Ghost Eaters

by Clay McLeod Chapman

“Sean.” Marcia lets go of my hand to reach for her ectoplasmic newborn, to take it in her arms, to embrace her boy. “Sean, baby, baby…Mama’s here…” Marcia lowers herself onto her back, pulling her son down like a cloud from the sky and bringing him to her chest. “Mama’s here.” She’s smiling, truly smiling, the ecstasy radiating across her face as she cradles her son. The wet knot of ectoplasm struggles in her grip, the fluctuating coil reminding me of a maggot as it wrestles against Marcia’s loving embrace. But she won’t let it go. “Sean…” Then the tendril of ectoplasm ruptures and spills all over Marcia’s face—nothing but bile now, the partially digested remnants of her last meal. The look of ecstasy on her face never diminishes, though. Marcia is still blissfully lost in her haunting, her hands still holding on to the negative space of her son. “Sean, my baby…” Tobias turns to me. It’s the first time he’s looked at me during the session, a grin playing across his face that might as well say, Told you so. “You mind cleaning up, Erin?”