SILENT SCREAM OF THE ZOMBIE


Thursday nights at the museum were far from busy.  At least, for the most part.  Exhibitions closed, most of the staff gone for the night, only the two security guards remained.  Two guards, and Layla Sabri.
The gifted young graduate student found these midnight shifts at the museum to be her favorite.  No voices to distract her from her work.  No guests, no questions, just Layla and the stacks of books, reams of historical paperwork and boxes of items in need of cataloging.  Which was why, when a scream echoed down the long halls of the museum, the shock nearly made Layla cry out herself!
Layla had been dressed for a long night’s work: white tank top, hip-hugging slacks and a tight ponytail.  Aside from her tight black leather Weitzmans, Layla could have made an easy break for it.  The fearful research student placed a hand over her heart, and slowly pushed her chair away from the desk- though not before tapping out a quick message on her phone, and hitting “send.”
Layla walked carefully when she got up, not wanting to be seen before she could see what was going on.  The young Egyptian-American student’s heart was in her throat.  The scream was a man’s … one of the security guards, Layla had to assume.  Where was the other?  Why wasn’t the alarm going off, if someone had broken in?  It wasn’t often that the young history student didn’t have any answers, and she didn’t care for the feeling.
Coming toward a corner, Layla stopped.  Peering around, she cast a quick glance around the high-walled marble hallway.  At first, there was nothing- then, a shadow crossed the floor.  Tall and lanky, accompanied by the shuffling of shoes.  Layla put a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp.  She could feel sweat forming across her brow.  And the shadow stopped.
Biting her lip, Layla slowly crept back.  Somehow, the intruder had heard her.  Slowly, Layla peeled her shoes off her feet, figuring her stocking feet would make less noise against the marble flooring.  Leaving them, Layla backed up, step by step, until she felt her perky bottom come bumping into a firm, unexpected figure!
“AH!” she cried out, standing straight up.  Spinning around, the young woman stared straight up at another towering figure.  Arms flat at his sides, the man loomed over her with a glazed, uncaring expression.  The first place that Layla’s mind went to, looking at him, were the lifeless recreations of mummified bodies that the museum would piece together.  Her second thought was to make a break for it, but a strong hand shot out to clasp her, holding her tight!
“Oww,” Layla whimpered.  She jerked back, but the intruder’s fingers wouldn’t budge.  Clumsily, Layla’s fist pounded down on his chest, to no avail.  He didn’t even react to her blows, instead holding her tight.  Looking past the frightened young woman, the brute began to walk.  Layla was dragged along, realizing how useless and futile her attempts at resistance were.
The towering man shuffled down the hall, with Layla in tow.  Layla’s eyes widened in horror as, at the end of the hall, she saw the body of one of the museum security guards- his face a grim mask of death, the life choked clean out of him.  Above him, there loomed another of these impassive, intimidating men.  The same plain clothes, the same uncaring expression.  Layla chewed her lip, panic mounting as these ghastly men dragged her unwilling self across the hall.
“Hold it!”  Layla’s ears perked up, as she heard the heavy footfalls of boots coming down the hall.  “Let Miss Sabri go,” warned an elderly voice.  In both hands, the museum security guard was gripping his taser.  Layla didn’t know if the guard knew what had happened to his partner, or what was even happening to her.  Layla’s eyes widened in horror, however, as she saw a lanky arm reach from the darkness, grab the guard by his neck, and kill him with a single jerk!
“AAAHH!”  Layla shrieked, watching the old guard fall to the floor.  A third lumbering brute stepped out of the darkness.  With an arm, the murderer clutched a small bronze item.  Layla strained her eyes, trying to identify it: an urn of some sort, but in the dim light she couldn’t place exactly which of the museum’s artifacts it was.  All she could make out was the general shape, and the shards of display case glass protruding from the lanky monster’s arm.  A chill ran down Layla’s spine, as she felt a powerful hand clamp down around her neck, threatening her with the same fate that had just befallen those poor, poor guards …
Before that could happen, however, a white disc came flashing into view.  In a flash, it bounced off of one lumbering brutes’ skull to another, knocking both off balance.  Jerking forward, Layla fell to the ground and scrambled away from her assailants.  She didn’t stop until she came to a pair of white boots.  Looking up, Layla saw the svelte figure of her savior, the Gossamer Ghost!
