Xander’s head pounded out a distress signal in Morse code to the universe; he was hungover, and it was not pretty. His state could be summed up as “sentient Jell-O.” His body ached all over from the full moon party last night and dancing like a wild man around a huge bonfire at Moonbeam Linda’s ranch. Everything hurt, and his mouth was dry and tasted like stale Cheese Whiz, so he mustered all the strength he could to get out of bed and stumble into the kitchen to try and make a hangover cure.

He slowly ambled his way downstairs into the kitchen almost toppling over multiple times, but lucky caught the handrail each time. He began shuffling through his fridge and cabinet for ingredients and started pouring them one-by-one into a blender with the grace of a man who’d given up on measuring anything properly. Expired pickle juice that looked like regret, ginger root for nausea, an old egg with the texture of betrayal, milk thistle for the liver, a mystery herb labeled "For external use only" (oops), a pinch of glitter (his kitchen was next to his ex-girlfriend’s craft corner) and a dash of red ginseng for clarity. As Xander continued to rummage through his shelves in search of more ingredients, he stumbled upon an unlabeled vial—a gift from a reclusive herbalist he'd once helped during a hiking trip. He added it without hesitation.

The potion shimmered with a color not quite perceptible to the human eye, Xander took a brave gulp.... The room wobbled. The lights flickered, then began humming the chorus of “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” His toaster levitated slightly, then burped. Suddenly, Xander could see things. The headache was gone. But so was the boundary between this world and others. The spirit world wasn’t some misty realm—it was more like a cosmic customer service lounge. Ghosts milled around, sipping ethereal lattes, waiting to speak to a manager about “unfinished business.” One poltergeist asked if Xander could leave Yelp reviews for his most recent haunting. Another accused him of treading on an ancient burial ground, which may have just been Cheryl’s Garden, but she was super protective of her petunias.

Xander’s cat, Mr. Pudding, turned out to be a celestial gatekeeper to a high-end bingo hall and part-time stand-up comic on the astral plane. He sauntered into the kitchen with a crown half crooked on his furry little head and looked at Xander in a peculiar manner, like he has something to say. Then, well, he said it, “congratulations on unlocking the interdimensional bingo hall! FYI, we are out of gluten-free options.” after which he jumped up on the counter to check out what Xander had made.

All manner of ghosts and spirits and whatever else they might be kept wandering in and out of his townhome and when Mr. Pudding looked up, he noticed a lady dressed in fancy garb and muttered, “Oh great, another Victorian ghost. Prepare for unsolicited etiquette.”

Xander’s head was now spinning, what exactly had he done? Was this a dream? He pinched himself to check; it hurt. What was he supposed to do now? Suddenly, an ethereal phone rang, that wasn’t there before… Xander picked up the receiver, “Hello, you have reached The Department of Ethereal Affairs we will need to you come in and fill out some paperwork, please use a quill. Or... blood. Whatever’s handy. Some of the forms required will be: 47-B: Request to Haunt without Malice, 13-M: Mischievous Apparition Permit (Seasonal), and Z-62: Emotional Baggage Inventory. Excuse me, I need to put you on hold for a moment.”

He was on hold for 45 minutes with pan-flute jazz and ghostly hold music that repeated: “Your karma is important to us. Please stay enchanted.”

I guess that was what he needed to do now, but how exactly would he get to such a place? As if reading his mind, Mr. Pudding spoke up, “you’ll need to make a smoothie with Kale and mascara, then stir the results with an old, left foot flip-flop counterclockwise. This will open up a wormhole to the front courtyard.”

The blender suddenly protested, “please! No more kale…”