Page 36 of Squad Ghouls

I backed away, resisting its pull as cries sounded all around me, cries of greed and craving. They felt thick and sticky, like every surface was covered in honey, but instead of sweetness, there was a stench of something rotten.

Feed me.

It was ravenous.

Hunting.

Hungry.

My breaths began to stutter in my chest, the visceral pulse of emotion transferring itself to me as ghostly fingers reached out for me.

HUNGRY!

I woke up with a start, a cold sweat covering my body.

The room was pitch black, the shadows all around me. I fumbled for my phone and turned on the torch, quickly flashing it around to dispel the threatening shapes.

The light caught on a crouched figure in the corner that didn’t disappear, and my heart stopped. It looked weirdly formed, its back too hunched, arms too long and thin, long, dark hair falling down around its face. It seemed to be wearing a long black nightgown that pooled on the floor in a puddle of…something. It was the substance from my dream, viscous and slowly spreading under its feet.

It turned its head slowly and I froze, unable to move.

The head turned too far around before its body followed with unnatural movements that sent a chill up my spine. Its face was still obscured by its hair, but I could tell the jaw hung slack.

“Hun…gry…”

The gurgle was hard to decipher through whatever was dripping from its mouth.

The figure straightened up as much as its gnarled back would allow, revealing a shape that vaguely resembled that of a woman, and I finally found the strength to move, sliding off the bed as it shambled toward me.

“Hun…gry…” it said again, clearer this time.

I thought of my dream and the ravenous appetite I had felt.

“You’re hungry?” I asked, trying to shimmy along the wall to the door, glancing around to see if anything could help me. I spotted what looked to be a metal candlestick with a cross on it. “Why are you hungry? Ghosts don’t feel hunger. It’s one of the only perks of being dead, not taking two hours trying to decide what you want for dinner and then end up eating crisps out of the bag instead because you’ve lost the will to even cook it when you do decide.”

Most ghosts wanted to talk, I had found.

The reason they hung around was often due to unfinished business. They wanted the living to pay attention. To listen.

It might buy me enough time to get to the candlestick.

“HUNGRY!” the ghost yelled.

“Okay, okay. Just give me a sec and I’ll order you whatever you want. I’m sure they deliver cliffside,” I bullshitted, swallowing hard and moving incrementally.

Another unnatural head tilt as it followed my every move as if to say whatever I want?

I steeled my spine as my hand closed around the cool metal behind me. “Within reason.”

More viscous liquid started to drip from its slackened mouth as it stepped closer.

“Ahhh, now you see, I’m not on the menu. I might look like a sweet treat, but all this sarcasm really adds a kick I don’t think you’re prepared for.”

Teeth were revealed, blackened and bloodied as a facsimile of a smile appeared on its face.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I said, right before the thing lunged for my throat. I swung the candlestick at it, feeling sludgy resistance as it connected. I ran for the door, ignoring its cry of pain.

I raced down the hall and down the stairs and burst into Owain’s room. A murderous ghost felt like a pretty good excuse.