Author's Note: Uh...Hm...Well. I dunno. Halloween's got me in a ghosty mood, I guess. So here's this piece of plotless, worthless, mediocre, disjointed crap. Once again named after a Geico commercial. I actually kind of like Geico commercials.
Warning for implied sexual assault.
Kim expected to have a lot of difficulties with her first apartment, the right half of a dinky duplex, she really did. But she was expecting difficulties like spats with the neighbor in the other half of the duplex, or a nightmarishly clogged toilet, or a bum radiator that wouldn't keep the living room warm enough.
She did not expect a ghost.
A ghost is what she got.
ლ
Something didn't feel right when Kim came home at the end of a day of grueling classes and a long walk. At first she thought it was because 'home' still wasn't quite home to her. She'd only been here two days and returning here instead of her parents' house was still surreal. But no, that wasn't what felt off. It was something else, it was...The furniture.
Kim puckered a brow and dropped her keys on the kitchen countertop, peering into the living room. Her couch (an old blue thing with cushions that sagged in the middle, received secondhand from an uncle) had been shoved up against the wall with the window and it was now pushed against the wall adjacent to that. The coffee table (the only other piece of furniture in the room) had been against the wall opposite of the couch and now it was sitting in the middle of the room, horizontal in front of the couch's new spot.
Alright.
This was fishy.
Kim narrowed her eyes and suspiciously crept down the hallway, scanning the bedroom and the bathroom for any signs of rearrangement. Nothing stuck out to her. This made her feel a little bit better, but she felt edgy, not to mention puzzled. She knew she didn't move that furniture, so that meant an intruder had to. But how?
She'd locked her door on the way out, and it was still locked when she returned. The windows were all locked too, screens in place. Who the hell would break in just to move furniture, anyway? Kim checked repeatedly to make sure that nothing was stolen. It wasn't. everything she had that someone would steal, a television older than she was, a DVD player, and a laptop, were all exactly where she'd left them.
There were no signs of an intruder raiding her house either. No drawers pulled out, none of her boxes unpacked, no closet turned upside down. Aside from the rearranged furniture in the living room, everything in the apartment was exactly as Kim had left it.
"What the hell," she muttered out loud, scratching her head.
Did she move the furniture last night and just not remember it? Was that possible?
She felt doubtful and unsatisfied, but she didn't have any other explanation, so that's what she told herself.
ლ
Kim exhaled a sigh of contentment as she stepped into the shower, the hot spray pattering her skin and the steam warm in the air. It was Saturday night and though those were notorious for being the kind of nights you partied on, all Kim was going to do was enjoy a long, relaxing shower, relish in the fact that she didn't have to wake up early tomorrow, and conk out.
Or so she thought.
Kim squeezed out some citrus shampoo into her hair and started to lather it in when the bathroom light suddenly went out— no, someone turned it off! She heard the unmistakeable, plastic flick of the light switch. She heard it again as the light came back on and then off again, on, off, on, off, on, off, on.
Kim turned to ice under the hot water, scream catching in her throat and loofah raised like a weapon as she whipped back the shower curtain. The light switched off and on once more before her very eyes, but no one was there. No one had escaped the room either, the door was still shut. She threw the loofah anyway, like she expected it to break the uncanny normalcy of the room. It didn't.
The bathroom was lit and serene, the only sounds the erratic pounding of Kim's heart and the gentle rush of running water.
As disturbed as she was baffled, Kim rinsed the suds out of her hair with the shower curtain open. The water getting on the floor was the last thing she gave a damn about. She was still shaking and expecting the lights to go haywire any second now.
Luckily, for now they did no such thing.
As Kim turned lever to the off setting and stepped out of the tub, she couldn't help wondering if she'd imagined the sound of the light switch. She knew she wasn't crazy enough to imagine the light just going on and off like that, but maybe her imagination had gotten ahead of her and added the auditory detail. After all, the lights flickering could be explained by electrical issues. That happened, it wasn't an unheard of phenomenon.
Kim hummed skeptically to no one and began drying herself off. Lifting her head as she toweled her shoulders, the mirror caught her eye.
Drawn in the fogged over glass was a flower, a violet.
Hairs raised up high on the nape of Kim's neck, skin prickling and mouth losing some of its spit. Her spine went stiff, lime eyes darting around the room, halfway expecting to find another pair peering out at her from the cracks in the tile or the dim shadows on the wall. She didn't, but she couldn't lose the feeling that someone was watching her either.
With one last glance to the flower in the mirror that Kim had certainly not drawn herself, she shuddered and briskly retreated to her room.
She buried herself under the covers, but didn't sleep a wink.
ლ
Kim had been able to brush off her rearranged furniture, but after the incident in the bathroom, she was completely alert 24/7, keen eyes wide open and ready to spot anything amiss. She was confused and afraid, but she tried to be more confused than she was afraid because confusion was a less unpleasant emotion than fear. Confusion was more productive too.
Confused people attempted to get themselves un-confused. Fear was cold, thoughtless instinct. Frightened people ran.
Kim would've liked to run, maybe, except that she didn't have anywhere to run to. This apartment was just two blocks from her university and the only affordable one around. She hadn't lived in the area long enough to make friends she could stay with and her parents' place was over an hour away. At any rate, fleeing might've been overreacting.
But she did notice things, undeniably unsettling things.
