Eating Lightbulbs vol 6: Epilogue of an Indifferent Ikiryō

Epilogue of an Indifferent Ikiryō

...and one day, sometime later, Walker Moon's texts finally changed colors. Her calls came up as empty dial tones when she called at three-in-the-morning, waking up from her 'just a thirty-minute nap' style naps she would take after work or class – sometimes both.

Where was he?

That's all she thought about these days.

To Walker, it eventually stopped mattering to her. He gave her no warning. When she stopped by his apartment, no one would answer the door. Eventually, there was a new tenant in the space they used to haunt together. A rather unhealthy and abusive cohabitation that just resulted in nothing but abject misery, a feeling she missed – for some reason. The poltergeist still possessed the stairwell they shared their first kiss on; she would be damned if someone else would sin in that spot, just off the second landing, against the section of railing with the broken banister, overlooking the rather witchy woods that were adjacent to the apartment complex. Something was off every time she stood on that landing. She would stop for a few seconds on the way back down after being defeated by the deafening response of nothingness from his apartment door. Her heart always pounding like the way she beat on the door when she stopped to catch her breath, on that landing. The so-called 'Spook House' always caught her attention, when they went out to smoke the roaches Casey would leave in the ashtray when he stopped to visit in between scams or during those other times, it was always there; always living up to its name – simply being spooky.

It was almost as if something was watching her. Whatever the intuition was, it felt quite malignant. Perhaps menacing... but somehow meaningful, she would most likely think. That house still scared the shit out of her.

Soon, she would graduate from college. She'd struggle to find a job. It would take a while for her to live up to that promise she made to Madison. While DiDi watched over her from outer space every time the light pollution from the city would dissipate long enough for her to see the moon and the stars, she called that damnable phone number a few more times; she would send a few more text messages, hoping just one would break the ether. She prayed to God every night, despite their relationship waning as well. She prayed that the noise from the freeway by her house would finally fucking part into that silence she'd been craving from reality just long enough for her to notice the cracks in the sky, for her phone to ring one last time – loud enough so everyone would hear it.

She was afraid she would get lost in all of that static. The white noise was consuming, overwhelming. She didn't want to miss his call again. Forgiveness is a virtue; she would come to forgive him for everything he had done – only in his absence. She, most likely, couldn't forgive herself if that call actually came through, and she missed it. Others would later come to argue that they thought that maybe, she was afraid that he wouldn't forgive her if that call was missed, again. God knew the answer, but he wasn't exactly calling back either. She'd light one more paper lantern and hope that someone up there would get it, and fucking call her back.

She was still working at that thrift store when the call came. It wasn't the call she was praying for; it was a call, nonetheless.

Sorting through boxes from some old, dead bastard's estate, she often came across kitschy knick-knacks from an eon when things were deceptively simple. She'd stop for a moment, take her phone out, begin to take a picture, and realize what she was doing. She would then put a price tag on it and throw it on the shelf. This store reeks of death. That was the first thing he ever said to her, the first thing he said to her the very first time he visited her at work. She laughed that intrusive thought away; and went back to doing inventory.