Whirlwind by Bailey Bradford (reading the story of the .txt) 📕

think up clothes if you wanted them—most everyone did. Stefan had only encountered a couple of nude spirits, and like the tales he’d heard about nude beach enthusiasts, he had to think it’d have been better for those particular spirits to remain clothed.

Okay, he could be a snobby little shit at times. Stefan knew he wasn’t perfect even if his spiritual brain was better than his physical one had been. He had the tendency to be a brat when he didn’t get his way, and he still liked peeking in on people when he shouldn’t, but jeez, that was about the only kind of sex he had unless he was beating off.

That didn’t justify him being a voyeur and he knew it. Stefan swore he’d stop. In all fairness, he hadn’t expected that Wally guy to pull it out and start whacking off at the gas station earlier. If he’d had any idea how disappointed he’d be upon seeing Wally’s bits, he’d surely have split a lot sooner.

Stefan looked down at his own cock. It was about average length, he guessed, six inches or so, but it was thick and veiny, and kind of on the ugly side because of it. He’d seen pretty dicks—long, elegant, pink, brown, mahogany, tan, ivory almost even, with sweet curves to them, or straight as a rail. The ones with only a thin vein or two were the ones he thought were gorgeous. His looked kinda too veiny in his opinion, but it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like he was waving it around at anyone.

Stefan tipped his head and listened. He grinned and thought his clothes back on as he was shooting through the air. Walls, schmalls, he went through them too until he was back outside and able to flutter Lee’s hair with ghostly fingers.

“Ack!” Lee spun around and swatted at him, much to Stefan’s delight. “I hate that! It gives me the heebie-jeebies, like someone’s dancing on my grave or something.”

Stefan had never really understood that phrase. How would being creeped out make someone feel that they were psychic and aware of something that would happen after their death? It was just a stupid saying. He needed to quit over-analyzing it.

“Can you get the water?” Darren asked as he got out of the car with recyclable canvas grocery bags hanging from his arms. “I’ve got the food.”

“Yeah.” Lee opened the back passenger door. “Too bad Stef can’t help us carry everything in.”

It wasn’t like Stefan was going to be using any of the groceries, but he wouldn’t have minded helping. Times like that, he did miss being alive after all. Conner could cause a whirlwind that would lift up the groceries. Stefan wasn’t that talented—yet. But he was determined to get there some day. Conner said he was strong, and stubborn, a combination that should do him good except for when he put his mind to doing something he ought not to.

Stefan settled for whipping up a brisk wind around the chickens. Darren hated one of them in particular, a Rhode Island Red that was hell-bent for Darren’s blood. The original bird that had been here years ago had long since passed on, and though Darren had sworn he hated that rooster, he’d gone right out and bought another one. There’d always been a mean, aggressive rooster on the property ever since.

“Stefan!” Darren yelped as the rooster squawked and came at him. Stefan giggled and managed a gust of wind that put Sweety, the inappropriately named red rooster, slightly off course. Good thing too, since Darren was wearing shorts. His legs would have been left bloody by ol’ Sweety.

The rooster shook out his feathers and flapped his wings. Stefan had a hard time not being intimidated by the evil look in the bird’s beady eyes. The rooster clucked and cocked his head. Stefan wondered if the rooster could see him or sense him somehow. It wasn’t the first time an animal had seemed to be aware of him.

Sweety let out a warning squawk right before launching himself at Stefan. Stefan didn’t think it was a lucky guess on the bird’s part, either. Stefan shot up a good six feet in the air and barely kept from yelping. The rooster couldn’t hurt him.

It was a moot point, just like having his heart slam against his ribs in rapid staccato was. He didn’t have an actual heart, and couldn’t fathom why his mind insisted on reliving sensations he hadn’t particularly enjoyed the first time around—who the hell enjoyed panic and borderline terror?

“I’m going to choose to believe Stefan just sacrificed himself for my safety,” Darren said as he hurried up the porch steps. “Why is it I keep replacing those mean roosters when they die?”

“Because you’re a masochist?” Lee suggested, which earned him a light kick to his backside when he joined Darren on the porch. “Careful, wouldn’t want you to damage the goods.” Lee waggled his eyebrows and shook his butt.

Stefan made gagging noises even though he knew they wouldn’t hear him. God, he really was surrounded by happy couples. And evil chickens.

That was it. He was going to go brood in the graveyard. Stefan fluttered around his brother for a second. He wanted a hug so bad, but—in a heartbeat he was soaring, outside, the sky blue and bright surrounding him.

The town of McKinton was laid out in almost a perfect square now. Before the oil boom, only Main Street had been very built up. Now there were buildings all over.

The graveyard wasn’t deserted like Stefan had hoped. His irritation at that ceased when he looked at the middle-aged woman standing beside a fresh grave. She held a small bouquet of yellow and white flowers in her hands, along with a few tissues.

Tears streaked her face. Her chin quivered and her nose was red, not just on the tip, but almost all of it, like she’d been crying hard for a long time. Her eyes were puffy, and heavy bags