Her sculpting kit had somehow unpacked itself, she would come back to the television turned on even though she made sure it'd be off before she left, she smelled perfume when she didn't own any. Something strange was going on here and the explanations for it that Kim came up with went like this:
1. She was going crazy.
2. The place was haunted.
3. Some nutjob had a copy of her key.
Being that the first option was one Kim definitely didn't want to be true, and the second was absurd, she approached the management about option three. The landlord looked at her like option one was the issue and assured her that there was no copy in existence and if she wanted one, well, she'd have to sign three separate forms and pay ninety-five dollars.
In conclusion, Kim was either going crazy or living in a haunted apartment.
Great. Fan-freaking-tastic.
But she supposed it could be worse. If she was crazy, at least she wasn't the kind of crazy who raced buck-ass nude through the streets during rush hour shouting about martians. And if her place was haunted, at least it was with the kind of ghost who would rather move stuff around than possess her body and make her head spin backwards.
Kim wasn't exactly one hundred percent sure she believed in ghosts anyway. She'd seen supposed footage of them and heard spooky stories passed from mouth to mouth sworn to be true, so she thought she believed in them. More than she disbelieved in them anyway, but even so, she held onto a sliver of skepticism.
Little did she know that skepticism was going to sail out the window.
ლ
Kim unlocked the door and shuffled back into the apartment, jaw stretching and eyes squinting as she yawned deeply. She'd had a busy day, from classes, to an aikido match, to Rosalya's wedding and driving back from it. She was exhausted.
Plodding to the kitchen, Kim got herself a glass of water and chugged ungraciously. She wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve when she was done and went to put the glass in the sink, but she was so tired and muddled, she dropped it on the floor. It shattered, jagged glass fragments scattering and glittering under the florescent kitchen light.
She groaned and stepped back, blinking at the mess blearily. She was too tired to deal with this now. She'd clean it up in the morning. With shoulders sagging, Kim dragged herself to the living room and kicked off her shoes. She flopped back on the couch with the grace of a decapitated turkey and closed her eyes. Sleep raked her right in.
Kim woke up prematurely, dawn only just tracing the sky outside her window. For a moment she was foggy, didn't understand why she was awake, and then she realized she could hear the brisk brushing of nylon bristles against linoleum. Bolting upright, Kim whipped toward the kitchen and gaped mutely.
There was a girl sweeping the kitchen floor, a girl as pale and insubstantial as moonbeams. Kim could see right though her to the refrigerator on the other side.
"GHOST!" Kim screamed, her terror rocketing to its zenith as she pointed a trembling, accusatory finger.
The ghost gasped and dropped the broom, eyes popped wide.
Kim gulped heavily and crabbed backward on the couch, snatching the throw pillow and poising it in front of her as a shield.
"Stay back!" she warned, mustering as much bravado in the words even though she couldn't think for the life of her what she could possibly do to threaten a phantom. "Don't come any closer!"
To her immense surprise, the ghost held its gossamer hands up in defense. "Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!" Its voice rang clear and silvery, if timid.
Kim leapt off the couch and raced to her bedroom. She slammed the door shut and locked it, flicking the light on and then springing to her mattress. She flung the covers over her head and held herself in a tight ball, quaking with fear.
A ghost. There was a ghost in her kitchen.
"P-Please come out," begged the anxious, feminine voice. "I won't hurt you."
To Kim's depthless horror, she realized that voice was right beside her bed. She held her breath and didn't move a muscle, utterly petrified. Time crawled by as slow as drying cement, her heart pounding like a jackhammer. After what must have been hours, Kim swallowed and courageously lowered her blanket.
The ghost was hovering near Kim's dresser, a shy smile on its translucent face. "Hi."
Squawking with fright, Kim leapt out of the bed and yanked open her door, pelting over the threshold. She zoomed out of the apartment at top speed and didn't stop until she reached the parking lot.
She hopped in her car and peeled out, driving to to somewhere, anywhere, just to put as much distance between herself and the apparition as possible.
ლ
Kim didn't tell anyone about what she saw. No one was going to believe that she'd seen a ghost, especially not a sweeping ghost of all things, and even if someone would believe her, what could they do to help? Call the Ghostbusters?
No, there wasn't a solution to this problem. There was no ghost-be-gone or anything of the like. No real Ghostbusters to call. She just had to move out and find somewhere else, that's all there was to it. She spent her day going through the motions in class, her mind buzzing. As much as she dreaded it, she had to go back to the apartment and get her stuff.
She also had to find a new place to put that stuff in, naturally doing so would come first, but returning to the sweeping ghost girl was at the forefront of her thoughts. Would she be waiting for her? Ready to pop out of thin air like a jack-in-the-box and scare the shit out of her? Poised to rip Kim out of the mortal world and haul her into the television static?
But then...The ghost actually hadn't done anything like that at all before. All she'd really done to date was move stuff around, play with the lights, and sweep. None of that was scary, or harmful to Kim truly. If an alive person she couldn't see through had done all of that, she wouldn't think twice about it. Could Kim possibly be overreacting?
No, of course not! How else was she supposed to react to a ghost in her apartment!? Until last night, she hadn't even been one hundred percent sure ghosts existed!
On the other hand, the ghost had said she wouldn't hurt her...
But what if that was a a lie? What if it was just trying to make her feel comfortable so it could catch her unaware and possess her? She'd seen horror movies with similar plots. Groaning aloud, Kim dropped her head on her desk and rubbed her temples.
This was insane. Completely batshit, fruitcake, crazy-with-a-capital-C and a partridge in a pear tree, for all her troubles.
