Ida didn’t take the comment literally, but then, if she didn’t take it literally she didn’t know what to make of it. Ghosts of what, she wondered, as her head tipped to the side in thought. Perhaps he was a poet afterall, speaking with this sort of vague metaphor. Had they really been friends, Ida would’ve pressed him on it. This was the sort of ambiguity that nagged at her mind until she knew. But they weren’t friends – probably never would be – and as a result, she held her tongue.

Whatever happened with Adrienne, they were never that close, so it was none of her business. Neither was it her business why Mister Greengrass seemed so keen on a new topic. There was no. reason. for Ida to invest so much thought here (yet she caught herself frowning at her glass all the same).

“It translates literally into the Hungry Ghosts festival,” she told him, finally looking up from her glass. “It’s thought that if families are diligent enough in nurturing their connection, even long-lost ancestors can make their way back to the mortal realm temporarily. I’ve never seen this phenomenon myself,” Ida felt compelled to clarify. Neither did she wish to, as she felt too conflicted about her mum’s death to know what to say if her spirit made it back. “In any case, families prepare offerings and prayers, burn incense, and leave spaces for their ancestors at the dinner table, that sort of thing. Many hold off on taking big decisions that year until they can hopefully consult with their ancestors.”

She took another sip of her wine, a way to look at Mister Greengrass curiously without being too obvious. After a beat, “As for the lost souls already trapped in the mortal realm, they are thought to get stronger. They can wander farther, some even smell and taste and touch again. It's advised to not swim, work with sharp objects, or stay out alone after dusk – lest any malevolent spirits choose to use the opportunity as a source of entertainment.”

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