The Ghost cut an impressive figure, hands on her hip and cloak billowing behind her.  Margo Fox smiled beneath her hood, cheeks inching at her mask.  Most criminals in the city were completely unprepared for their first time seeing the Ghost in action: a curvaceous young woman, clad in a white lace camisole that swayed down her body from a lace bra that struggled to keep her impressive bust in check.  From there, white silk shorts that hugged ample hips, leading to thigh-high boots.  Standing confidently before her foes, the Gossamer Ghost was an intimidating figure- but if these intruders were impressed, it didn’t seem to show on their dead faces.
Margo didn’t miss a beat however, getting back to work!  Reaching into her cloak, Margo produced another disc and whipped it at the third assailant.  It rocked off his skull, knocking slightly off balance.  Margo’s eyes widened, however, when the brute remained on his feet after taking a blow that would knock any other man she’d faced clear on his back!
Meanwhile, the others lumbered toward her.  Clearly, they’d identified a threat and were out to stop her cold.  As the brute leaned forward, Margo clutched a slow-moving wrist and tried to jerk him down with a hip toss.  Tucking her hips against the brute’s thigh, Margo pulled hard- and failed miserably to complete the throw!
“Hnn!” Margo grunted, “Like throwing a rock wall!”  Margo’s eyes widened, beneath her mask.  With a stiff motion, the brute clasped his arm around her, grappling Margo beneath her ample breasts and hoisting the young crime fighter off of the ground.  Margo’s legs kicked uselessly in the air, as she struggled helplessly.
“D-dammit,” Margo grunted, as she felt the brute clamp down on her ribs.  She could feel her body compressing, the air being squeezed out of her lungs.  The other brute came around to flank her, trying to sandwich Margo’s body between them.  Acting quickly, Margo thrust her legs forward, kicking the brute hard in the sternum and knocking him back a few steps.  Still, the Ghost’s face began to redden, as the vice-like grip tightened around her helpless body.
“Aah!  N-no,” Margo protested, as her midsection grew tighter and tighter.  It was horrifying, the young heroine never having faced strength like this before.  Weakly, she tried to fumble in her cloak for another weapon, a tool- anything that might help her.  Her fingers were losing strength, however, her extremities feeling heavier and heavier with every moment.
From a distance, Layla’s eyes began to water.  When she’d sent the text before leaving the office, Layla thought she was getting help from her friend, the Gossamer Ghost- not leading poor Margo Fox to her death!
Layla’s horror only magnified, as she watched Margo struggle and groan in agony, as the vice-like bear hug tightened.  Terror froze Layla, as Margo tried weakly to thrash and fight her way out.  Margo’s eyes rolled back in her head, her soft pink tongue beginning to poke out from between her ruby red lips.  Layla had been Margo’s friend through several adventures, seen her face numerous impossible foes.  The grad student never thought that the poor heroine’s career would end like this, squeezed to death right in front of her!
Finally, with a rough gasp, Margo went soft.  Her curvaceous body went limp in the monster’s arm.  Her legs fell toward the ground.  Eyes open beneath her mask, Margo’s head lulled back, and she let out a rattling breath.  The monster held her a moment longer, let her lifeless body sway in her arms, before he dumped her unceremoniously to the floor.  Layla watched, hands clasped over her mouth in terror as she watched her friend fall limp to the ground.
In unison, the three lumbered down the hall.  Trembling, Layla didn’t take her eyes off of Margo’s body as the intruders walked past her.  They didn’t even slow down, clearly not seeing the frightened young woman as a threat.  Layla was snapped out of her misery by the shattering of glass, one of the brutes casually punching through a window to make good their escape.  Before they could, however, a flash of motion came from behind Layla: a rope, sailing through the air, a thin hook at the end wrapping around the shoulder of the brute!
