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gesturing to the plate of hot dogs.   “These are for the meat eaters.”   She imitated Vanna White as she moved her hand over the plate of veggie
dogs.   “And these are for the
vegetarians.”
    “And vegans,” said Aspen
helpfully.   She was curled up on the
couch, very close to Shirley, Amy noticed.   When Shirley, who had gone on vehement tirades in the past about how people
were born to eat meat, glanced lovingly over to Aspen instead of arguing with
her that veganism was for cows, not humans, that clinched it.   They were starting a relationship, too.
    “I think we should tell ghost
stories,” said Cole, eyes sparkling as she got up, took a veggie dog and
speared it a bit more violently than necessary on her stick.   She brandished the stick in front of her and
waved it before Hope’s nose.   “And the
second-in-command ghost storyteller should go first.”
    Everyone knew the first-in-command
was Chris, but no one mentioned that as they inched closer to the fire, popping
uncooked marshmallows into their mouths or spearing hot dogs on sticks.   Hope cleared her throat and tilted her head
to the side thoughtfully.
    “Well,” she said, moving toward the
edge of her rocker and leaning forward—she had still, to Amy’s delight, not let
go of her hand—“did I ever tell you guys about the lesbian zombie from Mars?”
    “Heard it!” called Irene,
laughing.   Lindsey rolled her eyes and
shook her head, brandishing her stick in Hope’s direction.
    “No zombies,” she called out.   “Stick to ghosts or whatever, but no
zombies!”
    “Well, what about the headless
horsewoman?” asked Hope.   “That’s sort
of a ghost.”
    “Heard it!” called Aspen, poking a
veggie dog on a stick.  
    “Tough crowd,” said Hope, with a
laugh.   “Okay, then.”   With a final squeeze, she slid her hand from
Amy’s grasp and cracked her knuckles, leaning back as the rocker creaked
ominously.   “Have I ever told you the
story of the flesh-eating crawler that lives on this mountain?”
    “That sounds like a zombie to me,
Hope,” said Irene, grinning over her shoulder as she snaked her arm around
Lindsey’s waist and drew her wife closer.   “I have to protect my lovely spouse’s ears from anything
zombie-related.   She gets nightmares!”
    “I do not,” said Lindsey, softly
poking Irene in the arm.   “I just think
they’re gross.”
    “They’re supposed to be gross,”
Aspen piped up, blowing out the little flame that had erupted on her veggie
dog.   Amy watched as Shirley stepped
forward and tentatively placed her plump arm around Aspen’s shoulders.   The slighter woman glanced up at Shirley
with a wide grin, craning her neck to kiss her softly on the mouth.   Shirley’s long red hair was pulled back into
a ponytail and crushed under a baseball cap that shielded the rest of the kiss
from view as Amy glanced discreetly away, smiling to herself.
    “I have a true story I could tell,”
said Amy, then.   As the other women
looked toward her, she grinned at them, folding her hands in her lap.   “If anyone would like to hear it.”
    “A true story?” asked Cole
dubiously, spearing three marshmallows above her hot dog on the stick.   “Yeah, right.”
    “No, no, it’s true,” said Amy,
cocking her head as she lowered her voice, clearing her throat.   “There used to be panthers in these woods,”
she said then, voice almost a growl.   “Over a hundred years ago, people had to wander beneath the trees with shotguns ,
because if you were caught without a weapon in the woods, you were dead.   The panthers,” she said, standing, crouching
low and twisting her hands into claws, “were as big as a wolf, but—unlike a
wolf—they traveled from tree branch to tree branch.   They came at you from overhead,” she said quietly.   The rest of the woman had grown silent, the
hiss of the fire punctuating Amy’s words.   “They stalked you, and they screamed before they