“Is this why your tribe killed you?”
“Among other things,” he offered with entertainment, clearly alluding he’d done plenty of other horrible things to receive the outcome he got.
“What all did you do?” I asked in anger. I felt naive. I’d seen his pain, his history, and I’d let that make me complacent about him. I should have known. Ididknow. From the beginning, my instincts had said to be wary. Makwa might have had something horrible happen to him but that didn’t mean he was weak.
“Listen, how about you go back to being the sniveling little girl who couldn’t control me before? Clearly, you aren’t ready to save yourself,” Makwa said and the words burned.
“Lashing out because you're trapped and scared? How unattractive,” I shot back.
“No, this is about thinking I found someone who was like me but finding a useless girl instead. You could do something. You could help your men but you choose not to. To keep pushing down your power and acting too good for it.”
“Because I’m shocked you ate someone’s soul?” I said in offense. “You killed him in a way no one else could. He doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Good riddance. Now, are you ready to learn? To save yourself? Or are you going to wait until your men come back, get themselves hurt and killed trying to save you because you’re too scared?”
“Fuck you, Makwa,” I hissed, my cheeks burning in shame. I wiggled my fingers, trying to get the feeling back in them as the shackles hung heavily on my wrists. “You’re just scared,” I said but without any venom. I could feel the fear inside him. He was frightened of Ben. It made me frightened of Ben. What if he did exorcise Makwa before I was rescued or escaped? I’d die.
“Let me teach you,” Makwa offered in my head. A slithering serpent offering Eve a succulent fruit.
“I don’t want to eat souls,” I said. I feared his own soul-eating had tainted him. If he had ever been moral. He sighed in annoyance.
“What are you Makwa? You aren’t a ghost, not really.”
“I’ll show and tell you whatever you want, my little fawn. Just let me teach you how to wield your power. To stop being rescued and start doing the rescuing. You could be so much more, Ava.” I swallowed. I knew Makwa wasn’t a good person and that whatever he got up to in life had resulted in his entire tribe attacking him. I knew he wasn’t good. That what he’d done in life was partially why he was what he was in death.
Yet… I couldn’t keep being weak. I didn’t have to eat souls, did I? He could teach me other things. The guys would be back for me and when they did, what would happen to them? What if they’d already been shot and were bleeding out in the forest? What if they died trying to rescue me?
I watched the cult members mulling around for a while, trying to keep warm despite the creeping cold finding its way into my bones.
“Tell me what you really are and… I’ll be your student,” I told Makwa.
“See for yourself,” he said, his words edged with pleasure for his victory. The edges of my vision went dim as a memory rose up into my mind.
* * *
Three-hundred years ago
I was neverthe good guy and never the victim until the fateful night my tribe took to locking me in a box in a damned cave filled with ghosts. They accomplished only protecting themselves but if they had hoped to stop me for good, they had failed.
I persevered for four days, clawing at my coffin. It took me awhile to figure out that I was already dead. Death was a blurred line for me. It wasn’t until I felt a tug, hell come to collect its sinner. The devil himself couldn’t take me from my body though. I fought it tooth and nail, weaving my soul into my bones, damning myself for an eternity as a ghoul.
It cost me. Staying there meant staying in that damned box, my mind slowly breaking. Endless time stretched on, I couldn’t even try to tell time. I kept whittling away at the box for freedom as my skin began to decay. Each day I grew weaker.
Still, I refused to leave my body and accept the loss.
“I’ll kill them. I’ll kill all of them. The whole damn world. Then I’ll raise them, make them my puppets. Make them rot in their own bodies, even as I rot in this one,” I whispered to myself, laughing.
I whispered to the ghosts in the cave every day. I’d always talked to ghosts, always seen them. When I was a child they came to me willingly, seeking me out. They still did until that cave, where my wretched soul stunk in its dying carcass. I was no longer their attachment to the living world so they were harder to call. After a while, I finally realized deception was my friend, not threats.
“Please,” I whimpered, my voice weak and trembling. “Please.” The shiver of a ghost moved closer.
“What are you?” He asked.
“I’m stuck. Please,” I said, giving no answers. It worked. I felt him touch my coffin and lost my patience, rattling the coffin as no ghost should. He retreated in fear as my dead hands clawed at the lid. My fingers were bones at the tips, a dull scratch at the wood. I screamed in frustration as he retreated.
The next day I tried again.
“Please. Help me.” He came again.
