Ghosts are impressions of memory, like watermarks. They can ony fit into the footprints they left in life. Like figured in a Swiss clock, moving on a track and exposing themselves at predestined moments. Whatever the truth of a person — a soul, a superego, the anima — it shatters after death. Any reconstruction would be little more than imitation. The cracks would always show, the value irreversibly diminished.
It was around when you were alive, right?
It comes in different flavors now. Hazelnut, mocha, French vanilla, cinnamon, the works. I only really use it when I’m on the road and can’t justify getting Starbucks.
That’s a huge, multinational coffee shop chain. They do things to espresso that would make your head explode. I don’t really mean that as a compliment, but I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t have a weakness for java chip Frappuccinos.
What about fairies?
What the hell is a "java chip Frappuccino"?
Wait your fucking turn and tell me if fairies are real.
When I was small I liked to think I saw them in the garden sometimes. Now and then I left out a bowl of milk with rose petals on the full moon. I’m sure the cat enjoyed that, but I don’t know if any fairies did.
There are plenty of strange phenomena that may inhabit the periphery of things, though doubtless science has found explanations for much of what I would have thought fantastical. There may indeed be truth to sightings of fey little creatures, but I have no special knowledge of such things, and humans are very, very good at making up stories.
Tell me about the Face Book.
I feel like I should explain the Internet first.
From context clues, I infer that advancing technology has enabled some sort of mass communication network that requires minimal maintenance and has a low cost barrier to entry, making it accessible to the working class.
I guess you have the right idea
'Low cost' is a little optimistic though.
So Facebook is part of the Internet, and it's like an interactive address book. People can keep track of their friends and family, talk to each other, share things about their lives. It has an instant messaging system, which is a lot like what we’re doing now, except with less necromancy.
"Facebook" is just what it's called. It's the branding. It isn't actually a book made out of faces.
i did not think it was a book made out of faces
Kind of sounds like you did.
OK, tell me about the trees.
What are those white trees on the grounds all about?
They are bones, Farrow.
Hang on a minute. I'm going to check something.
These aren't bones. They have bark, branches, knots. This piece has fibers all the way through it. It’s just white wood, like what I’ve been coughing up
DID YOU BRING A BRANCH INSIDE THE HOUSE
Guessing I shouldn't have done that?
GET RID OF IT NOW NOW GET RID NOW OF IT GET RID OF IT RIGHT NOW GET RID NOW OF IT GET RID OF IT RIGHT NOW GET RID NOW OF IT GET RID OF IT RIGHT
it's gone!! it's gone. I threw it outside already
They're different from Hazel's tree in the basement, then? Because that’s growing inside the house.
Tell me the truth, Castile. What’s going on with the trees? I swear I see them leaning toward the house at night. I’ve been watching through the window. Were they all people once, like Hazel?
Castile, answer me!