Beach Day

10: Noted Pickle Fan, Tiff Sheridan

"Not yet. She's probably not a zombie or ghoul but, other than that..."

"What's the difference, again?" Esther takes a bite of her burger; a jalapeno crunches under her teeth, and she winces. "I can never— Ew. I can never remember."

"Well, it's largely a game of semantics. Colloquially, they're the same. If you don't have to know, then you don't have to know, and yadda yadda yadda. But while they're both undead and both consume flesh, a zombie is assumed to have a degree of sentience that ghouls don't have. Ghouls are like thralls— though I'll admit I'm more familiar with traditional zombinoid undead than vampiric undead, but I've never— Well, shit, I have met a vampire before, but she's never thralled anyone. Anyway, the main difference is sentience and self-control. That's really it. There's a lot of types of undead, especially ones from different countries and cultures, transplanted here by immigration and general cultural bleedthrough, but... Well..."

"So you think the girl is... What? A ghoul? A zombie?"

Tiff shakes her head. She looks down at her lap, where she has been unknowingly picking at her hamburger's bun while speaking. She looks away. "Neither. I think she might be more like Despina than... a ghoul, or a zombie. She's here for a reason. Something is keeping her here and animating her, right? That's how this goes. Maybe it's grief, or some other equally-powerful force." Tiff looks at the plain off-white lampshade, then away again. "And that's why I need to know some town history I don't have access to. I feel like it has something to do with our family. It's in the nose. it's in the eyes. I wonder— maybe she's like us, you know? Like the two of us I mean. Strange and rejected and forgotten-on-purpose."

Aunt Esther nods, clearly having taken that in. "Did you want these jalapenos?"

"Yes, please." It isn't even a question.

"Open your sandwich then, Grapenut." Aunt Esther leans across to deposit the green little guys into the sandwich as soon as Tiff does so. "What is it that you need to know, then?"

"Missing and murdered girls in Fort Reverence from... sometime in the 1970s, based on her... clothes."

"Well, you certainly said that last bit very oddly. Can I ask how you know it was the 1970s based on her clothes? Tiff, you're on record as 'not giving half a shit about fashion history.'" Aunt Esther raises her eyebrows in a very motherly form of curiosity.

There's the issue inherent to it. Of all the things Tiff has rambled about ad nauseum ad infinitum, she's pretty sure that she has never mentioned the way that she can technically have visions.

Visions are a sore subject in the Cain household. Tiff knows her aunt has them. She mentioned it off-handedly when Tiff brought up a subset of her friends dealing with the same affliction. Of course she hasn't asked about it. Of course she has kept her mouth shut about the way her mind seems capable of something but was not called to it by some grim hand of fate, but by fracturing and practice.

She can't lie, though; she's worse at omission. Tiff takes a jalapeno-filled bite of burger to mask her words. "I technically saw it in a vision, but I guess it could have just been—" She swallows the mouthful of meat, sauce, and cheese. "It could have just been what she was wearing?"

Her aunt narrows her eyes at her. "Pardon? Did you just say what I think you said?"

"That our mystery lady is still wearing clothes?"

"Tiffany May, I know exactly what you just said. I'm giving you the opportunity to explain before I ask."

She swallows again, though there's nothing in her mouth this time. She can be good old Tiff, right? She puts on the classic overenthusiastic voice and demeanor even though she knows she fucked up and this could potentially get very dicey. (Aunt Esther would never kick her out. She reminds herself of that two times, and then one more for good measure.)