He didn't know I could see all the dead women staring at us in his living room, but I think he felt them watching us while I tried to remember how to watch a movie like a normal person who definitely wasn't sitting next to a serial killer. Just a regular, normal date between me and him and the seventeen dead women glaring at him.
There's no possible way I could have asked him about them without risking my own life so I kept my cool, said I'd text him and the I, pardon the pun, ghosted him. Luckily for me he never went to my house and had no idea where I lived - with any luck he never would.
Sometimes I'll see people with the odd soul following them from an unjust death - I'm followed by a goldfish I buried when I was six. Thought it was dead and it was not, poor thing suffocated so now most of my dreams are of bitterly dry air and crumpled shoeboxes.
I dread to think what kind of nightmares seventeen people would give you but he didn't seen to be affected by them at all... not sure if that made it better or worse to be quite honest. All I can say for certain was that I dodged one hell of a bullet and somebody sent an anonymous tip to the police to check out his back garden under his expensive planters. Unsurprisingly they were all there.
I swear one of these days I'll have a nice, normal date.
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