Happy Ghost

On this the night of the 7th lunar month, right on the dot of 12 midnight, it was a wonder that anyone caught the tapping outside the door to the flat. Despite the high decibels of the 80s music in the main hall drowning out whatever story Matt Chong was declaiming to his guests at his party to celebrate the Hungry Ghost Festival, he still somehow managed to hear that sound from outside his door.

Without bothering to excuse himself, seeing as how his friends were not even pretending to pay attention to him or how they didn't even hear the door at all - they were continuing to bop and sway to the thumps of the music's bass - he put down his tumbler of beer (his fifth) on the nearby table. Turning his back on them, he headed, tipsily, sidestepping inebriated guests, to the source of the tapping.

He couldn't be getting a hangover already, since his party began hours ago, at 5 that evening, could he? The knocking seemed to grow louder as he got closer to the door. His hand reaching for the handle, he was sure that he was by now thoroughly sloshed - the tapping was becoming a booming noise inside his head.

For heaven's - or rather hell's - sake, this guest was seven hours late to his party. He wrenched the door open. He hadn't drawn shut the gate, so he had an unobstructed view of the person standing on his doorstep. The impression he had was a man who had mistakenly put on a woman's dress. It was rather tattered and wet in places with something red, as if he had ripped if off some female in a bad car accident.

He took in the lengthy beard dripping in something red as well. Matt had a penchant for beards - any variety and length, even this wretched looking one.

"Oh my, you have come all dressed up, haven't you?" Matt purred, with a hand on his hip, affecting a come hither look.

Dark lashings of crimson sticky-looking makeup complemented this man's bloodshot eyes. Matt figured that nobody had told this guy it wasn't costume night for Halloween but rather come as you are for the Hungry Ghost Festival. And with that crazed look on him, this guy must have had a few before heading over here, Matt thought.

He smiled and was going to tip his beer at his new guest, when he remembered he was empty handed. So he stepped aside, and bowed, and waved the man in the dress in. When he straightened up, he blinked his contacts, the better to focus over the fug of alcohol and the night's heat. But no one was in front of him. Well, he thought, how forward! He closed his door, and went to join the noisy fray in the middle of the room.

He was half expecting to find his new guest to have steered himself into the thick of revelling throng - he assumed he must be the partying type, what with his having gone through that much effort on that costume. He just hoped that the man's faux bloody mess would not leave any marks on his carpets or walls, or on the chairs he had lined up in front of a makeshift little stage.

Well, it was more of a raised little platform, really. He had been hoping that as the night went on and the music grew heavier, or the other way around, softer, he might persuade some of his more camp friends to get up on the stage and do some kind of absurd musical - or something. As it turned out, the morning had arrived, or rather the small hours of the morning, and nobody had laid a foot on the carpeting over his makeshift stage yet.

He pushed aside a few dancing bodies, and spotted his guest. The man in the dress had made himself at home on one of the empty chairs lined up in front of the stage. He thought, the poor sod. He mistook his bravado with his costume for some kind of flamboyance. Apparently he was the shy or introvert type. But he was sure his gaydar hadn't missed the mark.

He spied a naked - and damply crimson - angular knee draped over a thigh. The man seemed to be looking directly at the stage. But there was nothing going on there, everything seemed to be happening behind the row of chairs. His guests were still having a good time, shaking it over the non-stop music. He made to approach the man from behind.

Leaning over, he lightly tapped on some untainted part of a bare shoulder. There was no reaction. Was this man intoxicated already? Perhaps he must have downed a couple, making his way to this seat. Matt repeated his finger tapping, and finally got some reaction. The man twisted his face up to see who was touching him.

Matt had a reaction of his own. He must be mistaken - again - but he thought it odd the way the man turned his neck to look up at him. No normal person would have been able to twist his neck so far around like that. Unless he was some kind of contortionist. And by the looks of him, he couldn't be, with that rictus of a grin, and with those bleeding teeth. And had those bloodshot eyes become more intense since he last saw them just minutes ago at the front door? Did the man also somehow manage to have eye dropped more red liquid?

He felt a tinge of frisson. Did he just feel his limbs judder? And it wasn't to the music, he was sure.

He turned his head, to call to someone, anyone of them who were flailing away with their limbs in some approximation of some dance moves. He wanted to just holler to them to get over here, to his side, and see this weird dude with that Halloween costume. Wasn't he hilarious, the way he dressed up and the way he moved his head towards him?

Of course, he could not make himself heard over the loud music. And what was more, nobody was even paying him any heed, much less look over at his direction. He gave up trying to gain the dancers' notice. He turned his head back to the front.

He then did a double take. The chair was empty. He thought, well, our friend is a fast mover. He leant over the back of the previously occupied chair. He was expecting to find a mess of stains over the seat and the back. But surprisingly, there was not a single speck - the chair somehow even looked as if it had not been sat on.

He huffed in exasperation - he could smell the beer on his breath - and looked around, to see if he can spot his just arrived guest anywhere.

One of the dancers, a shirtless man, slick with sweat, happened to dance and bop his way towards him. Matt clasped his arm. The dancer was still trying to jump up and down to the music. Matt reached up to try and clasp one of his raised arms. When he managed to stay him, he put his mouth close to his ear. He shouted into it: "Did you see the man who was sitting there just now?" He gestured towards the empty chair. He tried to describe the missing guest as best as he could, making sure he included details which would stand out, like the tattered and bloodied dress - and not forgetting, that the wearer had a beard.

The dancer caught on, and seemed to be nodding to Matt and not to the music. The man didn't speak but just raised a finger. Matt's eyes followed its direction. The digit with a painted nail was trained at the door of the kitchen. He mumbled a thanks, which he doubted the dancer, resuming to bop up and down, could hear.

Matt made a beeline towards his kitchen. Those moments between opening the front door and now had somehow dissipated his intoxication. He managed to weave through the throng of people without swaying.

The light in the kitchen was switched off. Standing under the doorframe, he reached in the gloom for the light switch, on the wall. When the lights came on, he finally found his guest. And he wasn't alone. He exclaimed, in a low voice, "The slut. He didn't waste any time making a score, did he?"

The man in the dress was slumped over someone. Matt couldn't see who, only a pair of bare arms stretched behind the hidden head. The man was making a bopping movement. God, Matt thought, kissing already?

He moved towards the pair of lovers. He said,"Ok, you people can stop this thing now. This is a kitchen, and there are food here. I don't your saliva spoiling them."

Once more, Matt had to do a repeat performance, of tapping a finger on the man's shoulder. And once more, the man turned his head around to look at him. And also this time, there was that same old rictus of a smile. But now the bared teeth were even more generously covered in red.

Now that the man had swivelled his head around, Matt could see, very clearly, the person beneath. It was his colleague from office. Sammy was staring up, it seems, at nothing whatsoever. Below the bristles on his jaw, there was a lot of red. And Matt could see a sort of hole, a gap, or a big tear, on his throat.

Matt shifted his sight to the deep red of the black eyes of the man in the dress. He imagined he was drawn towards them. The man's head got bigger. The eyes became rounder, until Chong could see into their darkness.

Matt heard a scream behind him. But the sound was fading away.