Chapter 9 #2
“Oh—okay—so there are seven types of ghosts, at least that we know of—Donny theorizes there could be more waiting to be discovered, but we haven’t found them yet.
First, you have Echoes, which are basically emotional recordings stuck on repeat.
Think of a bride who died in a car crash on her wedding day, walking the same stretch of road forever in her bloody dress.
They lose their minds over time, and they rarely cause danger to people unless they figure out you can see them.
It breaks them out of their cycle, then they become interested in you. ”
That must have been what the ghost in the library was. I broke her out of whatever loop she was in.
How long had she been doing that? Years? Decades? Just stuck in one moment, alone with whatever killed her, until someone saw her. She must have been sad when I ran away from her.
DJ’s already continuing: “Then you have Fragments, which are ghosts tethered to specific objects or places. They’re territorial—super powerful within their domain—but they can’t leave, so they’re not too bad.
Parasites stick around because of attachment to another person, but it’s actually super sad.
They lose everything that made them human and end up feeding on the life force of the people who can’t let them go, eventually killing them.
Parasites usually cross over on their own after their loved one dies—unless their loved one also becomes a Parasite, and then it becomes this whole nasty cycle that can span generations. ”
A hollow ache settles in my chest. If I think about that too much, I’m going to cry.
“The Unburied are souls that stick around because their faith was super intense, but had improper burial rituals, so they can’t move on.
Usually super old. I’ve never seen one.” DJ’s talking with her hands now.
“Poltergeists are the fun ones—they’re only strong enough to slam doors or turn faucets on or whisper creepy things in your ear at three in the morning, but they can feel things.
Like, actual emotions we don’t see in other ghosts.
Joy. Humor. All that good stuff. And they can’t hurt you or possess you or anything super scary like that, but they’re a real pain in the ass if they decide they like you.
They get lonely—and clingy—they just want someone to talk to, but there’s nobody around who can hear them. ”
I don’t know if that’s better or worse than being an Echo. At least Echoes may not be as aware of what’s happening to them.
DJ’s still going, barely pausing for breath.
“Anyway—then there’s the Haunting Mass, which is what happens when you get a bunch of spirits all mashed together into one giant angry blob of collective consciousness.
You find those in places where lots of people died all at once—prisons, battlefields, anywhere there was a massacre or a mass tragedy—”
She’s walking backward now, and I follow her, trying to keep up with both her pace and the flood of information.
“They’re super freaking terrifying,” she says. “You do not want to get trapped in a Haunted Mass, trust me. But Possessors are our bread and butter. Those are what we deal with most because they’re the most dangerous and they’re actively murdering people.”
“Are all Possessors serial killers?” I ask.
“Not technically,” DJ says, turning back around and scrunching up her nose.
“Sometimes, they’re jilted lovers who can’t let go—or someone who died with serious anger issues, and now they’re taking it out on random people—but they’re basically always bad.
I’ve never met a Possessor who possessed people to help them find their car keys.
I’m not saying that good ones for sure don’t exist, but none of us have ever met one. ”
We go around a bend in the main hallway and pass a door that looks like it could be the entrance to a submarine. DJ walks right by it, but it doesn’t look like the kind of thing that we should be walking right by.
I stop, pointing at the door. “Uh, DJ? I think you missed a door.”
The door is made of iron and is huge, with pressure seals around the edges and a keypad lock on the side. The metal is dented, like something very large and very angry has been throwing itself against it from the other side.
DJ glances at the door, then back at me, and takes a big breath. It’s the first time she’s slowed down since I’ve met her. “I can’t bring you down there.”
My stomach does an uncomfortable flip. “Is that where you keep John Wayne Gacy?”
“Among others.”
I don’t love that I’m going to be sleeping above that completely terrifying basement. “They can’t escape, can they?”
DJ waves her hand, but I notice she takes a step away from the door. “The containment is solid. Donny’s been doing this for a long time, and nothing’s ever gotten out.”
“Can I see what’s down there?”
“Nobody’s allowed down there without Donny or Nico.” DJ’s voice loses some of its bounce, going flat in a way that tells me this isn’t up for discussion. “I’m not even allowed down there, and I’ve been on the team for three years.”
I want to ask more questions, but DJ’s already stepping past the door.
“Anyway,” DJ says. “I do have clearance to show you the library.”
The library is filled with floor-to-ceiling bookcases made of dark wood, sagging under thousands of volumes.
Heavy burgundy curtains frame windows that probably let out great light when the sun isn’t setting, and there’s a long table dotted with green-shaded banker’s lamps and surrounded by maroon velvet chairs.
I’m turning in a slow circle to take it all in, and I yelp.
A mountain lion crouches in the corner. My heart lodges itself in my throat before I catch up to the obvious reality—it’s dead.
But whoever stuffed it did the worst job I’ve ever seen.
Its mouth is frozen in a snarl that makes it look like it died mid-seizure, and its glass eyes bulge from their sockets at opposite angles, one pointing up at the ceiling and the other glaring at the floor.
I grip the neckline of my sweatshirt, willing my heart to slow down. “What is that?”
“Maurice,” DJ says, with a shrug. “Donny’s grandfather had this super expansive collection of taxidermy, which Nico and I got rid of two years ago—right after I joined the team—but Maurice was the worst one we could find, so I wanted to keep him.”
“Maurice is one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever seen,” I say, which is really saying something. “But I love him.”
DJ beams. “Right? I’m glad you get it.”
The sound of the door creaking open makes me turn around.
A boy built like a string bean steps into the room, and I do a double take because he looks so young he could still be in high school.
He has dark brown skin, a mop of black curls, and he’s wearing clear plastic glasses that sit slightly askew on his nose, like someone bumped into him and he never bothered to straighten them.
He rubs his eyes under his glasses, then points at me. “You saw Wicked?”
I glance down at the black zip-up with the green and white lettering I threw on after my shower. “I did.”
“Did you know Idina Menzel almost didn’t get the role of Elphaba?” he asks. “She sang Defying Gravity in her audition but messed up the high note, and had to restart the song.”
“I didn’t know that,” I say.
DJ gestures at the boy with both hands like she’s presenting him on a game show. “Eden, meet our resident genius, Benji.”
“It’s Benjamin,” he says. “Technically. But you can call me Benji if you want. Everyone else does.”
“That’s because Benjamin makes you sound like you should be wearing a powdered wig and writing letters about taxation without representation,” DJ adds.
“I’m also not a genius.” Benji shifts from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable with the attention. “I just remember most of the things I read. It makes me useful to Donny, but it’s exhausting for me. My brain is loud.”
He’s the human version of a sleepy puppy that I have an overwhelming urge to hug.
“It’s annoying,” Benji says. “DJ says I’m like a walking encyclopedia that nobody asked to open.”
“I did not say you were annoying,” DJ protests. “I said you were endearing.”
“You said I’m ‘endearingly annoying.’”
“Well, you are.” DJ gestures at me in the same way. “Benji, meet Eden, whose talent has not yet been discovered, but who no doubt has one lying there, under the surface.”
“I can trip over things that aren’t there, if that counts as a talent,” I offer.
Benji purses his lips into a line. “Griffin said dinner is ready. Are you hungry?”