I shuddered and clenched my eyes shut the man’s burnt limb was torn from its socket. Grimacing at the sound, I left the scene of the ritual. Even my brother felt a pang of disgust, never growing accustomed to what he had to do. I had never told anyone that I was part of a family of cannibals.

Our mysterious ways were for the good of all; however gruesome it may be. I didn’t understand how it worked, but whenever a person’s body is eaten, they are granted safe passage into the afterlife. They must be devoured within thirteen hours, or their souls remain trapped and tormented on earth. They are often referred to as a ghost. It is the responsibility of my family and to perform these uncomfortable but necessary rituals as bearers of this knowledge.

The following day was a week day. I only attended school, as it was law to do so. Those accompanying me on my grim career saw education as worthless. My family’s responsibility towards every dying man was the result of the curse of being able to communicate wit the dead. The long gone ancestors of the diseased will warn us of their descendant’s plight, and so we would begin the often unsuccessful journey to save their deaths.

By the time the school bell rand, the classroom had been deserted. Even the teacher had unreasonably left in advance. Maths was a subject I cared little for. My ability to communicate with the dead allowed me to cheat any lesson. I slammed my fists against the table, sentient that the echo would be heard in other rooms. Fiercely cursing aloud, I banished all surrounding spirits. I had been denied an ordinary life, one which I would have savoured. I was nearly at the age where I would start my forbidding work; yet I could not yet bare the sickly sight of blood. Vanquishing my anger, I slipt out of the room.

My nose twitched, disturbed by the presence of a ghost. I warded it off with my brooding mind, but it relentlessly alerted me to it’s attention. At last I allowed it to speak. The distressed ghost alerted me that his son had been murdered in a nearby suburb. Quite a while had past and time was of the essence.

By way of public transport, I escaped from school and made my way to a single story weatherboard house. Weeds thrived in the garden, overwhelming the few plants that grew on it’s outskirts. A fouled stench wafted through the house, I quickly recognised it as coming from a decomposing corpse. I beared it by holding my nose aswell as my breath. My eyes scanned the corpse. He had been stabbed. He was dead. Although I was not yet initiated into performing the ritual, I knew it as my duty to feed.

As I had seen dozens of times, I ripped off his scarred arm. It had been deeply scratched, indicating that he had made an attempt to fight off his attacker. Turning away, I severed his head, unable to bear the stone gaze of the man. The more I ate of him, the better his chance of having a prosperous after life. The process was horrid

“What have I become,” I whispered as I smeared a patch of warm blood from my pale face. I dirtied tear rolled done my cheeking, gaining speed as it sped down a facial depression. It fell and diluted a puddle of blood. I collapsed on the floor; blood trickling from the body. A ghoul. That was all I had become. But I had done my duty, and performed well