The Shape of Goats

Tragedy

Noah stopped in front of the big decrepit white house. Wide, two floors tall with a garden, a fountain and a parking spot and yet, it managed to look shabby. Even if that was his first time seeing it, he knew the house was once one of the prettiest in the area.

"You have to find Frans first," had said Charon yesterday. "He's a frequent customer at Walt."

So Noah did the most reasonable thing that could be done in that situation, and asked Lincoln if he knew where Frans lived. Lincoln had told him Frans's address straight away. Where was the customer confidentiality? How did Lincoln even know where Frans lived? Why did Noah even ask when he was so sure that Lincoln didn't know the answer? He wondered whether or not he had good instincts or if he was just dumb.

He closed his fists, gathering courage. Just thinking about Frans, the murderer, would send his body shivering. Did he hate Charon that much to risk his life to get rid of her?

He knocked.

Shivers.

The door opened slightly and a pair of tired eyes studied him. It was a man.

"Hi, I was looking for Frans."

"Cemetery," the door slammed shut.

Noah released his breath, relieved to be still alive.

"So rude!" said Charon.

***

"You've done nothing but research this stuff these last two days," said Charon. "I hoped we could do something a little more interesting."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, anything really. I didn't even get to see your friends."

Noah walked silently towards the cemetery. She didn't see anyone because there wasn't anyone to see; but he was embarrassed to say it. His silence treatment made him feel like a kid convinced that covering his eyes made him invisible. The truth was that he couldn't see the point. He didn't need anything from anyone and he couldn't be bothered to waste time in idle chat. He was more than happy to spend time by himself.

He felt Charon's cold and ignorant eyes pressed against him. Frustration.

And frustration continued until he reached the cemetery.

Trees, stripped from their green dresses, adorned each side of the cobblestone path spreading inside the cemetery. Branches and dried grass were embracing each other and everything in between them, as if they needed protection from the cold stale air. Even the afternoon sun was weak, seeking refuge behind a wall of sombre clouds.

Shivers. Noah buttoned his coat, unsure if the shivers were due to cold or stress.

Within the rows of quiet tombstones a few people were praying for their loved ones. What could Frans be doing in a place like that?

"How do we find him?" he whispered, afraid of breaking the solemn atmosphere.

"You don't." A blond boy, about the same age as Noah, walked towards him holding two cups of Walt coffee, "I found you."

Noah found himself walking beside the boy, holding one of the cups.

"I'm Frans. What's your name?"

Shivers. "Noah."

Frans stopped in front of a white tombstone with nothing but a name.

"Barbara Turner," read aloud Noah.

"Barbara was my ghost." Frans sipped his drink. "I think you know what I mean. She followed me everywhere for a year."

"Did you kill her?" the question came out much more easily than expected.

"I wanted to," he hesitated. "I spent so much time with her voice in my ears, that I started thinking I was her. She made me say and do terrible things. I killed my little dog and I tried to do the same to my father. Now he looks at me as if I'm a murderer... can't blame him though. Unfortunately, she ended her life before I could do anything."

His confession felt sincere and Noah was glad to be open minded. He sipped his coffee, surprised that it tasted better than yesterday's. Coffee really was an acquired taste. It warmed his body and it felt somewhat sweet and reassuring; although that could have been due to Frans's words. It was nice to know that he wasn't the only one with a stalker.

"You're lucky, Link told me your ghost is a nice person."

So Lincoln did know. "Why did he act like he knew nothing?"

Frans shrugged, his eyes evading Noah's. "Maybe he was feeling guilty."

"Did Barbara torment him too?"

"No, his ghost was someone else. But it doesn't matter... everything will probably end in a tragedy anywas." Frans's eyes finally met Noah's. They were filled with grief.

Noah didn't know what to say. His thoughts swirling around aimlessly unable to reach a conclusion. "I heard you went to school to kill a baby."

Frans's lips curled slightly upwards as his eyes wandered around the tombstones. "I thought I was killing her, but it turned out to be my little dog," he licked his dry lips. "Be aware of your ghost Noah, she can make you see things that aren't there."

That made sense. It would explain the bowls in school.

He felt Frans's arms around his shoulders, "Noah, maybe your story won't be a tragedy like mine and Link's, so cheer up. But I don't want to get involved any further."

Just like that, Frans walked away, leaving Noah with his thoughts and his quiet ghost.

A tragedy. The thought of it, like gazing into a deep chasm from a mountain; filled with creatures hiding in the shadows, but at the same time hollow.

"Do you hate me that much that you want to hurt me Charon?"

"Don't be ridiculous, I don't hate you and I don't want to hurt you."

Noah had another sip of his coffee. It tasted bitter.