Welcome to Litwich Pt. II

Teddy waited a full week for contact.

In the end, he caved and went in search of an occult shop. Litwich had many of them — ghosts were big business in The Most Haunted Town in the Country. He went for one that looked legitimate — Astrid’s Occult and Mystic Objects. He dismissed the more touristy stores right off the bat. Particularly Ye Olde Occult Shoppe. Something about that rubbed him up the wrong way. As if this whole business were nothing more than a cheap gimmick. A rubber toy for children to gawk at and for parents to grumble over.

He trudged his way into town without an umbrella or an anorak. Screw it, he thought. In for a penny, in for a rain-soaked pound. By the time Teddy got into the black, lifeless heart of Litwich, the downpour had penetrated his bones. Each item of clothing weighed twice as much, from his boxers to his socks. A squelch accompanied every footstep.

The bell of Astrid’s tinkled overhead, faded and monotone. Astrid loomed behind the counter, robed in sixties’ hippie attire. The black bags beneath her eyes betrayed her insomnia, and her attempt at a smile only made his heart ache. Everyone, it seemed, grieved in Litwich.

Teddy tried to return the smile and found that he couldn’t. Not even a fake one would adorn his countenance. Instead, he nodded. “Hi, I’m—”

“Teddy Garner.”

Anywhere else, he might’ve raised his eyebrows. Here in Litwich, it bordered on the mundane. “I guess you already know what I’m here for, huh?” It wasn’t a jab at her business or her “abilities” — an honest presumption.

Astrid gave him a wry grin. At least that one had a hint of genuineness. It didn’t quite touch her eyes though. They seemed to be black holes. All light swallowed within, all water spirals to the drain. She bent and lifted something onto the counter, already wrapped in brown paper. A tag on the side read T. Garner, in pretty — but shaky — handwriting.

“I would tell you not to use this,” her eyes darted to the package under her fingers, “but I know you won’t listen.”

“Sorry.”

Astrid shrugged. “Don’t apologise for who you are. Just know this: Our ghosts are never far away. If you’re here—” her gaze flicked up to the store window “—they should come knocking. And if they don’t, ask yourself why.”

I’m scared of what the answer will be, he didn’t say. Instead, he asked, “How much?”

Astrid waved him away. “I don’t need to charge, Mr Garner.” She flashed him another sardonic grin.

“Oh?”

“The rent in Litwich is pretty cheap.”