I know I haven’t done this in a while, but this is more of a feel-y one.
Well, not really, but it’s longer and less humor based.
Something has changed about the attic. The moment I stepped into it to get ready for guests that day, I knew something was wrong.
Nothing looked out of place. Constance Hatchaway was there as always, to my dismay. The shadow man at the harpsichord was practicing his haunting piece, and everything seemed to be normal.
No, it wasn’t anything angry or malevolent. But Constance was looking my direction curiously.
I sat down on one of the crates near the end of the hall, ready for whatever threat she was going to throw my way. She was silent, and I knew something was boiling in that brain of hers.
She didn’t seem to be angry. In fact, she was calmer than usual.
“Do you remember what your mortal life was like?” she asked. I wasn’t expecting the question, but I pondered over it nonetheless.
“Well,” I replied, “it was much like this one. I traveled a bit, sold some hats and hatboxes, and met the beauty that is Emily. Other than that, I don’t remember much.”
“So you’ve forgotten?” she asked.
“Well, it’s much like forgetting your childhood,” I reassured her. “You remember the important details like friends and family, and forget the things that don’t matter to you. I’ve forgotten some of the places I’ve been, but only because those places weren’t particularly interesting.”
It was a wonder she wasn’t yelling at me, but a relief.
“Do you remember how you died?”
“No, not really,” I said. “I guess it just didn’t matter to me that much. I mean, the only reason old Ghost Host remembers is because he brags about it to the guests, as if it’s some victory to hang yourself from the rafters.”
Even though I have no lungs, I coughed awkwardly.
“Though, I guess you can’t blame him,” Constance said. “He’s only trying to frighten them a bit. He always makes up for it afterwards, though, if he’s made any toddlers cry.”
We laughed a bit. It felt oddly satisfying to be on the same terms as her for now. It wasn’t as great as her leaving, but it was something that I thought would never happen.
“Why do you ask?” I said.
“Well, sometimes I feel as though I didn’t make the most of life,” she admitted.
I groaned. “You’re worried about THAT? You literally killed all five of your husbands, got rich, and were never brought to justice,” I argued. “It’s not what any sane person would do, but I’d say in your eyes, you’d think you did pretty well.” Constance shrugged. “The point is...you’re dead now. Afterlife. You can do anything you want. Travel to places you’ve never been, freak people out...”
“Well, I guess you’re right,” she said. “I guess it’s best not to dwell on things you can’t change.” She paused. “Time to scare some guests?”
A couple of empty Doom Buggies were already heading our way.
“That’s the best thing you’ve said all day,” I said.
I guess we’re still enemies, but at least we can agree on some things.
