Whispers… whispers, telling me to wake up.

Kirsty… wake up now, Kirsty …a man’s voice.

Darkness fades to gray. Gray fades to sunlight probing at my eyelids. No, not sunlight. I open my eyes to bright lights above me, and despite the mask over my nose and mouth, I can smell disinfectant. Everything feels a little hazy, but I know I’m in a hospital bed. When I try to move my arms, they connect with the rails on the sides of the bed. I go to move my legs, but…

I can’t feel them.

Panic freezes my heart. I look down to see a white sheet covering my spread legs. I can see my feet – in stirrups. They’re definitely my feet – I painted my nails alternate green and red. I try to wiggle my toes but they don’t move.

Someone coughs, murmurs something. There’s someone down there between my legs. Then comes a response to the murmur – a female talking to a male – nurse and doctor, I guess.

I wonder if I’m pregnant. I wonder if I’ve been in an accident. I wonder what the hell is going on.

I take the mask from my face and speak up. ‘Hello?’

There comes a male grunt in reply and the doc stands up, rising beyond the sheet like a magician through a trapdoor. He tugs the surgical mask from his face. He’s sweaty, looks pained, tired.

‘You’re back with us, Miss Adams.’

‘Am I all right?’ I ask.

He lets out a sigh at that, just as nursey rises beyond the sheet; a skinny hot redhead. Great, just what I need between my chunky thighs. Not.

‘I’m sure you’ll be fine,’ the doc says. He holds up a nasty looking speculum. ‘But I’m going to need a bigger tool for the job. I’ll be right back.’ And with that he stalks off.

‘Wait! I can’t feel my–’

But he’s gone.

‘Your legs,’ nursey says. ‘don’t worry, honey. We had to numb you. Everything’ll be just fine.’

‘What happened to me?’

She smiles at me, a knowing smile. I notice her hand is hidden behind the sheet. I have the weirdest feeling that she’s touching me up. I feel my face burning.

‘Maybe, now that you’re awake, you can tell us what happened,’ she says.

I shake my head, grab the mask and cover my face with it, breathe in the heady gas and air.

Nursey raises her pretty eyebrows at me in question.

What did happen? I don’t know. I tell her that I can’t remember a thing.

‘Never mind,’ she says, ‘I need to get some fresh swabs. Won’t be long.’

She disappears below the sheet. When she bobs back up again, she’s holding a plastic tub piled high with bloody swabs. She hears my gasp and looks my way.

‘What the hell is wrong with me?’ I almost scream.

She gives me an embarrassed smile, then her eyes flick away to the floor.

‘Please tell me.’

‘Kirsty,’ she says and my heart is in my mouth, ‘I’m only here to assist. The doctor will be back shortly, he’ll…’ she glances at my spread legs, ‘fill you in, I’m sure.’

‘But… how did I get here?’ She could tell me that at least.

‘Paramedics brought you in. You were pretty darn delirious.’

I ask her if the paramedics said anything. Ask her if I said anything. She thinks for a moment. ‘Yeah, you did say something, just before we put you under. You said you’d had the craziest day of your life, and that you’d… how did you say… hit the freaking jackpot.’

‘And that was it?’

‘That was it.’

She glances once more between my legs, smiles a smile that looks too much like a smirk for my liking, and then she’s gone. The door of the little room swings shut and I’m left alone with my legs spread wide and a whole load of unanswered questions.

I lie back, staring at the white sheet covering my raised legs, trying to remember. Something. Anything. And then it clicks… it’s the white sheet. Of course it is. It all started with a white sheet.

* * *

I’m in the kitchen at home, with the white sheet over my head. Two eyeholes and a hole for my mouth and once again I’m transformed into a terrifying ghost. NOT.

I could despair. I do freaking despair. Jocelyn and Michelle are due any minute for our Sunday morning catch-up, where we get to show off our costumes for the Halloween party. Last year, Jocelyn was a crazy vamp, and Michelle was the bride of Chucky. They both looked gorgeous, of course. And I was the sheet, as Michelle has grown to call me. She laughs every time, and I get why, but that doesn’t help with me feeling like a frump. I’m too short. My ass is too fat. And I’ve been playing the sheet every year since I can remember.

I raise my arms to the mirror and give a few unconvincing whooooos and wahhhhhhs.

The girls arrive and I sit at the island, still with the sheet over my head, as Jocelyn and Michelle bring out their costumes and start getting undressed. That’s another thing I could never do; get undressed like that, in front of people, even my best friends.

Jocelyn wriggles out of her leggings and pulls her top off. And Michelle has discarded her jumper and is pushing down her jeans. In just their underwear, they giggle as they pull their costumes from their bags.

I’m so envious. They both look so gorgeous.

Jocelyn whips her bra off, dons a neon-green corset and Michelle nips it in tight for her. Jocelyn’s already generous tits now look enormous as they bulge at the material. I tell her she’s showing nipple.

‘Maybe I’ll leave them on show,’ she says, shaking those tits with a shimmy.

She adds a flowing black skirt, puts her hands on her hips, and declares that she’s a filthy whore.

‘You look beautiful, babe,’ I tell her.

Michelle has the complete Dorothy getup. Blue gingham dress, little white ankle socks with frills. She ties her hair into pigtails, tucks a toy dog under her arm and slips her slender feet into ruby shoes that have way too-high heels to be called slippers.

I sigh under the sanctuary of my white sheet. ‘You look gorgeous too, babe.’

Jocelyn tells me I should buy a tutu and be a fairy. I tell her my ass is too big for anywhere freaking near fairy-like.

Michelle’s suggestion that a Jabba the Hutt costume might work wonders, leaves me speechless. She apologizes. But still.

‘You both look totally hot as fuck,’ I tell them.

My besties kiss me and hug me before they leave. Michelle assures me there’s nothing wrong with the sheet. ‘You’re a legend,’ she tells me.

I laugh along with them until the front door clicks shut. But I’m fuming. Probably more with myself than anything else. Same old shit, different day – or year, in my case.

Anyways, I pull the sheet off and drop it on the floor and resort to doing what I usually do when I’m feeling low, push my pants down and lean against the island while my fingers get to work. I close my eyes and Lucifer himself – AKA the extremely lickable Tom Ellis – is on his knees, whispering sweet nothings with his lips against my clit. I groan, I moan, then I actually shriek when the front door swings open and Michelle marches back in.

I slam my hands flat to the island and freeze. She doesn’t seem to notice my horrified blushing face. She’s waving a piece of paper – a flyer – she slaps it down on the island and shoves it over to me.

‘Would you look at that,’ she says, ‘it was tucked under the wiper on your car.’

For Her Sins

Fancy dress costumes and magic tricks.

Tired of being the same old ghost?

And there’s a cartoon picture of someone with a white sheet over their head and their arms raised and a speech bubble proclaiming WHOOOOOOOOOO and WAHHHHHHHHH.

We can transform you!

It’s unreal. It’s surreal. That damn ghost could be me.

‘Fucking spooky huh?’ Michelle says.

‘Yeah,’ I agree, and I can’t quite believe the coupon printed alongside.

$50 DISCOUNT – TODAY ONLY!

‘Are you okay?’ Michelle asks. ‘You look a bit… hot.’

I’m suddenly aware of my own wetness on my thighs, aware that my pants are halfway down and I’m sure my face is close to combusting. I tell her I’m fine. She tells me we should go, now, to get me transformed.

I tell her I’ve got plans right now, that I’ll think about it. Thankfully she believes me, tells me she’ll catch me later. And then she’s gone.

I head to the shower, and while Tom finishes what he started, I can’t get that cartoon ghost out of my mind.