“Oh, thank God!” Layla gasped, turning to see the Gossamer Ghost alive and well.  Margo was grinning ear to ear beneath her mask, as she gave a hard yank on the rope and pulled the lumbering brute off-balance.  The leverage allowed Margo to succeed at this toss, making the brute crash into his co-conspirators and send all three fumbling clumsily to the floor!
Running at full speed, Margo snatched Layla by the wrist and rushed for the crowd.  Trusting her friend, Layla let herself be led along, as the Gossamer Ghost ran to the mass of bodies.  The brutes were slow to recover, giving Margo enough time to snatch up the urn, and go diving out the window with Layla in tow.
“EEEEEEK!”  Layla wailed, as she and Margo went tumbling out the window.  Margo had no free hand, with one arm holding the urn and the other wrapping around Layla’s waist to pull her body tight against her.  Layla hugged the Ghost’s neck, terror seizing her again as she watched the city street rushing up to meet them.  Quickly, Margo tucked the urn between Layla’s arm and her chest, fitting the cool bronze tight against their skin.  Then, with an extension of her wrist, Margo pulled a line and let out a gauzy parachute.
“Y-you have one of those!?” Layla said, her voice a high screech, “why on Earth would you have one of those?”
“We’re using it, aren’t we?” Margo said with a laugh, the two women catching enough wind on the chute to not break their legs upon landing.  Mysterious urn in hand, strangely inhuman thieves behind them, the two young women ran off into the dark, hoping to make it back to the safety of their penthouse apartment before this night got any worse.

The women that shared Margo’s penthouse apartment were accustomed to late-night appearances and a high level of drama.  It all went along with sharing an apartment with the infamous “Gossamer Ghost,” and being part of the so-called “Justice Sorority” that helped her in her war on crime.  So when Margo and Layla came rushing in, the girls were quick to react.
In the living room, Kimi Li and “Mad” Maggie Annis were enjoying a fairly quiet night of cheesy grind house films, before Margo had slammed open the skylight and dropped in with a breathless Layla in tow.  It was just a few moments before Kimi had Layla bundled up in a comfortable blanket, and Maggie had uncorked a bottle of wine.
“W-what was that?” Layla gasped, when she could finally control herself enough to talk.  She’d been assisting Margo in her research for some time, now, but this was the first time she’d ever actually seen her costumed friend in action.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Margo said, placing the bronze urn on the center of the coffee table.
“I thought I saw you die, Margo!”
“Sorry about that,” Margo said, taking a seat on the couch next to her friend.  She slid her hood off.  “I can’t imagine how scary that was.  It was pretty desperate, actually!  Those … things … were strong, but not very bright.  So, I figured if I could fake getting choked out, they’d figure I wasn’t a threat.  The way they left you alone, when you were down the hall.  Bastard nearly crushed my ribs, so I’m lucky that worked!”
“Good Lord,” Layla said, shaking hand gratefully taking a wine glass from Maggie, “this is what you do all the time.  Thanks for coming when I texted you …”
“Of course.  I put my ass on the line for this entire city, you think I wouldn’t do it for one of my sisters?”  Margo put her hand on Layla’s shoulder, and gave her a squeeze.  Hopefully reassuring her.
“What on Earth happened,” Kimi asked, “and what’s this thing on our coffee table?”  Over the course of a glass and a half each, Margo and Layla related the evening’s details to their eagerly waiting friends.
“Well,” Maggie said, in her Scottish accent, “that’s a hell of a night, ennit?”
“Glad you two are okay,” Kimi said, cocking an eyebrow, “but that doesn’t settle the issue of what’s on our coffee table.  That thing’s creepy.”
“It is an urn,” Layla said, holding out her empty glass for more, “I-I am not sure from where.  Central America, I would guess.  Not sure whose, but I can look it up.  When I stop screaming internally for a few minutes.”
