yeah i’d try to crawl into your grave right after you. absolutely. lie in the dirt together. nice and cool down there. we can both come back up when we’re ready and the sun won’t hurt our eyes i promise. and our fingernails would stay nice and clean.
[ID: two images of a heart shaped ceramic pendant; the first picture is showing one side of the piece, where there’s two hands reaching for each other with only their fingertips touching, painted in cobalt blue on a light beige clay background. there’s also a few carved stroked around it creating a frame. the second picture shows the back of the pendant, which looks the same except there’s no drawing at the center, only the frame taking all the space. there’s a thin silver chain holding it. End ID]
On the outskirts of the city, just slightly beyond the grasp of the neon lights, overgrown malls, and broken highways, there is an old white house with a little picket fence. “The girl who lives there is a witch,” the locals say, and stay away from the house, despite its welcoming gardens and never closed doors. “The girl there can see into your past.”
The guests from the city, survivors of many lives, predictably laugh at such old-age fears. “What kind of a gift is that?” they say with a scoff. “If she could see into my future, now that would be something to discuss.” But the villagers only shake their heads in reply, until someone starts explaining, patiently, quietly, as if to a child. “She sees the ghosts. Some are dragged on chains behind those who cruelly refused to let them find the serenity of death. Others, they are wandering side by side with those who did not notice they were gone. And then there is the third kind, the most desired, yet almost unnoticeable; far ahead, they are paving the way for those who could not move on. Luna sees them all. She does not speak with them; ghosts do not talk; she says they’ve said enough. They do not listen; they’ve heard enough. And they never, ever leave; they have nowhere else to go.”
Then a silence falls over the dining table, and the guests shift uncomfortably in their chairs, stealing glances into the windows, trying to catch Luna’s reflection on the frozen glass. Someone shivers, and someone else throws wood into the fireplace, to keep away the sudden cold.
The next day the guests from the city too avoid the old white house with a little picket fence, just to be safe, and shamefully lower their eyes passing Luna in the street, hoping she would not look at them, hoping she would not see. They leave abruptly in the middle of the night, never to come back, and, like thunder after lightning, their ghosts follow.
Untouched by the city’s esurient hands, the town stays still.
