Chapter 10 - Revenge
Now that I knew Mark was happily living nearby, near the very bin he dumped my body in, revenge was all I could think about.
They say you shouldn’t seek revenge because it consumes you.
But those people probably were never murdered by their boyfriend for the crime of mentioning their wife-to-be’s name and standing up for yourself.
Most people would have moved on after twenty years. But I’m not most people; hell, I’m not even a person. My soul definitely had not moved on, and given what I know about being a Grouch and being the manifestation of vengeance, I won’t rest until Mark is lying dead in a pool of his own blood.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him alive, smug, married.
Happy. I thought of him married to Judy, fucking her, how miserable he would have been all those years pretending to be straight.
With every sad thrust, did the memory of what he did to me fade from the corners of his conscience like old gum under his shoe?
Or did it just make it easier to shove to the back of his mind, so long as he had a hole to fill?
Despite feeling this, I was stuck. I didn’t know exactly where he lived–damn trash-magnet I am.
Before I could make a note of his house, the street he was on, the trash I was anchored to blew to another neighbourhood.
I couldn’t do a damn thing. At least I made it back to my bin behind the service station.
Just as I lost all hope, one night, he came. Not Mark, but someone else who knew exactly how to help.
Shuffling in like some human moving a dented wheelie bin, this new spirit fell into my dumpster like he had always belonged there. When he saw me, he froze.
He had a nose ring made from a pull-tab and eyes that pierced through me. His hands looked gnarled, and through his awkward smile, I saw how black and rotting his teeth were.
“Ah I see this place is already occupied,” he grunted. He held out his hand.
I didn’t shake it.
He sniffed the air, and then a smile appeared on his face.
“I know you! You are the new Grouch. The one who was left here to rot!”
I stared at him. This Grouch was… something.
He had a tangle of patchy grey hair on his head that resembled furry mould, old takeout boxes for shoulder pads, rags for clothes, and his hunched features made him look ancient. He exuded an aura that reeked of piss-covered cardboard and stale resentment.
“I’m Eddy,” I drawled. “But people used to call me—”
“Trash?” he cut in, wheezing a laugh. “Yeah, I know. You have developed quite a name for yourself down in The Rot.”
“Guess my reputation precedes me?”
“Our little slice of afterlife is just one big gossip zone. Dumpsters, drains, junkyards, loading bays… You know, anywhere the discarded things go, we manifest. And boy, it has been a long time since a good Grouch manifested!”
“Well, yeah, I know how I came about.” I replied instantly and nestled myself deeper into the garbage bag couch I had fashioned for myself. “I have some… baggage, like all Bin-Spirits.”
“Yes. You harbour a deep resentment. Trust me, I was the same.”
Was? My ears pricked up. “How did you process it?”
He laughed. And it was loud, bouncing off the sides of the dumpster and through me.
“Process?” he laughed again, wiping a tear from his ghostly eye. “I didn’t do shit. I accepted my fate. And here I am, wandering The Rot.” He flourished his arms in a semi-pirouette, and I just stared at him.
He looked back at me, and he folded instantly. “Fine, if you must know. I was too late for my revenge. My murderer killed himself out of guilt. He preferred to take his own life than to face the crime of raping me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t need to apologise to me, Eddy, you didn’t do it. It was my uncle. He was sick. Evil. Twisted, like most who rape children.”
We sat in silence, letting the words settle within me. I had never met anyone so forthright about their death.
“I’m Grumble, by the way,” he added. “I’ve long forgotten my human name.”
I shook his hand this time, and it was nice to actually touch something, someone again.
“Is this what we do now?” I asked. “Rot together in bins until we lose our minds?”
“Most do,” he replied, then tilted his head. “Unless you’ve still got something you want to get off your chest?”
“I do. It’s Mark. I know where he lives, so now I can-”
He looked interested now and leant forward. “Ah, so you want to see the man who killed you?”
“Not just see him. Destroy him.” I nodded.
“Do you know what you are?” he asked, leaning even closer again, and whispering as if people were listening outside.
“You’re a Grouch, yeah, but more importantly, you are Mould-bound.
You’ve got a vengeance thread coiled around your soul.
Until you face–Mark, was it–you’re stuck as a Mould-bound Grouch forever. ”
“I don’t just want to face him,” I said. “I want to ruin him.”
Grumble’s grin split wide. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
Grumble was the first thing resembling a friend I’d had since dying. Crass, greasy, unfiltered. But he listened.
“I want him to pay,” I told him as we sat shoulder-to-shoulder on a mound of damp cardboard under a flickering security light. “I want him to remember me every time he breathes.”
“You’re not the first ghost to crave a haunting,” Grumble said, picking his ear with a chopstick.
“But most never get the chance. All most can do as Bin-Spirits is move trash around, and that doesn’t exactly make people run for the hills.
They just think we’re low-level poltergeists.
Fucking Nullers will ruin this world. There will be no revenge if Mark doesn’t know it’s you, right?
You need help. Lucky for you, I know a guy who can help. He does recon for the Spilled Spirits.”
“Spilled Spirits?”
“They’re a network of bin dwellers and drain creepers, like us. We exchange gossip and trash intel.”
“…You're joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” he grinned, his blackened teeth making another unwelcome appearance. “We’ll find your Mark. And then? We take our time.”