The Shape of Goats

Lend Me Your Ears

"So? How did you like Frans's story?"

"Boring."

"So rude! I spent so much time crafting the plot, all the character interactions, the twists and turns and don't forget all the detai—"

"You're so annoying."

"Listen, why are you so sour?"

"Why can't you shut up? Why are you following me? And who are you anyways? I guess life is full of unanswered questions."

"Good point; call me Charon," she said. "And I told you already, I am coming with you because I'm bored. We can use this experience to bond!"

Noah glared at Charon, or where he thought she was. His eyes wavered a little bit but ultimately set to an empty space right to his left.

"Well done! You're staring at me right in the eyes!"

He grunted and checked his watch even though he knew he was early.

Charon had woken him up early in the morning, worried that he might be late for school. She had then spent half an hour giving him advice on how short people with long hair like him should style their clothes. It was such a drag.

Noah scrutinised the road ahead of him. Maybe there was someone he knew. It didn't have to be a friend; an acquaintance would have been just fine or even a teacher. But there were only strangers, wrapped inside their thick coats and scarves hiding from the winter weather.

His shoulders and legs were uncomfortably relaxed, his body too used to running in the morning. He accelerated hoping to feel better, but with no success. He sighed, and let the walk become a jog which became a sprint. Trees, bushes, cars and the cold breeze, intermingled in a wave that tightly pressed against his skin. Everything felt timeless. Suffocating. The only noise Noah could hear was his panting, and the more he heard it, the faster he ran, until he reached the school gate. Doing the usual felt good.

One of his teachers was standing immobile in front of the gate, in front of Noah. Confused, he checked his watch and then stared at Noah, who could see the teacher's lips shiver unable to form a sentence. Finally, he clapped and congratulated him for being so unusually early.

It was comforting to hear a familiar voice. Noah chuckled and headed to his class, glancing back at the road wondering if Charon followed him.

He didn't know what that girl was, and he didn't know how he felt about it. Charon appeared last night complaining about the mess in his room. She was just a soundless voice that only he could hear; she didn't have a body, like a ghost. Noah remembered the fast beating of his heart, Charon repeating herself, then his instincts begging him to get out of his bed and run. For a reason he couldn't explain, he didn't do that. Why did he not call his parents or the police? It wasn't like him to remain still and ask who he was speaking to. But, he did. Maybe to prove himself he wasn't a coward. Maybe he was just a fool. The latter was more likely.

Now Charon, a ghost, was by his side, telling stories and complaining about stuff.

She was annoying but seemed harmless. Yet, he couldn't help but to feel uncomfortable. What if she had been spying on him for days, or weeks, or even months?

It was as if he was naked, weak and vulnerable in front of her. His body a propriety of an outsider.

"Oi, you there?" asked Noah.

"Of course, you thought I would leave you alone?"

"Of course, how silly of me to think that," he sighed. "Why are you following me out of all people?"

"Being like this is incredibly lonely you know? Whenever you try to speak to someone they either run or scream and then run. Sometimes they urinate themselves, which is quite hilarious, but it doesn't happen as often as you'd think. I'm surprised you didn't do any of those things sour boy."

Noah thought he heard the ghost clapping.

The class was locked and the corridor was desert.

"Why don't you give me a tour of your school?"

Noah tensed conflicted: he was going to wander around until the teacher arrived anyway, but after hearing Charon's proposal, the idea became repulsive. Then, convincing himself that he wasn't going to let anyone control his life, he began walking around the hallway exploring corners he had known for years.

"This is very clean, you should learn one or two things from the janitors. By the way I thought about another story, do you want to he—"

"No."

Noah's gaze fell on the staff's room. An inviting open room staring at him like a chocolate cake stares at a kid. A room possibly holding test papers, homework sheets and their solutions. How could he resist?

Noah entered.

He was welcomed by levitating dust and the musty smell of paper. Old year books, school ties and several sheets of paper were laying around the floor. There were no boxes, tables or cupboards which was odd considering the sheer amount of garbage present. Guided by the jaded light from the windows he made his way through, inspecting the stacks of books, in search for anything that could turn out to be useful. Three clean, brand new, porcelain bowls furnished with chopsticks caught his attention.

Noah's head weighted on his shoulders. Frans's voice echoed in his thoughts, a voice that sounded exactly like Charon's. "Let's play Barbara?" he murmured.

"What do you mean? I'm not Barbara."

"You messing with me?" Noah wanted to appear angry, menacing. But what came out of his mouth was a confused and weak mumble. Charon was supposed to be a harmless and annoying thing, right? But his head raced to horizons he didn't want to reach. Was he a Barbara? Was Charon a monster toying with its prey before the big meal?

Charon was quiet.

Noah could hear his instinct again. If it was a person, it would be kneeling in front of Noah crying its eyes out, begging, crying and begging him more. And more. To leave.

"You're overreacting sour boy," said Charon. "Relax."

But Noah was petrified, without the courage to turn and face whatever was behind him.

"If you're going to stand there doing nothing, you might as well listen to the other story I thought of. It's good, I promise."