—back to my apartment and being alone terrifies me. Now that I’m here, I know I should leave. I don’t think I can do this, but I want to be around familiar faces. Even just one.
I need to get Amara by herself. I’ll ask if she’s seeing them, too. Why else would she be surrounding herself with so many people? Why else would she be leaving so suddenly?
I need to talk to someone, anyone, who’ll understand what’s happening to me. This nightmare. Tobias isn’t picking up his phone. His roommates haven’t seen him since last week. He’s still out there. In Hopewell. In the house. I don’t know for sure but I’d bet my life on it.
Everyone here gives me a wide berth. I haven’t looked at myself in the mirror in a hot minute, but I can imagine the strung-out vibes I’m giving off right about now. I’m repelling every living soul while all the dead ones can’t seem to leave me alone.
The bathroom walls are covered in the scabs of stickers for local bands and graffiti. Even I contributed a little something to the walls. You’d never know I was there unless you knew where to look for me, which is exactly the way I like it.
There I am. It’s the little things that remind you you’re still alive, only now it says: ERIN WAS HERE
Someone changed it, like all the others, editing my graffiti so that I exist in the past tense. This is…this is insane. Who’s doing this? Why are they acting like I’m not here? Like I’m— dead
It’s beyond fucked. Nobody else even knows about these tags but me and it’s not like I’d do this to myself.
It’s the drug. It has to be the drug. I’m hallucinating these edits. Maybe I’m hallucinating the ghosts, too. Wouldn’t that be an absolute gas? After all the shit that I’ve gone through today? Wrecking everything in my life? But they’re attacking me. I have the bruises to prove it now.
No more Ghost, I can tell you that right fucking now. No more letting these spirits in.
This house is officially closed from future hauntings, fuck you very much.
After a survey of each stall, I pull out the Ziploc bag and hold it up to the bare bulb.
One gelcap left.
Even now, after everything, I still—still—feel the desire to pop it. The tug on my insides. Just holding Ghost gives me this tingle down my spine.
Is Silas on the other side of this pill? If I just try harder to contact him— Call out louder—
Shout for—
Quit it, Erin. I can’t stop making excuses to justify taking another hit, as if all of this is perfectly normal. None of this is normal. I’m losing my mind and it’s all because of this drug.
I have to flush it. Now. Don’t think twice.
But what about Silas—
Just dump it.
Silas is waiting—
NOW.
I toss the last cap into the toilet. Plink. It bobs along the surface of the water until I use the toe of my sandal to hit the flusher and watch it spiral down the drain with a hiss.
There. I step out of the stall, triumphant. No turning back now. What’s done is done. No more Ghost. Time to detox. Or a goddamn exorcism. I’ll do whatever it takes to clean myself— Wait. Was that the sound of a baby? The toilet gurgles over my shoulder. I turn back to the stall, staring into the bowl as it refills with foggy water.
Nothing’s there. Of course.
I walk back into the bar with the slightest sense of triumph. I won, motherfucker. I flushed that shit straight out of my life. Even if I wanted to take it, too late, there’s none left.
I’ll take the small victory wherever I can get it. Now I just need to tackle Amara.
Poe’s is one of the last holdouts in the entire state where you can still smoke indoors. It won’t be long before the law cracks down and forces everyone to step outside for a cigarette, but for Amara’s final night in Richmond, a thick, gray haze suspends itself over everyone.
Mondays are karaoke night. James the bartender dragged out a stool and a battered laptop, and Amara is currently belting out “Fever” by Peggy Lee. Her mouth is too close to the mic, her slurring words crackling through the crappy sound system. It’s a less sultry version of the song, for sure—a punked-up rendition that has everyone shrieking, “You give me FEVER.”
The floral pattern on her form-fitting dress seems to be shifting across her lithe body, the flowers unfolding and closing over and over. There’s a hypnotic quality to it. If I stare too long, I’ll lose myself in my very own version of “The Yellow Wallpaper.”
“Long time,” James shouts at me over Amara’s caterwauling.
“No see,” I shout back.
“What’re you having? The usual?”
“Can I just get a water, please?”
“For real?”
“Yeah, sorry…No fun for me tonight. Need to flush some toxins.” To put it mildly.
“FEVER!” Amara screams with a double slice of her hands through the air. The whole room belts out the lyrics right along with her. “When you kiss them! Fever if you live you learn!”
James slides a glass of water across the bar. “Let me know when you want to—”
get haunted
“—move onto something stronger. I got you covered.”
“WHAT A LOVELY WAY TO BURN!”
Amara ends her song with a swell of drunken applause. She curtseys, almost losing her balance as she catches her breath, soaking up the sweaty moment. “Thanks, everybody. Y’all are the best.” She must be really drunk if her Southern accent is coming out. “I’m gonna miss y’all so much, but—I’m sorry, I gotta get my ass out of the Southside before I lose my miiiiind.”
The crowd laughs. There are so many people here. I can’t make out their faces in the dark. There’s no air to breathe—only smoke. Tendrils of gray curl up from their cigarettes and for a second it looks like thin wisps of ectoplasm are emanating from everyone’s lips. Stop, Erin.
“There’s always a place for you to crash in the Big Apple, so come and pay me a visit. I’ll have a couch waiting for y’all.” Is Amara starting to tear up? She uses the tip of her pinkie to wipe something from the corner of her eye. “Okay. None of that. Not gonna cry…”
A man’s arm reaches out from the shadows and hands Amara a drink.
“Thanks,” she says and sips. “Love you. All y’all. Promise I’ll be back for the holidays.”
This is it—my chance to corner her. I need to know if she can see them too. I need to know if I’m going crazy. And maybe, if I’m strong enough, I need to say, Please, don’t leave me.
I can’t do this alone, Amara.
I need help.
I need you…
“Soooooo…” Amara bites her bottom lip, a coquettish grin spreading across her face. “One more song from me and then I promise—I promise—I’ll pass the mic.”
Of course Amara won’t abandon the spotlight.
The initial strains of “Unchained Melody” by the Righteous Brothers start. Amara’s favorite song. If karaoke is ever in the cards, she dusts off this little ditty. Every. God. Damn. Time. She closes her eyes and embraces the microphone with both hands, wobbling a bit before solemnly bowing her head.
“Whoooa, my love, my darling…” She’s way out of tune. Intensely serious. “I’ve hungered for…your touch.”
“A looong,” the crowd joins in a drunken chorus. “Loooonely time…”
“Erin?” It’s Silas. I swear I hear his voice behind me.
I spin around, looking for him…
…and find James holding up one shot for me, another for himself. “Don’t leave me hanging. Let’s drink one for the man. To Silas.”
This time I don’t hesitate. I down the brown booze. I need to go scorched earth on myself. Raze it all. It tastes awful, whatever it is. Napalm cough syrup.
“Thatta girl. Want another?”
“Yeah. Sure. Why not.”
“Now we’re talking.” He pours another shot, not paying attention to any of the other people at the bar. Several girls lean into his workspace and wave their hands in the air, but to James, they don’t exist. How does he compartmentalize like that? “You still living on Grace?”
“Yeah. Still living.” Still alive, I remind myself.
“Invite me over.” Is he flirting with me? I smile weakly and motion for one more shot.
James tops me up from a bottle with no label. “What is this?”