In the darkly lit room, all silent—spare the whirring echo of the treadmill—Moraiya stood in the center. She glanced at the cobwebbed ceiling.

Honey dear. She shrugged away the man’s voice. Follow me…

Moraiya's self-prescribed hallucinations made her more insistent that ghosts were nonexistent and that she was proper for not believing in what she had not seen.

Out the window, a few cars sped by, namely her customers. They had run out thirteen minutes earlier, like the gates of heaven were closing, screaming that Moraiya’s gym was possessed.

It was they who were possessed, she thought, with such ideas of ridicule.

In all fairness, it was sometime near Halloween—but then, she had never cared too much about the festival. It stole part of your identity, morphing you into someone soulless. What exactly was the point of dressing up as someone you aren't?

Moraiya only knew that the costs were heavy with dressing up as someone you weren’t. It was how her husband died, partying drunk, in his Superman costume.

I thought I was invincible… I am sorry… Moraiya cursed and shook away her hallucination once more.

So there she stood, eyebrow raised, green hair tied into multiple braids, at the center of what her customers now called a ghost kingdom.

The rest of the equipment was in key: yoga balls sulking in the corner; dumbbells, laying like idiots on the rack; the multiple other machines, facing the window, all turned off—except for the living treadmill without a way to be put to the grave.

Surely, Moraiya thought, if the plug was off and the treadmill was still animate, this had to be the work of artificial intelligence—probably one relating to the constant nibbling sound of the fan. Perhaps, she scoffed, if she told the townspeople that the creator of Frankenstein had risen from the dead and once again created something in his lab, she would be believed.

Rejoice with me, my sweetheart. Moraiya looked out the window, sending away the chills she would not admit to.

Eventually, as the clock struck nine, Moraiya ended her investigation, shrugging at the still-moving treadmill and fan. She donned a black nightgown and slipped into the hands of her bed. Mora… she did not allow the hallucination to finish before she fell asleep.

Two hours later, at eleven, the gym erupted into a gathering of clamor. Moraiya's eyes shot open.

And all she saw was red.

The color inked away from her eyes, taking her vision along. Her fingers touched her skin—whatever ghast was left. She felt her face, and like her hand, it was bloody raw meat. Her flesh.

My everlasting love… no one believes you. Melancholic music became buried in her ear. No psychiatrist believes you…none of your friends do. The music sounded like the shrieks of dying people. Only I believe you…have ever cherished you…

Moraiya screamed, the sound piercing into her skull. "It was till death do we part." She gasped, feeling that she had to spit out blood. "And we have parted—you left the world in ashes."

I never left, Mora love…I never left.

“You’ve skinned me alive!” she yelled. The only response Moraiya felt was a breath tickle over her, a touch of hand brushing her skinless flesh. She choked on her own blood at the blackness before her eyes and the sound of the blade cutting the air.

Dearie…you understand how much we need— Sick wedding music suffocated her— each other…and now…we'll forever be one.

Moraiya screamed and screamed, and a knife curled itself into her heart.