The next day, as Simphiwe and Khanyi walked to the local spaza, two guys leaning against the fence that bordered a vacant plot whistled at them.

“Don’t look round,” Khanyi warned. “Those guys are Skulls.”

“Skulls?”

“There’s something you need to know. There are two gangs in this section of the township – the Skulls and the Striker Boys. They’re always fighting. The Striker boys are bad news.”

“And the Skulls?”

“Some of them are OK.” Khanyi’s face clouded over, as though she was remembering something painful.

“Did you have a Skull boyfriend?” Simphiwe asked. Khanyi flashed her a warning look. That expression told Simphiwe that she had guessed the truth.

“Come. Let’s go,” said Khanyi, changing the subject quickly. She clearly didn’t want to talk about it. And Simphiwe wasn’t going to push her. Not after what Ma Dlamini had said to her the night before. Khanyi picked up the cola and chips she had bought at the spaza and started walking fast, back towards her house. Simphiwe had to run to catch up.

It was only after three days, when the girls had grown closer, that she began to talk. They were sitting together on Khanyi’s bed and Sifiso was out. She was hesitant at first. It clearly brought back painful memories. But then she began to open up.

“His name was Mandla. He was the coolest guy in the township,” she said quietly. “You should have seen him, Simphiwe. He was so handsome and charming. Every girl wanted him. He took me to the shebeens. I never told Ma. She hates drinking. He also took me to the clubs. He could really dance. He had swag. When he held me I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven.”

“I’ve never had a boyfriend like that,” sighed Simphiwe.

“He even gave me a Blackberry – top of the range,” she continued, “and a ring. He promised me that one day he would take me to an expensive place, and then I could wear as much jewellery as I liked.”

“I’ve never seen you wear a ring.”

As Khanyi felt her ring finger, her eyes filled with tears. “I decided to sell it after…”

“After what?”

“Never mind. That’s in the past now.”

“It might help to talk about it,” coaxed Simphiwe.

“Sometimes I think I see him watching me. But it can’t be him. He’s dead. All that’s over now. Finished.”

Simphiwe and Khanyi sat in silence. Then Khanyi added, “The gangs got him, you see. And once that happens, you’re dead meat. It started because this cool guy from the Skulls befriended him. He promised Mandla money – a fortune and the high life. The worst thing was that at first he wanted the money so he could treat me…” Khanyi fell silent for a long time.

“How did Mandla die?” Simphiwe asked softly.

“He was burned to death: charred flesh; burnt to ash; nothing of him left, except his ghost. And it’s all because of those drugs.”

“Mandla used?”

“He did more than use. He sold drugs, but not just to people like us. To kids in the street. He and his Skulls gang were making addicts of the whole neighbourhood. My handsome, charming Mandla – selling drugs! What a fool I was. The day he came home with a Skulls tattoo on his arm I thought I was going to faint.”

“Did he die in the fire in the ‘Killing House’?”

“Something terrible happened in the ‘Killing House’, before the fire.” Khanyi’s lip was trembling. “I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t,” she whispered. “I never meant for it to end like that. And now I’m haunted by Mandla’s ghost. Sometimes I think he wants his revenge.”

***

Tell us what you think: Do ghosts exist? Why does Mandla want his revenge? What did Khanyi do?