Narrowed eyes met the man, only to widen at the words spoken. Painted brows arching with an unspoken ‘Oh?’ written across paint-masked features. “Doctor Venkman.” the black-clad man says, hand rises, index at the ready. “Doctor!” Eric exclaims— “I heard a joke once.” the dead man begins to narrate, “Man goes to the Doctor, says he’s depressed.” mime-like expressions; furrowed black and white masking pinched in feigned sorrow. A mirror image of Shelly’s decor in the flesh.
“Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain.” a frown marks his features, walks to where the parapsychologist. “Doctor says, Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up.“ his shoulders roll in a shrug, only for his hands to raise at the height of his face in mock despair.
“Man bursts into tears. Says, But doctor– I am Pagliacci.”
Eric ends with a bow.
⊰ LET’S GO, KID ⊱ the bird cawed impatiently from the window frame
before taking flight into the dark of the night, invoking Eric to follow suit.
“I assure you that if I am to speak in jest, you will know.” not a threat, but a mere clarification. I am dead, he’d said - incredulous was the reaction, without a fault. Not a GHOST, not human. An unknown, an unknown full of rage. With a never ending need to reunite with her. With Shelly. Firm steps were taken to where the window, to where the bird’s former place. One moment there, climbing onto the opening, leather coat falling behind him, and the next gone.