Ghost Eaters by Clay McLeod Chapman

Ghost Eaters by Clay McLeod Chapman

Author:Clay McLeod Chapman [Chapman, Clay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Quirk Books
Published: 2022-09-20T00:00:00+00:00


going away

Poe’s is packed. Apparently I’m at a going-away party? Only Amara could pull something together like this with twenty-four hours’ notice. On a Monday night, no less. Amara would host her own funeral if she could, just so she could get plastered with her pals.

She’s telling everyone else she’s leaving for New York within a week but I know what’s really happening.

She’s running away. Amara saw something in the house and it scared her enough to finally leave Richmond. But you can’t outrun what haunts you, I think. Your ghosts will find you.

“Whatsup, bitches!” she shouts every time someone she knows arrives. She tipsily shrieked it at me as I entered with a group of strangers. Or I thought she did. She hugs the others, so I make a beeline to the bathroom. Her squeals follow me. I’ve known Amara long enough to know when she’s trying too hard. She’s keeping a brave party face on, wearing a high-necked, pink floral-print cheongsam that demands attention. All eyes are on her. The belle of the ball.

I thought our circle of friends was the universe and Silas was our sun, but Amara has this entire other reality of work pals.

I wasn’t going to come. Not after Dad’s birthday party, but the idea of going—

home

—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.



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