“Did you see that guy’s arm, Layla?” Margo asked, “He didn’t even react to all that glass, in there.  Like it was nothing.  And that strength … it wasn’t human.”  Margo shuddered, remembering that arm that nearly squeezed the life out of her.
“Maybe it was zombies!” Maggie said, excitedly, “They’re all the rage, now!”  The attempt at levity fell short, as the room went quiet.
“You’re insane, Maggie,” Kimi said, topping Layla off.
“Hey, you lot love me being Mad,” Maggie said, “Mad Science is best science!  Besides, if I hadn’t figured out that short-distance parachute, sounds like we’d be pouring this wine out in the dirt for Margo and Layla!”
“Mad science is best science,” Margo said, agreeing with her friend.  And the Ghost was indeed grateful for Maggie’s work.  Since they’d met, the young Scottish engineer had put together the kinds of tools that might seem totally impossible, if Margo hadn’t seen them firsthand.  More than once- and more than just tonight, even- Maggie’s tricks and gadgets were all the difference between success and certain, horrible death.
“Look,” Kimi sighed, “it’s over.  From the sound of it, those guys couldn’t have followed you here.  You obviously need some rest, once you let me check you over for more serious injuries.  Maybe Layla can identify this in the morning, and you can plan from there.  When you’ve recovered.”
Margo nodded.  “Thanks, Kimi.  And maybe Maggie can find a way to help me take out our lanky ‘zombies,’ while we’re at it.  We’ve thwarted the robbery,” Margo looked down at the urn, “but this case is certainly far from closed …”

Margo woke the next day with a wince.  She wrapped her arm around her aching rib, still smarting from that death grip.  Margo whimpered slightly, knowing full well that another confrontation with these mystery monsters was in her future.
Luckily, it would likely be another several hours before Margo’s supervisor, CitiChannel News’ very own Elana Lange, would even notice that her assistant had called off work, first thing in the morning.  The star journalist wasn’t too quick to notice things that weren’t Elana Lange, and Margo was in no shape to deal with her special brand of hell, today.  Not when another sort was waiting for her, out there in the dark of the city.
Eventually, Margo was able to force her aching body out of bed and wriggle it into a blue tank top and some red flannel boy-shorts.  Margo yawned and stretched, and took a long step out of her room and into the main living area of the penthouse.
There was some activity, as Margo stepped downstairs into the main room.  “Mad” Maggie was hard at work on something, sketching furiously on a pad of paper.  Kimi smiled up at Margo, while as she went to the open kitchen for more coffee.
“Morning!” Margo said, through a yawn.
“Morning, spookytits!” Maggie teased, not looking up from her pad.
“Morning, Margo, how’d you sleep?”  Kimi said.
“Like the dead,” Margo replied.
“Hah,” Maggie interjected.  Margo winced at the unintended pun.
“Layla left something for you,” Kimi said, handing off a thick white mug of coffee off to sleepy Margo, before sitting down on the couch.  She was smiling, but Margo could feel the worry radiating off of her friend.
“Thanks, Kimi,” Margo said, “I imagine she had a lot to do, this morning.”
“Little bit,” Maggie said.
“She went back to the museum last night,” Kimi said, as Margo’s eyes widened, “after the police arrived.  She wanted to give as full a testimony as she could.  I think they still have her there, cataloging the damage.  I think Layla mentioned how she got out of there … even if she wasn’t going to mention exactly how the Gossamer Ghost knew to arrive, when she did.”
Margo nodded, sipping from her coffee cup.  “Or where the urn ended up, I assume?”
“Not for now, at least,” Kimi said.  Kimi patted the sofa, inviting Margo to sit next to her.  Maggie couldn’t help but smirk, but didn’t look up from her sketch pad.