A pin of doubt still needled at the back of her brain, wondering if maybe, just maybe, she'd just had an excruciatingly vivid nightmare. It wasn't true though, it couldn't be true. Maybe some people had nightmares vivid enough to make them flee their homes and drive to Walli Mart at the crack of dawn, but Kim was not one of those people.
The ghost was real. Her apartment was haunted. She had to figure out what to do.
ლ
"Ghost?" Kim tentatively called out as she closed the door behind her. Her eyes flittered around searchingly, feeling two parts nutcase and one part terrified. "Are you in here?"
Something shimmered near the window and all of a sudden a petite shape appeared, pellucid and misty, but most certainly there. Its colors were washed out, only the residue of a gray dress and gray gaze and short purple hair. In fact the ghost itself was residue, residue of a person, now all energy and refraction with a sheepish smile that slipped through shade.
"I'm always in here," it said. "I can't leave."
Kim stared, her rapidly beating heart screeching to a complete stop, her breath snagged in her throat.
The phantom waited a moment and then shifted nervously, its wispy boots soundlessly scuffing the floor.
Instincts urged Kim to bolt, but pure shock kept her rooted to the spot.
"Uh...I understand that this is overwhelming. I would've been scared to meet a ghost when I was alive too, but um...Please don't pass out. You really look like you're gonna pass out. And I swear I won't hurt you! I...Even if I wanted to, I don't know how!" It hugged itself, its smoky eyes imploring.
"I'll tell you how!" exclaimed Kim. "By showing up out of nowhere and giving me a heart attack!"
The ghost flinched. "I didn't mean to scare you...I tried to give you little hints to tell you I was here..."
"Like your trick with the lights? Yeah, that almost gave me a heart attack too!"
"I'm sorry. That really isn't what I meant to do. I was hoping we could be friends," its voice softened as its gaze lowered, and its aura seemed to envelop the room. The air sagged heavily with loneliness so dense Kim could taste it.
"Friends?" she questioned.
It nodded, drawing in on itself some more. It seemed to lose even more of the gauzy consistency it had, the tints of color draining away and the outlines of its features becoming blurry.
Kim temporarily banished common sense from her mind and walked into the living room. "Let's start by meeting each other first. I'm Kim. You are?"
The ghost raised its head and blinked, drifting a little closer. "Violette."
Kim held out her hand. "It's nice to meet you. Pretty weird, but nice."
Violette's smiled, her faint colors and sharpness returning. She clasped Kim's hand and shook. "It's nice to meet you too."
Her touch was like a frosted feather, ethereal and weightless, a kind of cold that seeped past Kim's skin in a way that was more surprising than unpleasant.
"So how long have you been here, Violette?"
"Time is different for me than it is for you," she answered. "But not really that long...It feels longer when you're by yourself."
"Well you're not by yourself now," Kim said and thumped Violette on the back. She tried to anyway, but her hand slipped through like she was fog.
"That tickles," Violette giggled softly, and the ambiance in the room pulsed again, draping over Kim like a cape of butterflies and stirring bubbles in her belly. Gratitude.
It went without saying that meeting Violette was the most extraordinary thing that had ever happened to Kim. She had no idea what to do. She took a moment here to pause and think about it and at last said,
"So, Violette, do you like movies?"
ლ
"What are you sculpting?" Violette asked, hovering above the floor in a downward position, her legs lifted behind her back and ankles crossed while she rested her chin in her hands.
"I'm not sure yet." Kim was on the floor with a hunk of clay at her folded legs, tipping her head and scooting around it to peer at different angles as she ran her fingers over it. There was something there, waiting for her to mold it out, but she just didn't know what it was yet. She'd have to press, roll, and knead until an idea hatched.
"You know," chirped Violette. "I think it's cool that you sculpt."
"Yeah?" Kim glanced to her, grin tugging up her lips.
"Yeah." Violette smiled. "I like art. I was pretty artistic when I was alive. I didn't sculpt much like you do, but I painted a lot."
"You wanna give it a go now?" Kim gestured to the clay. "I can't figure out what to do anyway."
"Are you sure?" Violette looked hesitant. "It's your project..."
"I'm sure." Kim gave her a reassuring smile. "It's not like I can't buy more clay."
"Okay." Violette smiled and unfolded herself, sitting before the mound of clay. She cupped her hands around it, her transparent fingers cooly brushing Kim's.
Violette had explained to Kim that she could touch things if she concentrated. It's why she could sweep Kim's kitchen and shake her hand, but Kim's own hand passed through her when she went to pat her on the back. If Violette wasn't concentrating, she was intangible and able to slip through solid objects. The harder she concentrated, the more tangible she became.
It'd been three weeks since their official introduction and being friends with Violette was different, to say the least, but it wasn't bad at all. She was sweet, albeit deceased. Kim liked having someone to talk to when she came home. She liked having someone who did the chores while she was out even better.
Violette's fingers probed the clay uncertainly, her brow squiggling. Kim chuckled softly and stretched out on her back to watch her.
Violette continued testing the waters, tentative as she kneaded and clumsily bending the clay but refraining from any real attempt at shaping. She didn't know what to do with it either.
"Can you help me?" she asked, smile shining sheepishly.
"Well, you're gonna wanna stick to something simple," advised Kim. "Unless you want me to break out the armature."
Violette nodded, running her hands over the bulk of the clay again with the tip of her tongue thoughtfully poking out of the corner of her mouth. "How about a duck?"
