“Here’s your own slice of heaven.” Lorraine does her best Vanna White impression as she gestures at our workstation table. Her tattoos and vintage horn-rimmed glasses break the illusion but also make me think we could be friends. I could really use a friend right now.
“These are your tablemates, Tomás and Becca.” Tomás barely looks up from his laptop. He’s assessed me with a glance and is already moving on with his workday.
I at least get a half smile from Becca. I can tell she’s a recent RCU grad. The McMartin Agency employs a workforce of primarily young twentysomethings. I wonder if anyone else’s dad got them their job or if I’m the only one who doesn’t belong? Jesus, my imposter syndrome is thick this morning, separating my body from my sense of self.
“Here’s your key card to get into the building.” Lorraine hands me a laminated ID card with my picture on it. I glance at my photo and can barely recognize myself staring back. Who the hell is that? Is that me? “Your training sesh will be in the boardroom. We had an emergency meeting this morning, some unhappy client stuff, so now I’ve got to set everything up again. Why don’t you just get settled in here and I’ll swing by in a few minutes to pick you up, ‘kay?”
“Thanks.” I manage to smile, even though I know I shouldn’t be here. I should be in my apartment. Hiding. Not outside. Not where—
“There’s coffee in the break room.” Lorraine leans in. “Trust me, it sucks. The café around the corner is much, much better. Let me know if you wanna—”
get haunted
“—and I’ll pick you up something. We take turns on coffee runs.”
“Great, thanks.”
I watch Lorraine hustle down the remodeled work floor of the factory. Everyone pecks away at the keys of their laptops, tap-tapping like crows jabbing at carrion, beaks hitting bone.
Move on with your life. I keep repeating my mother’s mantra, Compartmentalize… This job is the first step into my future, my newly forged path as a real adult. Don’t screw this up, Erin. I can do this. I just have to keep calm and carry on, keep cool, keep breathing, and…
Compartmentalize.
There. Easy peasy.
Tomás and Becca ignore me. Totally fine. I get it. I kill the time by figuring out how to sign on to my computer. Once I’m in, I search every absurd combo of words that comes to mind:
haunted drug
spirit hallucinogenic
drug séance
I better remember to clear my search history before the day ends.
My phone buzzes. Drinks tonight? 11 PM. Poe’s.
I feel a rush of relief. Amara’s still talking to me. Friends ‘til the end. I exhale all the pent-up breath I didn’t even realize I was holding on to, suddenly weightless. I text back: I’m in. Dad’s birthday dinner party is at seven so I’ll stop by after. Three dots ripple across my screen—Amara writing back—then vanish. Whatever message she was about to send never materializes.
None of my search results turn up a thing. There’s bound to be something written about Ghost, isn’t there? An article or blog post? Anything? I try to remember what Tobias said about where Silas found it, but there’s no fighting through the fog in my head. I suddenly catch a whiff of somebody’s lunch takeout, pulled pork or pit BBQ or some other kind of burnt meat, which doesn’t settle so well with my stomach at this particular moment. Is it lunch break already?
mushroom ghost drug
I see dead people
spirit pill
Nothing. Not a single goddamn hit.
Even now I find myself silently calling out to Silas. Where is he? Why won’t he answer me? I’m trying to perform my own silent séance without my tablemates catching on. Why does it suddenly smell like a brisket joint? Should I say something? Complain to my tablemates?
Becca could be a friend. I find myself staring at her without realizing it, watching as she clacks away at her keyboard. She possesses a self-serious air and an intense collection of canvas tote bags. Looks like a Weekend Edition listener. Probably sews her own reusable tea bags. Maybe we could get after-work drinks—with Lorraine? I lose myself in the fantasy of Workplace Me when Becca catches me staring. I smile—oops, hey—then look away, pretending as if I’m not—
The smile fades from my lips.
There’s a figure partially eclipsed by the water cooler. What’s left of his clothes seem baked into his blackened body. I can make out his mottled flesh from where I’m sitting.
I gasp. Tomás glances up, then follows my eyes.
“Something wrong?” Becca asks, doing the same. They don’t see him. Can’t see him. But he’s right there, staring back at me. A coworker leans over to refill his water bottle, inches away from the man’s crisped skin, charred bones piercing through his chest. He just can’t see. No one can. I’m the only one. Because you’re the only one tripping their ass off right now, Erin…
“Sorry.” I try playing it off with a light cough. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”
Tomás raises an eyebrow. I don’t even have time to be embarrassed before I catch sight of another figure sitting at the far end of our worktable. The skin on the right side of his body has been stripped away—a scabrous landscape that looks more like badly molded clay than flesh.
I turn away. Focus on the floor. I count to ten before I lift my head back to see if—
He’s staring now. He found me. I have a feeling I’m only giving him power by looking back. So don’t look, I hear my mother say, as if these figures are simply vagrants asking for pocket change. She would tilt her chin and pretend not to smell the acrid aroma of burnt meat.
These ghosts won’t bother me if I don’t bother them, right? That’s just a general rule of the wild. I can think of them as bears—the trick is to not pay them any attention.
I’m trying hard to hold it together. Compartmentalize the absolute insanity around me.
Why am I seeing ghosts when I can’t even seem to summon Silas? Where the hell is he? If he was here he’d tell them all to go away get the hell away leave her the fuck alone shoo!
Tobias tried to warn us about this, didn’t he? What did he say?
There’s no telling what you’re going to see.
He knew. Tobias fucking knew. That’s why he didn’t want us to leave the house. He knew what was out here. What we might see. But they’re not real. They’re just hallucinations.
I count six dead officemates scattered through the room. They know I can see them—sense it, somehow. It’s like my presence provokes them, like there’s a smell rising off of me.
It’s Ghost, I realize. I take out my phone, even though that’s a company no-no. No personal calls during the workday. I struggle to keep my wrists steady as I fumble through a text to Tobias under the table: can ghosts smell drug on me? I can’t believe I’m even asking such an idiotic question, but what other choice do I have? I don’t know what the hell is going on with me. I keep staring at the screen, yearning for Tobias to answer. Please.
The rack of ribs by the water cooler starts walking toward me, but I will myself not to look. I just have to keep calm and compartmentalize—and whatever I do, do not fucking look.
Is he still walking this way?
Don’t look don’t look.
Is he getting closer?
Don’t look don’tlookdon’t…
Where is he now?
Dontlookdontlookdooooon’t…
Becca reaches her hand across the table, drawing my attention, and asks very quietly, “How’s it going?”
I purse my lips and nod. I know if I say something, my voice will break. I have to keep my panic inside, keep it contained. Lock that shit down, Erin. Play it cool. Compartmentalize.
Becca studies me as the man with the burned, clay-like body stands behind her. “You seem—I don’t know—a little distressed?”
“First day jitters,” I manage to say. She can’t see she just can’t see what I see.