Blackfeather Woods champagne, cocaine, gasoline

The ghost was much more solid than he realized, and she went kareening off of his back and over him. The pinch of her teeth was a dull sensation but he felt it, at least until she let go and was tumbling. The aftermath wasn't very clear to Mou. He knew in the deepness of his mind that this wasn't a spirit of the forest but his mind was playing tricks, laced so strongly by the poppies he had been desperately using for support. He knew she wasn't a ghost—but he also didn't know what was happening.

She got up. He saw her silhouette in his good eye, creeping closer.
He didn't. Not immediately.

When Mou tried, he could feel the tensing of his hip muscles and a fleeting sensation of strain in his legs, but that faded almost as soon. It was a dreamy feeling. He thought, I have taken too much, and kept on trying to stand. He couldn't, and that should've frightened him.