![ghost grave cover.jpg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmSpAouYoo4ayibZUXnNxxMQWcvtvvzgPXBacchbqUVRpw/ghost%20grave%20cover.jpg)


It was a Tuesday... but it felt like any other day.  That same feeling lingered.  A desperation.  A want.  A needing, for something... more.  It wasn't a psychological or biological depression, yet it was a depression.  It was the end of expansion.  No more could he grow, and so he depressed.   It was existential depression that resonated from the heart.  A feeling... a knowing... that there was something lacking in his life.  

He thought about her.  She wasn't necessarily that which was missing in life, but she was missing from his heart.  This existential boredom was something much more.  He remembered having this feeling before when he was a child.  The child felt like he was going to die of boredom.  An existential depression crushed the child from inside, until the child realized it was going to have to entertain itself.  And he did entertain himself, but after a few decades he ran out of tricks, and the world he lived in became clown world.  The once hobo free streets were piling up with homeless bodies.  Trash and a litter of rubbish covered the horizons.  He hated going outside because it meant seeing all of that and more.  The world was atomized.  Everyone was detached from each other, yet living so close together, packed together like sardines in tinned houses.  
The world was isolation.  It promised abundance.  He would often drink the wine of the city, trying to satisfy himself, but he was never full.  Always famished.  

So yeah, it was a Tuesday, but it felt like another day in purgatory.  Frank got up, did his rituals, and wondered what it was all really about.   

***

#### Meanwhile... 

Alan Marshall looked up in anticipation at his new place, located on the second floor of a shared building.  The building was old and decrepit looking.  Even more so than the rest of the dilapidated properties on the street.  The red door of the building reminded him of [Twin Peaks](https://www.google.com/search?q=twin+peaks+red+door&client=firefox-b-d&sxsrf=ACYBGNR09JDHtmdwGhmMVd-xo57M6iCC4w:1573413654566&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwih7dvPruDlAhW6kcMKHfVdAg4Q_AUIESgB&biw=1536&bih=750).  It was the second property he had viewed, but he knew it was *the one* once he saw that door.   And the rent was the cheapest you could find.

Alan was a computer analyst.  A stand up guy amongst his peers.  His self-proclaimed nickname was "whiz-kid" although no one was buying it.   His two best friends and joined him for this momentous occasion.  They were holding his boxes of stuff.  Alan had up until today shared a house with the other two, before upgrading to having his own place (a second floor on a partitioned building).
He had met Steve in College.  
*"Steve Steve, the Wonder Gun!"* they would call him.   
He was a player like no other; somewhere of a mix between David Hasslehoff, Stevie Wonder, & Bill gates with extra slacks covered in [Dan Aykroyd](https://www.google.com/search?client=firefox-b-d&biw=1536&bih=750&tbm=isch&sxsrf=ACYBGNRQrll2BWEpblPWHgFTzMkq6I8mYg%3A1573415217058&sa=1&ei=MWnIXZv-AuKlmwWn07PABg&q=dan+aykroyd&oq=aykroyd&gs_l=img.1.8.0l8j0i5i30l2.2318.2318..4525...0.0..0.182.182.0j1......0....1..gws-wiz-img.rwtUCOqNR9g).  Some would say that it was the babes playering him.  
Steve ran his own computer repair shop and was heavily invested in bitcoin, as well as up until recently being an accomplished piano player for a local jazz band "**Bejazoot**."  Bejazoot would have made it big, but their lead singer and saxophonist ran off to Hamburg for some girl.  It was sudden, and there were many rumours afloat...  
Mark worked in the same office as Alan.  He was short and forgettable. 

The three passed by Frank who was on his way to the shops.  They didn't notice him coming out from the first floor.  He was glazed in a fugue of invisibility brought on by a depressing force.  

*"Well, I guess this is the end of the Triumvirate"* Alan remarked as he placed the key in the door.
The two laughed from behind the boxes they were holding.  Alan opened the door.

<br>


<br>

<br>


#  Alan jumped back instinctively in fright.

#### *Jaysus fucking CRISTO!* he thought.

The hall light was off.  It was only illuminated by light coming through the door.  

Steve and Mark peered over the boxes they were holding.
"Why did you jump?" Steve asked.
Alan replied... "I saw a ghost".

***

### Meanwhile...

A private plane approached from Hamburg.  Its cargo contained crates of munitions and military goods... and a saxophone.  A deathwish.  

<br>

TBC...

[Chapter 2](https://steemit.com/horror/@riskdebonair/ghost-grave-chapter-2-screaming-with-no-mouth-new-original-fiction)
[Chapter 3](https://steemit.com/horror/@riskdebonair/ghost-grave-chapter-3-nazi-babe-with-a-cute-smile-new-original-fiction)
[Chapter 4](https://steemit.com/horror/@riskdebonair/ghost-grave-chapter-4-the-end-of-the-world-new-original-fiction)
[Chapter 5](https://steemit.com/horror/@riskdebonair/ghost-grave-chapter-4-the-dead-streets-new-original-fiction)

@RiskDebonair
**Irish Writer, Poet, & Lover**