SUCK IT, NERDS.

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     Oh, Holtz was so much cooler with the spider when it was in it’s enclosure but damn, is it freaky looking. And it doesn’t help that in the process of tracking the bugger down, she’s been freaking herself out with research. Hypochondriac? No. How about arachnochondriac?   ‘ The venom takes fifteen minutes to kill you! Fifteen! ’   But she’s sucking it up. She’s turning off the blowtorch and setting it aside and digging her massive welding gloves from within the deep pockets of her lab coat and tugging them on.   

“A macaroni—Holtzmann.” Her voice inflects upwards as her arms drop and she embodies a warmer, kinder stature. She can see it now, a smiling picture of the gang surrounded in crudely pasted and colored-in pasta. The sentiment alone is enough to make her forget about the furry tarantula gaining ground on their lunch order. “I bet it’s that photo from the picnic last month, isn’t it? Man, I was just gonna knit you some socks! You’re really upstaging me here. I gotta — gotta step up my game.”

         Erin remains as still as she dares, though the combination of creaking floorboards beneath her ( admittedly impractical and completely useless ) heels and flaring paranormal activity don’t particularly lend themselves to a leisurely moment of peace, slime or no slime.

         She knows it’s soaking all the way through her clothes, and that movement seems to further aid the process of it spreading, like treacle. Like something that shouldn’t take three days to fully wash off.

            “They should be,” she responds slowly, turning her head to look at Erin disbelievingly. “Being dead is no excuse for freshness.” That doesn’t stop them, though — ghosts are notoriously naughty, especially the ones they run into. She has yet to find a entity that doesn’t get it rocks off spooking the daylights out of the living, but she’s sure there are some out there just trying to live their un-life in peace. Her ghost will probably fall in the former category, if she’s being honest.