"Go for it. When you're done, we'll cook it in the kiln."
Violette brightened up and set to work with a sense of direction, a steadiness replacing the sluggishness in her fingers. Kim felt relaxed and content just to watch her. It was a drizzly, bleak Sunday afternoon, the gray clouds outside gathered close and growling with thunder. Droplets pattered quietly against the window. What better way to spend it than chilling out in her haunted living room with her favorite ghost?
"Do you like ducks?" Violette's gaze briefly flitted to her.
"Sure," said Kim. "They're kinda funny. They waddle around and put their butts in the air when they dunk their heads underwater."
"Is the duck pond still on Sureau Street?"
"Yep. I pass whenever I go off campus for lunch."
"I'm glad. I used to like going there," Violette hummed nostalgically. "I painted it once and submitted it to this contest the local art center was having. I won, so they put it up and I got a little article in the paper. It kinda made me super flustered, but I was proud too."
"That's pretty cool," breathed Kim, smiling at her gently. Not for the first time, she wondered how Violette died. She wondered just how long she'd been dead. She was inclined to think it hadn't been that long. Violette's outfit was modern looking and the places she knew were all still there. Kim was tempted to ask, but held her tongue. It just...Didn't seem like a good idea. Seemed like it might be rude.
Violette beamed, her emotion coloring the atmosphere again. It felt like a mouthful of freshly baked cookies, like melty chocolate chips on your tongue and warm dough between your teeth. Kim soaked in the obscurely wonderful feeling.
"Do you think you could help me shape the butt feathers?"
"Of course." Kim sat up and edged over to slide her legs astride Violette's, leaning over her pale shoulder and placing her hands over tiny limpid ones. She guided them back and helped them morph the clay into a triangular rear.
"Thank you," murmured Violette. She leaned back into Kim with all the pressure of glittery tissue paper.
"No prob." Kim basked in the unearthly cool and helped her hollow the base.
ლ
Kim couldn't help snickering as Violette ducked behind her with a frightened squeak.
"Tell me when it's gone," she moaned.
"Fraidy cat," Kim teased, gently elbowing her. It breezed right through again.
"Ooh, why did you have to pick this one? It's too scary!"
Leave it to Violette to be a ghost afraid of horror movies. Not even good horror movies either, this one was a cheesy pick about a lady who turned into a mosquito monster. The effects were cheap and the gore was overused to make up for a ridiculous script, and Kim was finding herself far more entertained than spooked.
She munched on another handful of buttery popcorn and tried not to choke on it from laughter when the next victim did the token thing for a busty blonde to do in a horror movie; fall over and lose a shoe just as the monster is gaining on her. She managed to escape by the skin of her nose and hide inside this scary ass cellar that no one with a half a brain in real life would ever approach.
"It's okay, Fraidy Cat," teasingly purred Kim. "The scary part's over."
Violette crept out from behind her and resumed her sitting position in the nest of blankets and pillows the mattress had become.
She was fine until the movie ended with a jump scare, then she ducked and buried her face under the covers. Kim laughed so hard she snorted.
"It's not funny," protested Violette. "I get to pick the next movie."
"Okay, sorry, sorry," Kim apologized, but a grin still laced her words. "You can pick the next one. Just lemme find the remote." She got up from the bed and switched the light on. The remote had somehow gotten into the popcorn bowl.
Violette lifted her head, rising right through the blankets instead of pulling them back. "Do you like sci-fi?"
Kim shrugged and plopped back down, passing the remote to Violette. She had her laptop hooked up to the television, so they could stream pirated features. "I'm not that picky. Sci-fi's pretty cool. The only movies I don't really like are those super dramatic, mushy ones."
"I like the mushy ones," Violette admitted shyly. "They just give me butterflies."
Kim scrunched up her face and stuck out her tongue. "Bleh."
Violette giggled and poked her in the cheek. "I should get one of those as payback for you making me watch that scary blood-fest!"
"I didn't make you watch it," said Kim, playfully nudging her. "You said it looked interesting."
"Well, lucky for you I'm more in the mood for sci-fi anyway." Violette nudged back and started browsing through the selections, humming thoughtfully. Kim debated on making more popcorn.
"Hey, Kim?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think aliens are real?"
"Hmm." Kim stroked her chin. "I don't think it would surprise me. I think anything's possible. But I'm not one of those people who's gonna try to 'E.T. phone home' them or anything."
"I think they're real," declared Violette, her features drawn ruminatively. "I think they have to be. Because our entire planet is just a speck of a speck in the entire universe. And for all we know, there could be more than one universe."
Kim tilted her head. "So you don't know the answer? Even though you're..."
"Dead?" Violette put down the remote, a wistful smile shaping her mouth. "No, I don't know anything like that. I see things differently now...In a way I can't really explain to you, but I don't have any insight to philosophy, or any answers to all the big questions no one ever has answers to. I haven't even left this apartment."
Kim sighed out slowly, her lips pursing. "You said you can't, right?"
Violette's image wavered and the aura sank, teeming with the feeling of deflation. Like tripping and face-planting into a mud puddle. "I don't want to talk about it. Can we please just watch the movie?"
"Yeah, of course we can." Kim put her arm around Violette's shoulder, not moving when it went right through and simply waiting until Violette regained her thread of solidity.
