Part 1
Ma’s shadow pranced about the dyed brick wall. It brought a stick to its lips. The stick’s end crumbled, and the ghosts in it smouldered, crawling up the wall, up, up, creeping into the ant houses and termite houses and bat houses. The ants and termites and bats would be haunted tonight, unless the rain gods sent down holy water to vanquish the tobacco ghosts.
Stump, stump, Ma’s shadow crushed the stick against the table. Die, stick, die. The stick turned suicidal. It hurled itself off of the table, spun in the air, cracked its ashen skull on the floor.