“Good, good,” Margo said.  “But we still don’t know what this thing is, or why those creepy guys wanted it …”
“Nah,” Maggie said, looking up, “your girl’s got you covered!  Check out the fun little info-pack she put together!”  Margo looked over to the coffee table, where a manila envelope sat waiting for her.  “It’s like a whole dossier, with some pictures and safety clips and I think she even put a map in there!  Nerd!”  Maggie said all of this without looking up again from her furious schematic-sketching.
Margo quickly laid out the paperwork inside the envelope, spreading it across the coffee table.  Her wide eyes darted across each and every one of them, eagerly devouring the contents of Layla’s report.
Layla had managed to dig up a considerable amount of history, for the arcane object.  As Margo learned, the urn dated back a few hundred years, to a nun that lived and worked along the Mexican-American border.  Known as “Sister Sanguine,” she was one of a small handful of the clergy who would minister to the sorts of criminals and transients that worked and drifted along that area.  But always at a price.
For every lost soul she helped and turned back onto the street, this “Sister Sanguine” would turn them out in the service of “Santa Muerte.”  Margo had heard the name before- a non canonical saint worshiped by the criminal underworld, one that the Sister demanded nothing less than undying devotion to.  And according to several eyewitness accounts, “undying” was the word for it.
The reports got creepier from there.  That the Sister’s charges served her silently, their will completely her own, their lives completely devoted to her.  They would take any hardship, any punishment, without halting.  All to serve the Sister, until her death toward the turn of the century.  Margo looked to the urn, as she read the last bits.  That the Sister’s cremation wasn’t necessarily a voluntary matter, as her parish had burned down around her, claiming her and her followers in a fateful raid conducted by the Mexican authorities.  And now, the remains of Sister Sanguine sat in an urn, just feet away from Margo Fox’s face.
Margo took a deep sigh, as she pushed the paperwork away.  It put a creepy new context on this entire event  Whatever the connection, Margo knew it couldn’t be good for her.  Or for the city, if those stalking brutes had anything to say about it.
“What about your end of this,” Margo asked, turning toward Maggie, “any idea how I can compensate for how strong those guys are?”
“I had one idea,” Maggie said, with a shrug, “but I don’t think yer gonna be super into it.”  Flipping a few of the blueprint pages from her notebook, Maggie turned the pad toward Margo: on there, a cartoon drawing of a muscle-bound Gossamer Ghost, flexing and grunting, with garishly large needles sticking out of her biceps.  Kimi rolled her eyes and groaned, humorlessly.
“We’ll keep working on it,” Margo said, failing to stifle a laugh.

Margo worked hard, the rest of the day.  Even having called into work, there were no days off for the Gossamer Ghost.  In a spare room of the penthouse, there was a large gym.  A secret room that the Justice Sorority didn’t share with any visitor, filled with weights, exercise equipment, and even a handful of trophies from the Gossamer Ghost’s adventures.  A scrap of the Hot Lead Zeppelin, an aircraft fired at the city like a bullet by diabolical villainess Eva Brawn.  An enormous dime, which one of Margo’s enemies had attempted to drop on his rivals.  The hat of a murderer called the Hangman, who had nearly succeeded in ending the Ghost’s career once and for all.
Margo spent hours training in that room, burning through the hours of the day.  It was funny- it seemed to Margo that no matter how many hours she trained, or how much stronger she had gotten, she couldn’t shed the last of her bit of softness out of her body.  Her ample curves never seemed to even out to hard muscle, no matter what she did.  Which lent to the Gossamer Ghost’s mystique, certainly, but it hardly seemed to give her an imposing presence.  Margo mused that perhaps this was why, despite her many successes on the streets, the Ghost still struggled to gain the respect of her foes …
Margo was snapped out of her workout suddenly, as the gym door creaked open and Kimi stepped into the room.  “M-Margo?  You alright, there?”  Kimi stared up at her friend, laid out on the weight bench.  Margo’s thick legs straddling either side of it, sweat-sheened skin catching the low light of the room.  Her chest was heaving with the effort of catching her breath from the long workout.
