The dark clouds don’t just descend, they dump the crap out ya.
Is it the coffee or a healthy dose of paranoia?
They are after me.
It’s when you reach that point that they might be watching you.
Why would they be watching me?
I can name a few reasons.
I know too much.
Well to be honest, I know jack shit.
But that still doesn’t stop that thought of death by a thousand angry knives.
Call it what you will, but an anxiety attack like this is just damn scary.
You gotta ride it.
Either you get stabbed in confined spaces or you don’t.
It was in 1997 when the looting and raping began, causing fear in the Chinese community.
I’m not the only one who lives in fear.
‘There’s an explanation to your hallucinations,’ says Max, my Chinese friend.
Do go on.
‘There’s a grave behind Mc Cafe.’
What the fuck. It’s in that toilet I was having thoughts of being jumped by unsavory types and stabbed to death.
‘There’s a cemetery just behind the toilet,’ says Max, ‘it’s a Muslim cemetery and usually freaks me and my friends out.’
The ghost followed me home. I was pissing all night.
‘It was haunting you,’ said Max.
Sure enough, I googled the location of Mc Cafe and found a cemetery, overgrown.
There was a reason why I never liked that toilet. Now I know.
Max has been very resourceful. It only took an hour of retelling my story before he came up with something interesting to say. But what he said, just blew my fucking mind.
For you lovers of ghost stories, I’ve located the coordinates on google map here.
I know. Surely one of the skeletons resting in a grave was a serial killer.
‘Abdullah,’ says Max, ‘ he was the madman of Pontianak, went on a killing rampage after the vampire spirit of the river knocked back his advances.’
Now he’s making that up.
‘Anything to keep you happy, Sir.’
Fuck off I say, I’m looking for cold-blooded facts, not make believe.
But he got me thinking.
A cemetery with the ghost of a serial killer, close enough to float over to the cafe’s outhouse…
Man, I wish I had the good sense to say that. Nice one Steve Cartwright.
But Max informs me it’s a ghost of a boy that haunts the toilet.
Have you seen it, I ask.
And have you spoken to it?
‘Nope, I don’t want to disturb it. It’s not of our world.’
I’m guessing the back part of the cafe use to be a cemetery and was concreted over and built on.
Past the first pool table, and into the second pool table room that connects to the toilet that looks like it’s just been slapped up, you can feel the ghosts doing their supernatural dances, consolidating their turf.