“Very funny.” Dill stood upright, surprised by the lack of pain. If he'd still been (he wanted to say 'human' but it still sounded odd – and that was despite his new flutey, whistley voice) ordinary he'd have been in agony from leaning over a desk like that. Chalk another plus to being undead. Frederick and the imp were still engrossed in the telly when he entered the kitchen, only now they were absorbed in a programme about finding junk and turning a profit on it. What nobody had ever noticed was it was the pawn shops that made the real killing in such programs. They took no risks and made the greatest profits. The pawn business was in a boom thanks to the glut of 'get rich quick' programs.
“All right, Dill?” Frederick looked up as he went past. At least, Dill thought he looked up. It was difficult to tell when he could see the front and the back of the ghost's head at the same time. “Hungry, are you?”
“Not really, no.” Dill began opening the kitchen drawers. “I'm just looking for something to...” He made a motion with his hand that could have been a corkscrew, a screwdriver or a vibrator.
“You'll have to look in the stables for that.” Whatever he'd interpreted the gesture as, Frederick didn't mention.
“The stables? I don't need the whole horse.”
“Just as well, seeing as we don;t have any horses. I keep all my tools in there.” The ghost frowned. “Kept, I mean.”