--Five Years Later--
"...Yeah. Thanks. Mmhmm. Yeah, I'll be in touch. Later." The phone clacks shut. He looks up at the apartment block, shielding his eyes from the sun's glare.
"Have we arrived?"
He smiles. "Yup. The truck with our stuff should be here soon."
It smiles. "Good."
--
"Feed me."
"Later." Boxes are sliced open and items are set aside. The long and arduous task of moving house begins, but with the promise of a new job and a new life, he's more than willing to endure this torture.
"We're empty."
"I realise. Don't worry. It's all around us, after all. The death."
It's a simple studio, maybe fifty years old. The paint is peeling, the foundation a little rickety, the windows slightly loose, the piping from the boiler loud. Maybe that's why it was so cheap.
The essence of death was heavy here. A murder, maybe twenty or so years ago? The echoes of it, violent and sudden, reverbate throught the aparment. They see it as a blurry image. Hands around a throat. Hands around a cleaver. Hands around a gun.
Hands around nothing, drenched in blood.
It was obvious why it was so cheap. Mundanes wouldn't be able to handle the eerie presence, the 'echo' of the death here.
Aaah, it didn't matter. The location was nice, the neighbourhood was quiet, and he was close to his job.
The actual ghost of the victim was gone, for whatever reason, so that was another thing.
Lots of things nearby, lots of things within easy reach. No need to use public transport or anything; walking was enough.
Very convenient, actually. The age of this place, and its lack of tenants, gave it a certain presence. An...edible one. For them.
Ultimately, a great deal. Just the kind of thing for someone fresh out of college. And, thus, for them.
Just the sort of thing the two of them needed.
--
"So you can have it finished by tomorrow afternoon?"
"Mm...yeah. No problem. Do you want a paper copy too? Any particular formatting or spacing I should use?"
"Uh, nah. Just get in in, alright? Pleasure to be working with you."
"Alright."
Another pointless conversation between an employee and an employer. But fun, in its own way. It gave him purpose beyond what he did at night. Purpose that could stand unhindered in the sunlight, that could show its face amongst other humans.
He pats the head of the raggedly dressed little girl that clings to his side, disguising the motion as a stretch of the wrist. "Just a little longer."
The child nods, then buries herself deeper into his clothing. No one notices the odd shifting of his shirt or pants, or perhaps no one wants to. He couldn't see through their eyes; not anymore, anyway. Not since he woke up in that room, alone yet not.
And so the day continues...
--
...until night reigns. As much as he wanted to remain in the day, the night was his world in the end. The suitcase at his side rattles with the grinding of gears, stirring as if alive.
"Now then, where was that bad man?" he says quietly, gently carrying the child along.
His ward points at a large, looming factory and shivers once before disappearing. Looking at the building, he could definitely feel a presence there. An unwelcome one, foreign to the natural order of life. And oh so welcome to the natural order of death.
He smiles.
It smiles.