Mal ruined her life, and now it’s over. But death is a fresh start at the local haunted mansion where carefree ghosts dance their afterlives away. Feeling too guilty to join them while her sister mourns, Mal finds a medium to help her seek closure, but chasing grief rather than cutting loose might trap her in a fate worse than death. She could risk trying to clean up the mess she left behind—or blow off the past and party. FLEABAG meets BEETLEJUICE.
It didn’t bother me much, being dead. I hadn’t really been living anyway. At least now I’d never have to do the dishes in the sink, or worry about the bills piled on the table, or nurse any guilt over staying in every night. Nothing urged me to get out of bed anymore. It felt like I’d been rehearsing for this a long time—how to be a ghost.
But I couldn’t haunt my apartment forever. No doubt it would be back on the market soon, in spite of being cramped and badly lit, the walls always thumping with aggressive bass, occasionally accompanied by distant sirens. My presence would be easy to clear out: just secondhand furniture, piles of laundry both dirty and clean, empty bottles of whiskey and packs of cigs. No decorations, as if I’d barely moved in. I hadn’t gotten around to buying plants, or finding art that spoke to me, or making enough friends to showcase on the fridge.
I could linger for however long the place remained unoccupied. But after that, I didn’t really want company. If the next tenant walked around naked, or hosted lots of overnight guests, or brought a bedmate along with them, I didn’t want to see it—well, unless they were hot.