10/17/17
The nature of agency
I woke up. No small feat, actually, considering August was holding a pillow over my face. I snatched the pillow and threw it across the room, passing through August’s chilling ectoplasm as I struggled to sit up.
“Something happened,” he said simply, moving to the edge of the bed, his eyes alight with jittery energy.
“What did you do?” I was still trying to catch my breath.
“What does it mean to do something anyway? Have you ever pondered the meaning of agency?” His grin was twisted up on one side, his eyes eerily placid.
“August! Just spit it out.”
“I’ve killed another neighbor.” He shrugged, I fell back on my bed and covered my face. Gods I’m so tired of this beast. Ghost’s don’t leave evidence, there’s nothing to trace it to me, but that doesn’t make it any better. Maybe it’s worse. Maybe I should just confess, I may as well have killed them.
“Who?”
“Next door, the ones who moved into the house of the people I killed last time. I thought it would be best.”
“Best? What the fuck is wrong with you? What does that even mean?” I groaned, “get me my cards.” He left and returned with them moments later. I shuffled, cut, and flipped the top card.
“Ballocks,” August moaned as I revealed the Six of Wands reversed. The rising butterfly plummeting instead, brambles following after. A fall foretold, painful and humiliating.
“Not balls, karma.” I turned to reach for the salt bag I kept under my pillow. August lashed out with a translucent hand, raking it across my face. The cold left jagged, red welts. I felt his long thin fingers clutch my pajamas as my hand closed around the salt bag. He pulled me back but he was too late. He got a face-full of salt crystals. He shrieked and vanished.
The house is salted again. Maybe for awhile. Maybe until August is gone for good.
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