Ghost Eaters

by Clay McLeod Chapman

You never told us we were gonna be chopping off crusty body parts!” “Would you have come if I had?” “Hell no!”

Here’s the straw, here’s the camel’s back. Listen to it snap like a goddamn bone.

Silas was a ghost long before he passed away.

“Nothing lasts forever.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “I’m going to live forever.”

“You can’t see it yet,” he cuts me off. “See them. But you will.”

“And we’ve got the perfect vessel. It’s clean. We don’t have to worry about any external interference. We’ll be the first to haunt this house.”

“Fuck it. Let’s get haunted.”

I am the house. Every room is a chamber of my heart, every hallway an artery, every beam a bone. All I need now is a ghost. I’m ready to be haunted.

I haven’t stopped screaming. I can’t stop screaming. I’ll never stop screaming.

you can’t outrun what haunts you, I think. Your ghosts will find you.

This house is officially closed from future hauntings, fuck you very much.

I can’t escape this house—and even if I could, I’m so addicted to my ghosts, I don’t know if I could stay away forever.

There’s no escaping your own haunted house. It reels you in whenever you try to run.