ლ
Kim wandered into the local art center when she was on her lunch break, backpack slung over her shoulder and food the very last thing on her mind. She inhaled the mingled scent of air fresheners, colored pencil shavings, acrylics, and chalk dust. She sauntered past the help directory, past the rooms where classes were held, and up to the second floor where the art was displayed.
She wandered down the long hallway, looking over all the framed sketches and canvases that lined the walls. She studied them closely, her eyes tracing every curvature and every slant of every line, every splash of color, every shape of imagination imprinted upon a surface. Kim was awed by them, by all of them, but none of them were the one she was looking for.
Maybe it wasn't here...
But it was. She found it posted up at the end of the hallway, in between two other realism landscapes with a small blue ribbon pinned to the name-card.
Swirls and brush stokes swept across the canvas to depict the duck pond, green grass, reflective water, brown feathers, dusted in glitter. Everything was perfect. The benches were scaled and placed exactly, everything had shading, the fluffy clouds had depth. Kim wanted to touch it, but it was against the rules and at the same time, she didn't want to taint it with her fingers.
She can barely believe Violette painted it.
Since meeting her officially, Kim never doubted that Violette was real. Despite this, she was the only one who ever talked to her, so yeah, it was sort of like having an imaginary friend. Maybe subconsciously she could muse that Violette wasn't there, that she was all in her head, but this smacked that down. Violette was here, she left her mark on the world.
"It's beautiful."
ლ
Kim couldn't concentrate on her homework. It was dull and she was dog-tired. The words all blended together in a nondescript blob and her attention kept wandering elsewhere.
Elsewhere was the kitchen, where Violette hummed as she washed dishes. She sudsed them up until she found them satisfactory (which was always very clean, Kim could see the dishes' spotless shine through Violette's diaphanous grasp) and then dried them, placing them back in the cabinet in a smooth, efficient mannerism.
Eventually Violette noticed she was being watched and paused, blinking at Kim. "Um...What are you looking at?"
"Just you." Kim's lips curled fondly.
Violette ducked her head and resumed her task, silently radiating elation.
"Thank you," Kim told her.
"I like cleaning," said Violette. "It's...I don't know. Therapeutic maybe?" She giggled. "Okay, maybe that's not the right word, but I like it. I like daydreaming while I'm doing it."
"What are you daydreaming about?"
"It's a secret." Violette stacked the dishes she held.
"A secret?" Kim rose a brow.
"Mhm."
"Tell me."
"If I could tell you it wouldn't be a secret."
"I'll make you a deal. You tell me your secret, and I'll tell you one of mine."
Violette tipped her head to the side as if considering and glanced down to the textbooks scattered about the coffee table and couch cushions. She trilled a note in her throat and then stuck her tongue out.
"Nope. Finish your homework, Kim."
ლ
Violette convinced Kim to watch one of those ridiculously sappy, overdramatic, mushy romances. It was so pitifully cliché that Kim enjoyed it solely for the unintentional hilarity and even Violette herself couldn't take it seriously.
"I don't think I've ever seen worse acting," Kim critiqued with a snort.
"That script was too much." Violette shook her head. "Way too corny."
"But the background music wasn't bad," salvaged Kim.
"It's only saving grace," agreed Violette.
The soundtrack was still playing as the credits rolled. Light, jaunty indie tunes.
"Do you wanna dance?" Kim asked.
"Dance?" repeated Violette, her voice dipping bashfully. "Oh, I don't know. I have two left feet."
"But you don't have to use them," Kim pointed out, climbing out of bed. "You can just float."
"I guess you're right." Violette hummed wistfully. "But are you sure that's not cheating?"
"Maybe, but I won't tell anybody." She stuck out her tongue and held out her hand.
Violette rolled out of bed and stepped lightly on the floor, feet misting as she placed her hand in Kim's.
Kim spun her around and whisked her out, reeled her back in and dipped her with a grin. Violette's delight draped the room in tinkling silver bells and matched the beat. Her smokey gaze glittered with gleeful diamonds and her fingers felt as solid as ever curled around Kim's. Kim shimmied, basking in her own joy as she twirled and swung with Violette even after the music stopped.
They slowed their pace, merely swaying together to the rhythm of silence.
"I haven't danced since prom," breathed Kim.
"I died a month before prom," Violette replied.
Kim stiffened and missed a step, swallowing hard.
"Don't make that face," murmured Violette. "I didn't even have a dress picked out."
"It's not that, it's just..." You died so young.
"Who did you go with?" Violette asked, casually changing the subject with the pleasant tone of someone who's just been informed their favorite cereal is on sale. "A hunky boyfriend?"
Kim shook her head, smirking. "Nah. Just my friends. Boys aren't really my schtick, if you know what I mean."
A sly smile looked incredibly unusual on Violette's normally sweet features. "Oh."
"Oh?" Kim repeated, flourishing Violette around in one last pirouette.
"Actually, I kinda had a preference for both..." Violette's voice fluttered shyly and Kim felt the room reflect it with a flare of heat and the brush of butterflies' wings.
"Ohhh," drawled Kim, wiggling her brows and Violette playfully batted her shoulder.
"So, did you have any girlfriend or boyfriend?"
"Nope. Do you have a girlfriend?"
"Nah."
They stopped swaying and locked eyes for a moment that hesitated. Slowly, Kim tilted her head and inclined it forward, leaning down just a little. Violette tipped her head back and pressed forward, their lips meeting.
