“Powdering is prime time. I use a coffee bean grinder. Battery powered, of course. Super simple.” He’s talking a mile a minute, excited to share. Even now, he’s still a little kid at heart, eager to earn the approval of his peers, of me. I’m not sure I want to give it to him.
A half dozen grinders clutter the counter. I feel like I’m scanning different brands at the department store, trying to pick which one is best for my hallucinogenic needs.
“Two grams of whole mushrooms yield ten microdoses.” He pops a few shriveled mushrooms into an empty grinder before sliding the clear plastic lid on top. He presses his palm down on the lid, sending the blades whirring.
“Funny story,” Tobias shouts over the grinding. “Starting off, I used the same grinder I’d use for my coffee. I would end up accidentally blending a little Ghost in my morning brew.”
Would you like cream with your haunted coffee?
Tobias lifts his hand off the grinder. The whir of the blades fades, but it leaves this ringing sensation in my ears. I can still hear them chewing through the soft, shriveled flesh. “Let the powder settle. If you open it right away, the whole kitchen fills with magical fairy dust.”
I notice several of the other grinders have their chambers already full. Tobias picks one and slides it across the counter.
Several disposable dust masks dangle by their straps from a hook next to the sink. Tobias pulls two free. His mask has an archaic bio-hazard symbol across the front of it in Sharpie, just like the one on the front door. He tugs the grinder’s lid, careful not to disturb the dust. “It’s easier to adjust the dose by hand, but now that we’re expanding, I need to meet the demand.”
The pill dispenser is a small plastic box with rows of tiny holes lined up like a hundred hungry mouths. Tobias gingerly tips the dust out from the grinder, pouring its powdery contents across the dispenser until each hole is evenly filled. He covers it with a lid, opens it again—a child performing a magic trick—and presto chango. The grid is now lined with capsules, each filled with their own perfectly proportioned allotment of Ghost.
A hundred gelcapped phantoms waiting to haunt whoever ingests them.
“Boom. We’re in business. Pretty nifty, huh?” Tobias is clearly pleased with himself. I can tell he wants me to be impressed, too.
I can taste the earthiness in the air, even with my mask on. That loamy flavor clings to my throat, like I’m tasting the dirt over my own grave. “Where are the mushrooms coming from?”
“Don’t worry about that,” he says. “This is all that matters.”
Tobias is teaching me, showing me the ropes, so he can put me to work.
“So Silas taught you all this?” I try to sound as unimpressed as humanly possible. If I can’t stop him, at least I can make him feel like shit. “Seems like his style.”
Tobias pauses. I can tell he wants to tell me more, even when he knows he shouldn’t. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Cross my heart,” I say. Hope to die.
“You can’t tell anyone, okay?”
“Who am I gonna tell?” It’s a joke at my own expense, but it’s true. Who would believe me? Amara? She’ll never set foot in this house again.
Tobias reaches for the padlocked cabinet next to the sink. Everything’s behind lock and key now. There are so many secrets inside this house. He pulls out a leatherbound book, thin and brittle. “This is Silas’s notebook. His real notebook. All his recipes are right here.”
Even in death, Silas is still leading poor Tobias around. I recognize Silas’s handwriting. I notice a hand-drawn image of a man with what looks like toadstools sprouting from his shoulders. A halo wraps around his head, like a medieval painting of Christ. A mushroom cap of light.
“…And you took it from him?”
“I didn’t take it. We were working on this together. Prepping for phase two.”
“Phase two.”
“Time to tell our ghost story to the world. Let it spread even further.”
“You wanna franchise.”
“Why not? We’ll become the stuff of legends!”
“Your own Bloody Mary?”
Tobias laughs. He’s still in good spirits. “Sure. Pop a pill and say my name five times in the mirror.” He might be kidding, but I can tell he doesn’t think it’s a bad idea. “Seriously, though, look at what we’re doing. You’ve got to see the value of this, right? The service we’re providing? Fuck closure. You never have to let go of your loved ones. Death isn’t the end. Not anymore, thanks to us. Thanks to Ghost. Don’t you want to be a part of that? With me?”
“Can I see the book?”
Tobias thinks about it before holding the book out to me. Even now, he want to impress me with his cool toys. The blistered binding of the book feels like it might rip as I run my finger over the spine. There’s a soft, rawhide quality to it. Not quite like leather. It’s spongy.
“The cover feels weird.”
“That’s because it’s skin.”
I throw the book at him. Tobias catches it. “Careful! That’s the only copy!”
“That’s disgusting!”
Tobias’s laughter fills the kitchen. “Oh, man, you should see the look on your face! I’m just messing with you…It’s actually mushroom leather. Phellinus ellipsoideus is a parasitic fungus that’s as tough as animal hide when it dries. Aborigines used it for binding their books.” He puts Silas’s notebook back in the cabinet and locks it up again. “This is just the beginning, Erin. Before long, anyone—everyone—will see ghosts. And it’ll all be because of us.”
He plucks a pill from the dispenser and holds it up. My eyes have a hard time latching onto it, shifting in and out of focus, eventually settling on the glistening gelcap.
“What do you say? The first dose from a new batch is always the strongest.”
I should say no. I need to say no.
Tobias doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Come on. Don’t you want to see Silas?”
I do. I really, really do. “I’m okay right now, thanks.”
“Go ahead,” Tobias prods, bringing the pill closer to me. “Tell him the good news.”
“What news?”
“That you’re helping spread the word. It’ll mean the world to him.”
Who am I kidding? Of course I’ll take it. Tobias knows that. He’s always known.
“Adam took a bite out of the apple.” He sighs. “He was gifted with knowledge. He now sees…But what if the Bible got it all wrong? What if it wasn’t an apple? What if it was this?”
I reach for the pill.
Tobias yanks his hand back. My fingers remain open, ready to receive. “But you…”
Tobias turns his cheek toward me.
I feel my temperature rise along my neck. The familiar itch—the need to get haunted—spreads across my skin. That simmering itch becomes an ache becomes a fever becomes a fire.
“What if Silas sees us?”
“We’re all friends here, right? I won’t tell if you won’t. Just a peck between friends.”
I lean forward and press my lips against his cheek. His skin is dry. Flaky. The bristles on his cheek prickle. When I pull back, there’s a fine grit on my lips.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I hold out my hand. Palm up. “Can I have my Ghost now?”
“Say please.” Tobias turns his other cheek. He taps the pill against his skin.
I don’t waste any time. I just want to get this over with. I press my mouth to the side of his face, approximating a peck, then pull back just as quickly. “Please.”
“Open wide.” Tobias slips the pill between his teeth. The capsule is delicately perched between his incisors. I see his tongue hiding behind it, a snake waiting to spring out and strike.
I lean in, tilting my neck just so. I close my eyes. Hold my breath. I open my mouth and receive his sacrament.
I can’t do this alone. Can’t stop Tobias on my own. Maybe Silas will listen.
spirit writing
The faint blue lines lace the blank page like veins across pale skin. I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at the open notebook, waiting for the Ghost to kick in, but the paper remains stubbornly bare. I brought Silas’s empty composition book upstairs, the one he used to reach out to me before.