“I”m fine, Kimi, what’s wrong?”  Margo wasn’t lying; the burn in her muscles felt incredibly good, at the moment.  Comforting.
“We had the police scanner on in the kitchen,” Kimi said, “and there was something going on we thought you’d want to hear about.”
“Yeah?” Margo said, shoving herself up from beneath the weight bar.
“Reports of possible intruders at the Gahan Cemetery.  The intruders … they’re tall, lanky, shambling buys …”
“Damn,” Margo hissed.  "It’s on, then.  Is Maggie ready?”
“She said she needed more time, to get a plan you would like.”
“Not enough time,” Margo said, thinking of the urn, “considering what else these guys wanted, I can’t let them get whatever they want from the cemetery.”  Kimi nodded, reluctantly.  Margo pushed herself off the weight bench, and rushed to her room.  It was time to collect the cloak and costume of the Gossamer Ghost, and for the Ghost to get herself out on the scene.  The idea of confronting those monsters directly was bad, certainly.  But letting them get what they wanted seemed far, far worse …
From afar, it seemed a typical night at the Gahan Cemetery.  Quiet, dark.  Margo could hardly blame the city’s finest as they slowly coasted around the perimeter of the cemetery and eventually turned their headlights back to the city.  Unlike them, however, the Ghost knew better.
Margo hopped a fence, and vaulted herself into the seemingly abandoned cemetery.  Slowly, with careful steps, Margo stalked through the soft earth.  Head darting from side to side, the young vigilante searched out the cemetery grounds.  At any moment, she expected one of those deathly silent thugs to come lunging around a corner, or to stalk her down one of the narrow paths.  But for long stretches, Margo walked those cemetery grounds alone.
Until she found a freshly-beaten path.  Seeing indentations in the earth, footfalls that looked fresh yet heavy, Margo knew this had to be her lead.  Slowly, the Ghost stalked along that path, nervously waiting to see where it would lead her.
Eventually, Margo’s chosen path led her to an outcropping- a seeming clearing in the grave markers, a single tombstone surrounded by the others.  And atop that, two lanky beasts of men eagerly attacking the ground with down-turned shovels.  One after the other, both of the men would thrust their shovels into the ground, working tirelessly to unearth whatever was buried beneath their feet.  Margo could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.  Whatever they wanted, she knew it couldn’t be good.  The Gossamer Ghost would have to act, and would have to act now!
Drawing one of her discuses from her cloak, Margo crept forward.  Her eyes narrowed as she looked over one of the men, calculating what angle would allow her to knock off both of them.  Margo knew it would be an uphill fight- outnumbered, under-powered.  But she had to do something, she told herself.  Anything!  Margo reeled back, ready to let the discus fly, right before a powerful hand clamped down on her wrist!
“No!” Margo shouted, shocked.  She glanced over her shoulder, seeing the third of the brutes looming over her.  Margo thrust forward with her arm, hoping to unseat him with a quick yank.  Unfortunately, she might as well have been trying to throw a tree, or one of the marble statues that filled the graveyard.  The other brutes turned to face her.
“Let me go!” she said, swinging one of her thick legs right into the man’s midsection.  His body rocked a bit, but didn’t move.  Margo was trapped.  She reached into her cloak, but her arm was gripped fast by one of the brutes.  “Dammit, no,” Margo moaned, as she squirmed and struggled.  She was helpless in the grip of her assailants, a fact she was all too aware of.  After Margo kicked and struggled uselessly in their arms, she saw a shadowy figure come sashaying toward her.
A statuesque young woman stood before her.  With deep brown skin and long, luxuriant black hair, the woman cut a striking figure.  Her makeup was done dramatically, in black and red, matching the ornate sequined dress that clung like a second skin to her hippy body.  Grinning with blood red lips, she looked at the Gossamer Ghost as she was trapped in her minions’ grasp.
