The immature flame withered away and left just enough smoke to acknowledge the miscarriage. It was not the first time he failed.
“How is this possible. There’s no fucking wind in this place.” He was too tired to sound exasperated. Too tired to keep trying. But not tired enough to jab the matchstick back into the box.
“You’re the one called Vorn, no?” came a rusty voice behind him. He turned around and twitched at the unexpected view. Before him (and too close for comfort) stood a pale, almost see-through apparition of an old man, leaning against the walls with his arms crossed. “You don’t seem like very much. I was expecting better.”
“Hey, fuck you.” Vorn reached for his gun, but changed his mind halfway. “And you’re a ghost, aren’t you.” He looked up. “The type that floats around attics and scare the living shits out of little girls.”
“Almost.” The stereotype amused the ghost. “Your living shits aren’t scared out yet.”
“I’m laughing really hard.”
“Good. Now let me show you how to light a match down here.”
“Here.” Vorn tossed the entire matchbox at it. “Knock yourself out.”
The ghost drew out a fresh matchstick and struck it against the box. A crisp flame burst into life, blurring its face.
“That’s pretty trick,” Vorn commented.
“Indeed it is,” came the ghost’s reply as the matchstick fell through its translucent mass. The flame died before it hit the ground. “Too bad that means nothing down here.”
“What?” Vorn scowled. “Then what the fuck was all that about? You think you’re funny being a magician?”
“It was to pass the time. You can’t really bring fire down here. You’ll thank me later for using up your last match. Any other questions?”
Vorn sighed. “What the hell am I supposed to ask.”
“You haven’t asked for my name yet. Don’t you think that’s very rude of you?”
“I don’t care.” Vorn turned away from the ghost and started walking. “I’m getting out of here. You have fun.” He had barely taken his third step when the ghost pushed him down and pinned him to the ground. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Answering your question.”
“I didn’t have a question.”
“You do. You’re just too much of a coward to ask. Ask it.”
“Why?”
“Because you need to know.”
Vorn stared the ghost in the eye, not saying a word. The ghost stared back, with nothing — nothing at all.
“Ask it. If I were you, I’d blurted it out long ago.”
“I’m not you,” he said coolly.
“Keep on rejecting my help, and you will be soon.”
He fell silent again, contemplating the ghost’s words. “If I’m seeing ghosts, I am pretty close to being dead, aren’t I.”
“Yes. Yes, you are.”
“So how do I get out of here?”
“You wait for someone else to pick you up.”
“Would that person you?”
“No. I’m dead, you numbskull.”
“I see,” Vorn smiled. “And you have all the answers, don’t you.”
“Yes.”
“How long do we have to wait?”
“At this rate, not long.” The ghost pulled him up. “The fact that you’re talking to me down here means somebody’s missing up there.”
“Who’s picking me up?”
“Sin.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I can’t stand that guy. Do I really have to be saved by him?”
“Her.”
“Excuse me?”
“My daughter.”
“Are you giving me the right answers here?” Vorn narrowed his eyes at the ghost. “Sin’s a girl? And your daughter?”
A familiar voice spoke out behind him. “Is there a problem?”
Vorn spun around. “Tori?” Her thighs were bleeding.
“Actually, I’m Cyn. It’s short for Cynthia.”
“I—”
She grinned. “You never asked for my name either.”