune. Even now, I colored my black hair, but with my new job, I graduated to just coloring the bottom tips of my long curly mane. This week it was tipped purple. Yet according to her father, I would forever be that poor girl who always got his beloved daughter into trouble.

I scowled as I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment complex. The broken pebbles and weed-infested cracks made for a bumpy ride. Another month here, and I'd probably need some replacement tires.

I heaved a sigh as I parked.

Unfortunately, saving money for college meant crappy living conditions. All complete with a small bathroom, a possessed stove that turned on in the middle of the night, and trying to convince Maggie that Spaghetti-o's and ramen were a major food group.

An obnoxious knock rattled the window. I yelped, then turned to scowl at the tall brunette with a high ponytail. Why she insisted on having it so high all the time was beyond my comprehension. She looked like a deranged cheerleader. I rolled down the window realigning it after every inch it went down. "Hey, would you be easy on the merchandise?"

Maggie bent down, settling her arms against the door. Her hazel eyes twinkled with excitement. "Be ready an hour early tonight. We're gonna party."

"Maggie-"

"No! Don't start!" Maggie pointed at me. "It's your weekend off, and all we've been doing for the past month is job searching and working... well, you've been working. I've been stuck inside that horror –" she pointed back at the apartment complex "-for too long. I need to do something productive."

"Your idea of productive is drink, barf, repeat," I mumbled.

Maggie nodded. "Exactly."

"We don't have the money to go out."

"Have you looked at me and you lately? We won't be buying anything!"

I rolled my eyes.

"Seriously Bee, can't we just get breakfast, sleep all day, and party all night?"

"Yes to two of those."

Maggie pouted and stomped her foot. She knew which ones I was thinking about. "You're no fun anymore!"

I rubbed my temples. "I'm just tired, Mags. I wanna be sixteen again when I didn't have to worry about where to live or how I'm going to pay for it."

Maggie pulled open the door and reached for my hand to get me out of Smo. "I know, and I'm sorry I'm not helping. Daddy's going to give in soon, and then you won't have to work so much. I'll pay for everything!"

"You can't always depend on your dad to fix things for you. As much as we despise each other, I'm with him on this decision. You don't want to stay in your father's shadow your whole life, do you? You should want more for yourself than that. I want more for you than that!"

She shrugged and held up two hands, visibly weighing her options. "Free money or hard work? It's a no-brainer."

The snort I let out tickled my nose. "I got a place we haven't tried applying at yet."

"Ooh, me too," Maggie said, reaching into her Coach bag. She fished out a purple piece of paper that looked suspiciously like the gaudy piece of work I'd gotten on my windshield.

"Macabre the Gothic Boutique," she started, but I stopped her by holding up a finger and wiggling my identical advertisement in her face.

"I got one too," I said.

"I could use one of my credit cards and buy this. It'd be pretty interesting."

Maggie used to have only one credit card with no limit, but when her father took it away a month ago, she'd applied for other cards and was working her way to maxing them all out. For the most part, I kept quiet about her spending habits. Especially since it's October and Halloween is just around the corner, but three-hundred dollars for something this stupid wasn't happening.

"Maggie, this is the biggest Halloween rip-off I've ever seen. I can't let you do this."

She pouted her lip-glossed lips and tugged gently on my hand. "Please?"

"No," I said stubbornly but deflated as my curiosity peaked. I bent down and reached for my bag. "Of course, I'm not opposed to looking around the shop after we put our applications in."

Maggie brightened but failed to maintain the mischievous glint in her eyes. "Fabulous."

"You won't talk me into it. So don't even think about it," I said. I settled the strap of my work bag on my shoulder and walked towards our apartment.

"Well, we'll see. It's my money anyway. If I want to spend it on fake stuff I will. I'll buy one for you too. That way, we can have two experiences each."

"Over my dead body," I said gloomily, walking down the sidewalk that branched off towards five groups of housings. "So, what did you do today?"

Her petite nose wrinkled. "Fought with Patches... that kitten has it in for me!"

I smirked over my shoulder at her. "You're the one that bathes him all the time."

Maggie wiggled her shoulders and lifted her chin with defiance. "He's dirty. He uses the kitty litter box way too much. I think you over-feed him."

"He's not dirty! He's a good kitty! If he didn't use the litter box, it'd be all over," I said and glanced back when I reached the door. "I forgot my key."

"So what else is new?" she mumbled, walking around me with her copy.

As soon as we walked in, I shucked my blue Crocs off and called out for him, "Patches, come to momma."

When he didn't come I walked into the now spotless living room and found his mostly gray body curled on the couch in a deep sleep. I called him Patches because he had a tiny white patch over his left eye, but the rest of him was a blueish gray. I'd fallen in love the minute I saw him at the rescue shelter. He was the splurge buy of the year for me. He was worth it.