“So,” the newcomer said, “this is the little Ghost who kept me from my urn.  I have to say, I’d heard stories, but … I was not prepared.”  With Margo’s body held tight by the brutes, the young woman was free to stride right up to her.  There was nothing Margo could do about it.  There was something about this woman, though.  Something that made Margo’s skin crawl.
“Who the hell are you?” the Ghost demanded, still struggling uselessly.
“I, my dear, am called El Diva de Los Muertos.  And I have been waiting to meet you.  The infamous Gossamer Ghost.  I must say, even like this?  Powerless, humiliated by my zombies?  You don’t disappoint, do you?”  Margo flushed red, and her eyes widened.  As humiliating as this was, this Diva had used the word, hadn’t she?  “Zombie.”
“You see,” the Diva continued, “I have ambitions, girl.  I’m taking over the underworld, here.  And not just the one you usually run around with.  But if I’m going to do that, I can’t have you interfering, now can I?  Clearly, you’re hard to get rid of.  Even for all of your incompetence, and your tendency to get caught up like this, you’re a tough one to kill.  Many hate that about you.  Me, however?  That’s exactly what I look for.”
As she talked, the Diva leaned in.  Margo shuddered at the woman’s proximity, feeling the heat of her body against her own.  It was a chill night, but Margo could feel a certain heat radiating off this woman.
“Yeah,” Margo said, as her body writhed in her futile attempts to get free, “I’m quite irritating like that.  But I’m going to remind you about that ‘incompetence’ crack, when-”
“Shhhhh,” the Diva hissed, leaning forward.  Margo could feel her breath on her neck.  The Diva slid a hand from her cheek, sliding it down her neck and onto one of Margo’s firm, ample breasts.  Margo shuddered, unsure of where this was going.  “Enough talk, little Ghost.  Beside, I have a job for you, tonight …”
With a flourish of her hand, the Diva produced a handful of white powder.  Margo’s eyes widened.  Just from the color, she could tie it to the pallor of the brutes that were holding her.  The zombies.
*“W-wait,” Margo said, “what are you doing?  What is this?”
“It’ll all be over soon, my darling,” the Diva cooed, “and then, you can relax … and give yourself … to me.”  Leaning in, the Diva raised her face to Margo’s, and planted a firm kiss upon the crime fighter’s lips!  “Mmmmhm,” the Diva moaned, letting her warm lips massage and explore Margo’s.  Margo could feel her breath catch in her throat, her chest swelling against the Diva’s own.
“Mmm!”  Margo moaned, unable to pull her face away from the Diva’s.  Margo could feel the warmth of the woman’s body against her skin, as the Diva forced herself upon her.  Margo didn’t get a chance to breathe, as she felt the Diva’s tongue lick and explore her mouth.  Margo tried to pull away, but it only caused her body to rub and grind against the Diva’s figure.  A moan caught in Margo’s throat, making it even harder for her to keep from losing her breath.  Red-faced, humiliated, Margo had no choice but to take what the Diva was dishing out, until the Diva finally drew a moan from her lips.  Margo was ashamed of the noise, but couldn’t stop herself as the Diva took all air out of her lungs.
When the Diva finally released her, Margo took a deep, involuntary breath and shuddered.  As she did so, the mysterious woman raised that hand full of powder.  Margo inhaled deeply of it, letting it permeate her lungs.  Margo’s eyes widened in shock and horror, as she realized what she had done.  The powder burned on her face and in her throat.  She choked, tears flowing down her cheeks, fear gripping her chest and refusing to let go.  Margo’s thrashings grew stronger then, just for a moment.  The Gossamer Ghost kicked her thick legs, writhed and twisted her body to try and earn her freedom from the zombies that gripped her.
“You can’t do this to me, you bitch!” Margo said, coughing.  “I-I won’t give up!  I won’t!  Never!”  In the end, however, Margo’s arms grew heavy.  Her head felt woozy, underwater.  Tears were soaking her mask, as she felt the last of her free will evaporate.  Margo’s body didn’t feel like her own, any more.  She stood stock straight.  The zombies released her.  Margo Fox’s body belonged completely, then, to Diva de Los Muertos.