Kissing Violette wasn't cool like touching her was. Kissing her was tasting crackling static snow, balancing vim on her mouth and inhaling its signature. Violette didn't have a body anymore, didn't have any real lips to kiss with. She was pure energy that took shape, all sparkling life force and Kim could taste the vibration, the surface of all her memories and experiences, the petals of who she was, who she'd been.
They broke apart slowly, the atmosphere shifting once more to an unknowable emotion that threw chains around Kim's heart and shackled up her appendages. Her stomach sank like a bowling ball in the bathtub while her heart was snipped of its tether, left to float. Violette gave her a sorrowful little smile.
Kim smiled back, sad and uncertain. She held Violette's hand for a short while and maybe the night was quiet.
ლ
"What's it like?" Kim asked when they were laying on the floor, heads touching and limbs sprawled. "Being dead?"
"It's not bad. Nothing can hurt anymore. But nothing really changes either..." Violette trailed off and for a moment Kim didn't think she was going to elaborate. But she did, turning her head to peer at Kim instead of the ceiling. "It's the potential that's gone," she said firmly. "Anything that I could've done when I was alive, the things I could've accomplished, or the decisions I could've made have all expired. Those eighteen years full of stuff I did was all the stuff I'll ever do. The book is over. Being dead is the space after the last word."
Kim absorbed this and let it simmer, closing her eyes. She drew a breath because she still had lungs that required it and opened them again, turning head head. She met Violette's depthless smokey eyes and nodded slowly.
"I wish I could've met you when I was alive," murmured Violette, genuine regret shading her tone.
"Yeah, I do too." Kim put her hand over her chest, dug her fingers into her shirt.
The aura was crying. Kim could feel it writhe, its tears skimming her flesh.
"But I'd rather know you like this than not at all."
Violette bobbed her head and smiled bittersweetly. "Me too."
"I saw your painting of the duck pond," Kim told her. "It was beautiful."
"You're beautiful," said Violette.
"Thank you." Kim cracked a grin.
Violette nodded and then, softly, "I'm glad you got to see it."
"Yeah..." Kim turned her stare back to the ceiling. "Violette?"
"Hm?"
"How did you die?"
"I don't want to talk about it, Kim."
Kim bit her lip. "You said you can't leave here..."
"Please don't." Violette got up from the floor and the entire room expressed her again, growing thorny and frigid.
Something was wrong here. However she went, she didn't go good. That much was obvious. Kim wanted to know, maybe she could do something to help if she knew, but she wasn't going to hurt Violette any more by asking. Not tonight anyway. She stood up and walked over to her, putting her hands on her shoulders even though it was like grasping at vapor.
"Okay," she promised. "I won't."
ლ
Three weeks later Kim saw Violette outside of the duplex for the very first time. She was in the library, working on her project for Contemporary Arts 1B.
She had to make a college of current events and set to work, flipping through newspapers with her eyes peeled for catchy headlines when a missing persons ad at the bottom of the page tore the breath from her throat. There was a tiny picture of Violette's shyly smiling face under the title of Have You Seen Me?, her traits listed in the righthand margin in fine print.
Missing for eleven months, last seen walking home from school. If she has any information, please contact local authorities, or call 1-800-MISSING.
Missing.
Missing.
Kim gulped, veins icy and eyes unable to free themselves from the picture. Her hands tightened around the paper, crinkling it loudly. Violette was still considered a missing person...Did that mean her family was still under the impression she was alive somewhere? Or...Did she even have a family? She'd told Kim bits and pieces of her life, but never had a family come up.
A tight knot formed in Kim's throat. Her eyes prickled and an uneasy sensation took root in her gut. With shaking fingers, she folded up the paper and put it in her pocket.
The project could wait.
She stuffed the other newspapers back into her canvas bag and pushed out from the table, standing and briskly walking to the exit. Her head was a snowstorm of conflict and confusion, and she found she couldn't even swallow.
Violette was in the kitchen when she came home, humming quietly as she wiped off the counter. She perked up when she saw Kim and wiggled her insubstantial hand in greeting.
"Hi, Kim. How was the library?"
Kim looked to her, gazed at the pale shimmer of her features and the objects gauzily visible through them. She watched her mouth turn down as she saw Kim's own expression and worry glow in her eyes.
"What's wrong?"
Kim sighed heavily and looked away. "Violette...Do you know you're a missing person?"
Violette didn't answer. Kim took a deep breath and got a glass out of the cabinet, filling it with tap water and drinking in an attempt to loosen the knot in her throat. She set it on the counter and then stared at Violette for another long moment, Violette with her lips pursed and her eyes lowered to the rag she'd been using.
Kim took the paper out of her pocket and carefully unfolded it. She smoothed out the creases and slid it down the counter. Violette glanced to it, skimmed it over and looked back to Kim.
"I...I guess I knew, yeah," she admitted in a broken whisper.
Kim's shoulders slumped, scratchy wool stretching the expanse of her chest. "Just what happened to you?"
"I told you before, I don't want to talk about it." Violette twitched inwardly, her outline turning hazy once more.
"I know you don't, but don't you have family that need closure? Do you need closure? You've been here for almost a year and I don't think—"
"I said I don't want to talk about it!" shouted Violette, voice teeming with pain. The glass shattered on the counter with an earsplitting shriek and sent the shards flying, causing Kim to shield herself with her arms as the overhead lightbulb sparked and sizzled out. The tenor roiled with vulnerability and went as gelid as winter's harshest breath.
Violette vanished.
