My best friend, Fiona, is dead. But, to be fair, so am I. It was the icy roads of the mountain pass that did us in. That, and Fiona's lead foot.
Still, we were partners in crime while alive, so you better believe that we are partners in crime now that we're dead. We've just moved on from cheating on tests and tossing garbage out the car windows. Now we can't get caught.
Dying with your best friend teaches you something about loyalty. If Fiona gets a crazy idea to haunt someone, I always go along. If she wants to rattle chains or scratch windows or mess with the lights, I'm right there beside her, usually doing it better.
And it goes both ways: when I have a hankering for a bloodcurdling scream, Fiona comes along to spook some unsuspecting victim. When I can't help but make eerie shadows on the wall, her shadows drift alongside mine. We talk about settling down in a haunted house someday, maybe even starting a ghost gang. Sometimes we grow nostalgic for the past or talk about the accident. How the car plunged off a cliff and burst into flames when it hit the ground. She died first, and I followed soon after. When the first responders finally found us, the heat of the fire had melted our bodies together.
We're inseparable, Fiona and me.
No comments:
Post a Comment