Diva de los Muertos stood over the open grave, looking down at a helpless Gossamer Ghost as the costumed crime fighter dug in the dirt.  The zombies were getting a break, as the beautiful young vigilante was forced to crawl in the mud and finish their dark task.  Cold mud caked on her body, staining her white lace costume and oozing over her bare skin.  With each thrust of her arms into the dirt, Margo pulled up more earth, getting herself dirtier and dirtier as she closed in on the Diva’s goal.
Margo felt complete horror, as she carried out her task.  She was completely under the Diva’s spell.  Her mind was screaming at her to stop, to escape and fight again another day.  Still, at the Diva’s command, she couldn’t help but throw her body into the dirt.  Margo was forced to serve her mistress, to her ongoing, abject horror.
“P-please, no more,” Margo begged, lips trembling as she began to feel a hard wooden surface beneath the dirt and the dark.  “Let me go!”  Margo’s pleas were only met by loud, malicious laughter, from the Diva standing above her.
Eventually, Margo uncovered a casket.  It looked old, cracked, filled with dirt.
“Open it,” the Diva commanded.  Margo’s body trembled, as she tried to resist.  In the end, however, her body defeated her will. Margo forced open the casket.  Within was a woman, clad in a gauzy wedding gown.  “Yes, yyeeesss,” the Diva hissed, her eyes narrowing in excitement.  “Boys, get my shawl ready to travel.  Ghost, come to me.”
Margo couldn’t help but step out of the muddy hole, and approach her mistress.  Margo’s entire body was tense, as she helplessly obeyed the Diva.  The powder had over-ridden her body, made her a puppet to this witch.  The powerlessness was terrifying.
“On your knees, bitch,” the Diva commanded, looking down at Margo smugly.  Margo complied, setting her knees into the dirt.  The Diva brushed Margo’s cheek with the back of her fingers, as Margo flinched.  “There, that’s nice, isn’t it?  You’re a good little ghost, aren’t you?  A much more … fun servant, than those mules.”
“Y-you witch,” Margo said, gasping as she forced the words out, “you can’t do this to me!”
“Really, Ghost?  Because it doesn’t look like you can stop me.”  Leaning in, the Diva took Margo by the back of the head.  “From where I am, it looks like you’re my brain-dead little bitch.  I just made you play in the mud for me to watch, you dirty little whore.  I could just as easily make you crawl into it and make that pathetic little dirt hole your grave!  Could you do anything about it?  Could you?”
“N-no,” Margo was forced to admit, with a deep sigh.  Margo’s face was a grim mask of misery, fighting back tears as she realized how completely and utterly defeated she was.
“But I have a much more important task for you, little Ghost.  You’re going to pay me back, for stealing my urn.  When we’re finished here, you’re going to go back to wherever you hid my urn, and you’re going to get it for me.  And you aren’t going to let anything stand in your way.  Nothing will come between you, and serving your new mistress!”
Margo cringed from the very core of her body.  Diva de los Muertos was completely in control of her, now.  Margo’s body couldn’t manage more than a few squirming movements, when she wasn’t being bidden by the Diva.  Margo looked up at the voluptuous, powerful woman, and knew that she couldn’t do anything to fight back against her.  The Diva stood so imperiously, so powerfully, she managed to make Margo feel small and soft with her very presence.  Margo had never felt so humiliated, so powerless, since the first time she’d taken on the mantle of the Gossamer Ghost.  The worst part, however, was what the Diva was forcing her to do next!
With Diva de los Muertos’ command in her consuming more and more of her thoughts, Margo would be forced to invade her own home.  Anything that stood in her way would be seen as an enemy- even Margo’s own friends were in danger from her!  Knowing this, Margo had never felt so completely defeated in her young life.  Once she had the urn, Margo knew there would be nothing stopping the Diva from completing her plans, with the Gossamer Ghost as her helpless pawn!




TO BE CONTINUED