ლ
Kim didn't see her for the next week. She didn't see her, but she knew she was there. She could feel Violette in the apartment, she could feel her in the emotions that carried through the atmosphere in currents, seeping into her skin and smoggy in every breath she drew.
Violette was in turmoil, emanating sharp, sour suffering, spiraling uncertainty, and a burn like swallowing bleach. Kim had no idea what to do. She tried to coax Violette out into the open. She tried to reconcile. She'd talk to her all night and never get a reply.
"Violette, please," she begged, sitting on the floor with needles in her heart and a palm pressed to the wall. "I know you're here. I just want to help."
Yet again, there was no response.
"Violette..."
She tried watching those cheesy romances and chrome-ified sci-fi flicks to draw her out. She tried letting dishes pile up in the hopes Violette would appear to wash them. She bought a watercolor set and a blank canvas, left them out and prayed she'd come home to a pretty picture.
Nothing worked.
Kim felt useless. Her stomach coiled tight with the worry she wouldn't see Violette again at all. She kissed the air and wadded through its torment, trying and failing to wait with patience.
ლ
Kim had nearly given up any shred of hope when she returned from class to find the ambiance had dwindled to a weary solemness and a pellucid girl was sitting on the couch with her hands folded.
"Hi," she told Kim, her mouth pulled into an awkward, plastic smile and her gaze wandering uncomfortably.
Surprise parted Kim's lips. She took a few dithering steps forward and subdued before Violette, a ginger kind of relief settling in her being.
"Hey," she replied.
"I'm sorry," Violette spoke softly. "It...What happened to me. I don't like thinking about it. When I remember it...I can almost feel it."
Kim sat down next to her. "You don't have to explain yourself. I'm sorry for pushing you. It's not really any of my business anyway."
"No, you...You had a point." Violette tipped head head back, focusing on the ceiling. "I have family. I have friends. They should know I didn't run away and leave them all behind. They should know I'm not going to come back. My dad probably still thinks they're going to find me breathing. He's that kind of person, Kim."
Kim nodded somberly.
"I think this is probably worse for him than it is for me," continued Violette. "My mom died too. She took a piece of him with her. I can't imagine how lonely he's been without me...Do you think you could do me a favor and visit him sometime, Kim?" Violette glanced to her pleadingly. "He still lives right across the street. He wouldn't move, I know."
"Across the street?" Kim didn't mean to disregard the question, but she was bemused. "You didn't live here?"
"No," said Violette, the single syllable carrying the weight of the world. "My murderer lived here."
The temperature in the room must've dropped ten degrees and rage seized Kim's gut, a wildfire of wrath blazing thorough her blood. Whoever did it, oh whatever monster did it, if she ever got her hands on them...
"Will you hold my hand?" Violette peered at her timidly, a conglomerate of melancholy and anxiety dulling the sparkle in her eyes.
"Yeah." Kim reached out, brushed her hand over Violette's and intertwined their fingers. She could be pissed off later, Violette needed comfort now.
Violette scooted a little closer and squeezed. "I always knew he was creepy. He was one of those neighbors that just made you uncomfortable, like he was wrong. Like you should be anywhere but talking to him. Which is why I should've known better..." The aura continued twisting and morphing as Violette poured herself into it, pungent with remorse, a sense of being hollowed out like a pumpkin for carving.
"He...I...I was walking home from school. I was just about to cross the street and go home, just a second away from turning my feet. I had snacks on the brain, I really wanted some peach yogurt...He came outside and called out to me. He asked me if I could keep an eye on his visiting niece while he went to the store." Violette leaned forward and sunk, her head hanging. "I only said yes because he was so creepy, Kim. I worried there was a child inside just as creeped out by him as I was...I thought I might...I should've..."
"He didn't have a niece, did he?" asked Kim, her heart clenching.
Violette shook her head. "He knocked me out from behind just when it dawned on me."
The sense of insides being scooped away became the sense of being caught outside in a downpour of acid rain. Frantic, unavoidable, dread.
"I woke up in his bed...My mouth was so dry, but I tried to scream...He put a pillow over my face...That time I didn't wake up at all."
The dread jetted to its pinnacle and flooded Kim's senses so suddenly she had to gasp for breath. She threw her arms around Violette and embraced her tightly, probably would've crushed her to the point of pain if she did have a body. Violette whimpered an apology, but Kim instantly refused.
"You didn't do anything wrong," she insisted firmly. "Not a thing."
Violette burrowed into Kim and hugged her back.
Slowly, slowly, the intensity of the ambiance faded and changed to something else, something tired and relieved, like the punctuation of a joke that isn't funny anymore, or the feeling when you dust a cobweb down from the ceiling.
"He moved out a couple months after he did it. I drove him out, rather." Violette made a noise that might've been a bitter laugh. "You think I scared you? You should've seen what I did to him..."
"Violette," Kim breathed sadly as she let go of her at last. "Even now that you told me, I can't really do anything with it. I can't go to the police without any evidence."
"There is evidence, Kim. Closer than you think, but it's not something you want to see." Violette held her gaze steadily.
"At this point, all I want to do is help you. Even if that means seeing something I don't want to see." Perturbation snowballed in the pit of Kim's stomach, but she meant what she said.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
Violette nodded. "Okay, here goes...My body is in the closet."
"Huh? But—"
"The walls, Kim," Violette explained gently. "Didn't you notice the fresh plaster?"
