The silence between them was so thick you could carve it away with an ice-cream scoop. She never thought she'd see him again, especially after she buried his remains in four disused mine-shafts. It made his spirity return all the more awkward.
"So...have you met your nan yet?"
Could she have thought of a worse question to ask when he was clearly still pissed off and very much not Resting In Peace! A strangely calm part of her mind wondered if she could get his tombstone redone to say 'too stubborn to rest, as always' after all, she'd hate to be any more of a liar than she already was.
If only he hadn't had an affair with that bloody jigsaw artist. Still, if anyone found his body - any part of it - all the signs would point to his affair. Jealous bit on the side and all that good stuff, all the anguish she felt shoved at someone else who could potentially be arrested for her crime.
Facing him again, she felt glad she hadn't tried to make it seem like a murder suicide. The thought of sitting opposite two bleeding (literally leaking that ecto-whatsit all over the place... does ecto-whatsit stain?) ghosts was a bit more than she felt she could take. Not that they wouldn't have deserved it, mind you.
He didn't seem to be able to talk, that or he was giving her the silent treatment. He loved to give her the silent treatment when he was alive, it made him feel superior that she'd have to beg him to say something - anything - even if it was cruel. Now he was just sitting in his old chair, limbs floating roughly where they should be on a living person and his eyes unblinkingly focused on her.
She didn't remember falling asleep, waking up when her teacup hit the carpet and spilled the cold liquid everywhere. The stain looked a bit like his face but he, or rather his ghost, was nowhere to be found. No sign he'd ever been there.
As terrified as she'd been, there were so many things she'd wanted to ask him but she felt she already knew the answer to most of them. He didn't forgive her, at least not yet, but he'd vanished so he might have gotten all his glaring and silence out of the way and gone to rest in peace just like his tombstone said he was.
By the time she noticed that she'd stepped out of her body, she was too late to turn back.
Somebody knocked on her front door and somehow she knew it was him.
"So...have you met your nan yet?"
Could she have thought of a worse question to ask when he was clearly still pissed off and very much not Resting In Peace! A strangely calm part of her mind wondered if she could get his tombstone redone to say 'too stubborn to rest, as always' after all, she'd hate to be any more of a liar than she already was.
If only he hadn't had an affair with that bloody jigsaw artist. Still, if anyone found his body - any part of it - all the signs would point to his affair. Jealous bit on the side and all that good stuff, all the anguish she felt shoved at someone else who could potentially be arrested for her crime.
Facing him again, she felt glad she hadn't tried to make it seem like a murder suicide. The thought of sitting opposite two bleeding (literally leaking that ecto-whatsit all over the place... does ecto-whatsit stain?) ghosts was a bit more than she felt she could take. Not that they wouldn't have deserved it, mind you.
He didn't seem to be able to talk, that or he was giving her the silent treatment. He loved to give her the silent treatment when he was alive, it made him feel superior that she'd have to beg him to say something - anything - even if it was cruel. Now he was just sitting in his old chair, limbs floating roughly where they should be on a living person and his eyes unblinkingly focused on her.
She didn't remember falling asleep, waking up when her teacup hit the carpet and spilled the cold liquid everywhere. The stain looked a bit like his face but he, or rather his ghost, was nowhere to be found. No sign he'd ever been there.
As terrified as she'd been, there were so many things she'd wanted to ask him but she felt she already knew the answer to most of them. He didn't forgive her, at least not yet, but he'd vanished so he might have gotten all his glaring and silence out of the way and gone to rest in peace just like his tombstone said he was.
By the time she noticed that she'd stepped out of her body, she was too late to turn back.
Somebody knocked on her front door and somehow she knew it was him.
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