Page 23 of Souls We Rip

She would chastise us for not tidying up after ourselves, but she would always join in our cleaning, making a game out of it.

“I thought you… fantome cannot lift or…,” I mumbled, my eyebrows joining, still eyeing the cabinets. Their doors closed with a bang, making me jump in my seat. The creature narrowed his void eyes at me.

The ghost made a cackling sound. “Oh, you poor woman, you should get out of your church or your Bible and look around. We are more evolved than…”

“I am not insulting your beliefs, so why do you?” I took the warm pot from the air, scowling at him.

I poured some of the tochitură in the clay bowl in front of me, using a piece of mămăligă to gather the meat sauce, instead of a spoon. It tasted as bland as water. “Do you have some salt?” I requested, trying not to look directly at him.

His gasp almost broke my hearing. He crossed his hands over his chest, but a large bag of salt was plopped on the table.

“Thank you,” I mumbled and sprinkled some of it over the food.

The meat was tender, breaking as I put the piece of mămăligă in it. My mouth couldn’t get enough of the sweet taste of the onion mixed with tomato sauce. I missed my mum and her cooking.

Not realising how hungry I was, I pushed the empty bowl to the middle of the table.

“Do you know if I can see my family?” I set my eyes on the stove, which was blurry through the ghost.

Another cackle came from the translucent neck of the boy. “Of course not! You are now his slave, as am I, human. You do not think much, do you?”

Apparently not.

My hand reached out to the mug, but by mistake, the sack filled with salt fell to the floor. I gasped, my eyes widening. That was a bad omen. Spilling salt over any surface meant quarrels with the members of the house.

With my pulse accelerating, thoughts of more evil coming my way crossed my mind. It was ungodly enough to be in the same cave with a ghost and the Goat Man.

“Woman, is just some salt. I will have more fetched next morning.”

In the next minute, a broom appeared and swept every grain from the floor, then jumped straight into an empty bucket.

“That means I am going to attract…”

“Stop talking this instant! There are no superstitions here, not Bau-Bau, no gods, saints and whatnot.”

Shaking my head, because this interaction was draining me of everything I had, I drank the whole mug of what I thought was water.

The acid taste of țuică burnt my tongue, and I started to cough. I only tasted it once before.

After my family would collect all the plums from the orchard and leave them to ferment, my father would call our neighbours to start preparing the drink. Once the juice was collected from the fruits, it was time for the alcohol to get out.

My father would bring the large boiler that he inherited from his parents, and at a high flame, the steam would turn the juice into țuică.

One of his friends gave me a small glass that fit nicely in my hands and asked me to drink. Being more naïve, I took everything in a swig. Every inch of me burned.

I loathed it.

I stood up, suddenly getting the courage to look straight into the ghost’s eyes. “I am not dead, I still have my body, I can move, and I can feel. So, how am I supposed to serve your master?” My feet went on their own accord, nose to nose with the ghost.

“I… I…” he babbled, his eyes rolling in his head.

I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for an answer. My left eyelid twitched, another bad omen approaching.

If one’s upper lid twitched, then something good will happen that day; if the lower lid twitched, then something which will ruin your day will take place.

It was clear as day that I was doomed. If I were not dead by then, I would be soon.

“I guess my master will tell you everything once he returns,” the boy mumbled into his chest.