"Oh my god..." Utter, naked shock and horror would've knocked Kim off her feet if she'd been standing.
Violette patted her back as she took a moment to process.
"Should I...get my hammer?"
ლ
"Put the hammer away, Kim."
A skull. She was face to face with ashen bone, empty eye sockets, and well-preserved glinting teeth. A skull. Violette's skull. Kim choked on her own breath, her heart pounding erratically against her sternum and a whine crawling out of her suddenly cotton-stuffed throat.
"Kim?" Violette tried again, her featherlight hands on Kim's shoulders. "I know it's horrible, I know. But you have to put down the hammer."
Kim was stunned. A fresh wave of shock swept her up in the undertow, her hands shaking and mind whirling in a thoughtless animal panic.
"You don't have to look anymore, it's okay," Violette soothed, beginning to cover Kim's eyes. She quickly realized how pointless that was and gingerly took Kim's chin, turning her head to the side instead.
Kim heaved a sharp breath and began to compose herself. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"It's okay," assured Violette. She floated up a bit and pressed her forehead to Kim's.
When Kim was as steady as she was going to get, she put down the hammer and kicked it back under the bed. "I should call the police..."
"Yes, Violette agreed. "But make up an excuse for the hole in the wall, okay? They'll get suspicious if you don't have an explanation, and it's not like they'll believe you about me."
"Right. I need a second anyway, I have to...Get out of this room." Kim fled to the kitchen and Violette hovered along after.
ლ
She told the police she fell in the closet with a curtain rod in her hand and that she made the hole bigger when she saw something was in there. It was a weak explanation, but they didn't have any real reason to call her out on it. She went back to her parents' house while the investigation was being conducted and only talked to them as much as she had to.
It was already on the news. The rest of Violette's dismembered bones had been recovered in a matter of hours, identified in a matter of two days. The previous renter of the duplex was indeed the prime suspect. They showed his picture and a hotline to call if anyone had information. Just looking at him infuriated and nauseated Kim to a seasick boiling point. She changed the channel with much more force than necessary applied to the remote.
"Are you alright?" asked her father. It hadn't gone unnoticed.
"You've asked me that already," murmured Kim, more weary than irritated and now thinking about Violette's dad, and what he must be feeling.
"I know. But you've been through a lot."
She'd been through a lot? Violette had been through a lot. Violette had been butchered.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"There's nothing to talk about," answered Kim. Nothing he would understand, anyway. "I'm gonna go to bed early." She got up and shuffled down to her room, flopping down face-first on the air mattress she was using.
She knew he was just trying to help, all he and her mother had been doing the past couple of days was trying to help. All she could think about was Violette's upcoming funeral and the crippling, searing unfairness of it all.
If the police didn't catch the bastard who did it, Kim swore she was going to go find him herself and rip him to shreds with her bare hands.
She studied, not truly able to concentrate on anything and simply glazing her eyes over the text to pretend she could until at last her battling thoughts were dimming as the cloak of sleep came over her.
"Kim? Hey, Kim." A mild, sweet voice, the brush of something cool against her face.
"Huh?" Kim stirred and blearily blinked her eyes open to see a grinning Violette, stardust in her eyes and her tender hand on Kim's cheek.
"Sorry if I ruined a nice dream."
Kim sat up, head swimming hazily. "No, this has got to be the dream. You can't leave the apartment."
"I can now," chirped Violette happily. "Thanks to you. I can go anywhere, everywhere, maybe even nowhere too. That's why I'm here. I needed to thank you." Her hand started to slip from Kim's cheek and Kim put hers over it, keeping it in place.
"No prob," Kim mumbled. "I'm just glad you're alright now."
Violette laughed a warm wisp of bliss that tickled Kim's cheeks. She then delicately kissed Kim's forehead, her chilly lips a welcome salve to all the commotion that'd been going on up there.
"I'll see you later, okay?"
"Later," Kim agreed, barely awake but grinning wide. Violette disappeared.
ლ
'See you later,' was a lie. Or maybe it was a half-lie. Maybe wherever Violette was, she saw Kim. But Kim never saw her again.
She moved back into the duplex, much to her parents' surprise. Violette wasn't there, Kim couldn't feel her presence anymore. She supposed she'd expected that, and that it was better that way for Violette's sake, but even so, she found she missed her.
Sometimes she would ask. Not just in the apartment, but anywhere she was, she'd call for Violette under her breath and look around in the hopes of seeing her materialize right before her eyes.
She never did.
"Did later mean when I'm dead too?" Kim wondered aloud in the grocery store, startling the woman who'd been weighting grapefruits. She gave Kim a strange look and Kim shuffled away, ignoring it in favor of sidling over to the strawberries. There was only one carton left and a big hand with chewed fingernails claimed it just as she began to reach for it.
The hand was attached to an arm that belonged to an older gentleman with soft, sad eyes and thin hair that was sticking up a little.
"Sorry," he said. "You can have them."
There was something familiar about this guy. Something about his posture, something in the shape of his face. It took Kim a moment, but then it hit her like a detonation.
This was Violette's dad, holy shit.
"Ahh, miss?"
"No," Kim stammered at last. Her eyes misted and she blinked vigorously, feeling silly. "Keep them, I'll get raspberries."
She'd been clinging to Violette's duck sculpture for awhile now, but when she got home, she wrapped it in cellophane and put it in his mailbox.
Typos e_e' I'll fix 'em when I scrub the smell of pumpkin and chocolate off my waste of flesh.