through hell and back, she looked surprisingly well. Apart from the tenderness and slight bruising of her wind-pipe, she looked normal. Her luscious red hair shone with health and her skin was as white and rosy as ever. In a stupid way, she felt like her reflection was betraying her, that she was looking at someone else. Only the wild look in her eyes hinted that something was different.
Feeling distinctly unreal, she went back over to the tray of food.
She was in the process of stuffing down a buttered croissant when a voice suddenly spoke out:
“Slow down, you’ll give yourself indigestion.”
Hope screamed, which gave way to a violent coughing fit. When she had sufficiently recovered, she saw who it was who had spoken and her heart beat so hard and fast she feared she might drop dead of a heart-attack there and then.
“But I killed you,” she gasped.
“Didn’t do a very good job if it, did you? Hey, relax, I’m just kidding, I’m a ghost.”
“No, no, no, this can’t be happening,” she said, rocking on the bed with her knees drawn up under her chin. “I’m seeing things, you’re like a flashback to the LSD trip, or something.”
“Sorry darling, I’m real. Dead, but real. I said I’d always be with you, didn’t I? Well, I meant it. I’m here to guide you, to look after you.”
She stared at him, sick with dread. It was most definitely Rohan, complete with a gungy-looking stab wound above his right nipple. He was still naked, save his boxers, and was much paler than he had been when alive.
When alive? He’s dead, you idiot. This is just a throwback trip …
“This isn’t real, you’re not real,” she repeated to herself, over and over.
“Hope, please, stop. I am real, you are not tripping again. You aren’t experiencing depression or some LSD induced psychosis. I am a ghost.”
Rohan, real or otherwise, didn’t appear to be going anywhere anytime soon. He remained sitting on the edge of the bed, the mattress indented with his weight. God, it really was like he was actually there…
“What do you want from me?” she asked helplessly.
“To help you. To warn you.”
“Warn me? Warn me of what? I don’t think my situation could get any worse, do you? I’m going to die, and that’s all there is to it.”
She spoke with more bravado than she felt. Rohan was obviously a figment of her imagination, of her subconscious . She figured she was being pretty stupid putting on a brave face for her subconscious.
“Maybe, maybe not. The good thing about being a ghost is that I’m invisible, apart from to you of course. I can drop in on any conversation I please. I’ve heard stuff that could well save your life.”
Hope wasn’t frightened any more, and regarded him with interest. This was a different kind of trip, not like those horrible black shadows, or like Rohan turning into a disgusting worm before her very eyes. He meant her no harm and he wanted to help, she could just tell. There was no malice in him whatsoever.
No malice in me, I mean. Because he is just a physical manifestation of my inner turmoil …
“Go on, then,” she said to appease him. Or herself, whichever way she chose to look at it.
“Mick isn’t here with you right now because he’s busy putting together the final arrangements for the party. I suggest you use this time to rest and recuperate, you know, get your strength up.”
“A party? What do you mean, a party?”
“Mick has lost the plot, I mean he is seriously cuckoo.” He twiddled his forefinger around next to his forehead to demonstrate his point. “He thinks that if he kills enough people on a large enough scale, then Satan will appear before him and escort him to Hell so that they can rule the underworld together. But of course, that’s impossible. Lesser demons can cross the realm into our world, but not the Devil, that’s just silly.”
“Yeah, silly,” she repeated. “And you didn’t tell me what kind of party you’re talking
Feeling distinctly unreal, she went back over to the tray of food.
She was in the process of stuffing down a buttered croissant when a voice suddenly spoke out:
“Slow down, you’ll give yourself indigestion.”
Hope screamed, which gave way to a violent coughing fit. When she had sufficiently recovered, she saw who it was who had spoken and her heart beat so hard and fast she feared she might drop dead of a heart-attack there and then.
“But I killed you,” she gasped.
“Didn’t do a very good job if it, did you? Hey, relax, I’m just kidding, I’m a ghost.”
“No, no, no, this can’t be happening,” she said, rocking on the bed with her knees drawn up under her chin. “I’m seeing things, you’re like a flashback to the LSD trip, or something.”
“Sorry darling, I’m real. Dead, but real. I said I’d always be with you, didn’t I? Well, I meant it. I’m here to guide you, to look after you.”
She stared at him, sick with dread. It was most definitely Rohan, complete with a gungy-looking stab wound above his right nipple. He was still naked, save his boxers, and was much paler than he had been when alive.
When alive? He’s dead, you idiot. This is just a throwback trip …
“This isn’t real, you’re not real,” she repeated to herself, over and over.
“Hope, please, stop. I am real, you are not tripping again. You aren’t experiencing depression or some LSD induced psychosis. I am a ghost.”
Rohan, real or otherwise, didn’t appear to be going anywhere anytime soon. He remained sitting on the edge of the bed, the mattress indented with his weight. God, it really was like he was actually there…
“What do you want from me?” she asked helplessly.
“To help you. To warn you.”
“Warn me? Warn me of what? I don’t think my situation could get any worse, do you? I’m going to die, and that’s all there is to it.”
She spoke with more bravado than she felt. Rohan was obviously a figment of her imagination, of her subconscious . She figured she was being pretty stupid putting on a brave face for her subconscious.
“Maybe, maybe not. The good thing about being a ghost is that I’m invisible, apart from to you of course. I can drop in on any conversation I please. I’ve heard stuff that could well save your life.”
Hope wasn’t frightened any more, and regarded him with interest. This was a different kind of trip, not like those horrible black shadows, or like Rohan turning into a disgusting worm before her very eyes. He meant her no harm and he wanted to help, she could just tell. There was no malice in him whatsoever.
No malice in me, I mean. Because he is just a physical manifestation of my inner turmoil …
“Go on, then,” she said to appease him. Or herself, whichever way she chose to look at it.
“Mick isn’t here with you right now because he’s busy putting together the final arrangements for the party. I suggest you use this time to rest and recuperate, you know, get your strength up.”
“A party? What do you mean, a party?”
“Mick has lost the plot, I mean he is seriously cuckoo.” He twiddled his forefinger around next to his forehead to demonstrate his point. “He thinks that if he kills enough people on a large enough scale, then Satan will appear before him and escort him to Hell so that they can rule the underworld together. But of course, that’s impossible. Lesser demons can cross the realm into our world, but not the Devil, that’s just silly.”
“Yeah, silly,” she repeated. “And you didn’t tell me what kind of party you’re talking
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