Part XXI
Watching the mayhem unfold on the map had been a little more than I wanted to see. It'd thrown Em into a deep depression and we both knew it would be a while before she would be able to leave. The Reapers were probably going to hang around for a while. I also couldn't shrug the feeling that it had been my fault. I never should have pulled the bowling ball out of the van until I'd known what it was.
We sat silently in the living room well past the time when the candles had burned down to nothing and hardened again in amorphous blobs. Like the world outside, the map was clear. I'd almost started to think the Reapers had moved on as well until I heard one climb the gutter and perch on the roof. Listening to it chatter and coo made me want to drop some tar magic on its ass and send it packing, but that wouldn't do anybody any good. Reapers knew when you killed one of their own and the last thing you wanted were a bunch of mischievous Reapers shadowing you for the rest of your life just waiting for the chance to digest your spirit.
As I sat thinking about what to do I could hear Em mumbling the beginnings of a new poem in her head. You could always tell when she was working on one because she would repeat the words over and over again, adjusting them just slightly, then she'd pause and begin a new line. I felt a bit sad for her because she couldn't write them down anymore. I'd offered once to help her get them down, but she said they weren't meant for anyone but her.
The Old man had gotten restless alone in the living room and padded into the dining room where he jumped up on the table and walked onto the map. He laid down across it and started to purr. He was an unforgiving bastard.
Just when we were starting to get use to the Reapers scuttling across the roof like squirrel playing, there three hard raps on the front door. I knew who it was right away and cursed under my breath. Stupid son of a bitch.
I walked out of the dinning room and crossed the living room floor feeling like I'd lost a friend. I got to the first door and opened it and stepped into the mud room. I peered out the eye hole and dropped my head. I turned the nob and before Carl could say anything I grabbed his sleeve and threw him into the house shutting the door.
This wasn't going to work out well. I kept too many secrets and Carl reminded me of a friend I'd lost in the past. He didn't know what was going on and he looked at me only slightly startled.
He'd caught himself against the interior door jamb. I knew he wanted to ask me what the hell I'd done ripping him into the house, but by the beads of sweat on his forehead I knew he was actually grateful. At that moment I knew Carl had made a fateful mistake coming back and I ached inside knowing that even though I'd try my best to keep him safe, he was just too naive to survive what was coming.
He stammered and threw some Korn Nuts into his mouth. He talked through the crunching, I'm sure all that activity in his mouth gave him courage, like sucking on gravel to survive in the desert.
What the fuck is that on your roof?
It's a big squirrel Carl. Why are you here? I thought I told you to go away for a while?
You're all I've got Aubrey. I couldn't just leave you. I know something's up. It bothered me all night. I want to help.
I sighed heavy.
Then get us a few beers from the fridge, OK.
Carl shook his head like a little kid being told how a rocket ship worked, but not having the slightest idea what's being told to them.
It didn't look like a squirrel Aubrey, it looked like death.
Yeah. Sorry about that.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Saturday, July 5, 2008
PART XX
As I struggled to catch my breath I looked up and saw Em looking at me through the glass porch door. She looked upset. I tried to tell her it wasn't her fault, but the words froze in my throat.
Something moved to my right. I turned my head as I tried to lift myself up. It was more solid, this thing moving quickly through the front yard. It was a Reaper, and it scampered up the gutter and positioned itself onto the roof. I didn't know for sure what was about to happen, but when I saw another one jump along the back fence of the School for the Deaf, something about the way it was moving made me think of an Australian collie.
Reapers reminded me of something I'd seen in an old EC comic when I was a kid. It was a story about a grave hopper, this lanky wiry old man turned ghoul with tattered cloths and bare feet that hopped through the cemetery from grave stone to grave stone, occasionally stopping to perch atop one, knees at the chest. Reapers had the agility to move at astonishing speed. They never walked upright anymore, but scampered and jumped from perch to perch.
The creepiest thing about them though was that they had no lips and they communicated in a code akin to morse by chattering their teeth. The sad thing about them was they'd all been death runners at one time. If you survived long enough, you eventually became a Reaper. It was the price you payed for the extra time.
The death runners could feel their presence and started to scatter, the temperature rose drastically and by the time I'd made it to the door, it was almost balmy.
Shutting the door behind me I listened as at least two Reapers scampered back and forth across my roof, chattering their tactical strike. Back in the dinning room I hovered over the map and watched the whole sick thing play out. There wasn't anything I could do. There's a number of things you learn along the way, the first is never say the tall man's name, and coming in a close second is you never fuck with a Reaper when they've got work to do.
I soon realized why the Reaper on the fence had made me think of a collie. On the board there must have been twenty Reapers running the perimeter of the Island. They could be discerned from the death runners because in this particular conjure, they appeared on the map as small balls of light while the death runners were still just wisps of smoke.
I heard Em pull a deep breath, or at least the sound of one, when she picked up on their plan too.
Oh Aubrey, they're herding them to the River.
Well, you go to give 'em credit, it's a quick solution.
Only a few stragglers were able to penetrate and move through the Reapers lines, the others moved like lemmings to the final pull of the Tennessee. Some seemed to take it in stride and walked of their own accord into the final current. Others seemed to struggle and fight to the last minute. The worst was the three or four the reapers surrounded at the end. These poor bastards would never make it to wherever the final country lay. They were the prize the Reapers got for a job well done.
Reapers needed to eat too.
Something moved to my right. I turned my head as I tried to lift myself up. It was more solid, this thing moving quickly through the front yard. It was a Reaper, and it scampered up the gutter and positioned itself onto the roof. I didn't know for sure what was about to happen, but when I saw another one jump along the back fence of the School for the Deaf, something about the way it was moving made me think of an Australian collie.
Reapers reminded me of something I'd seen in an old EC comic when I was a kid. It was a story about a grave hopper, this lanky wiry old man turned ghoul with tattered cloths and bare feet that hopped through the cemetery from grave stone to grave stone, occasionally stopping to perch atop one, knees at the chest. Reapers had the agility to move at astonishing speed. They never walked upright anymore, but scampered and jumped from perch to perch.
The creepiest thing about them though was that they had no lips and they communicated in a code akin to morse by chattering their teeth. The sad thing about them was they'd all been death runners at one time. If you survived long enough, you eventually became a Reaper. It was the price you payed for the extra time.
The death runners could feel their presence and started to scatter, the temperature rose drastically and by the time I'd made it to the door, it was almost balmy.
Shutting the door behind me I listened as at least two Reapers scampered back and forth across my roof, chattering their tactical strike. Back in the dinning room I hovered over the map and watched the whole sick thing play out. There wasn't anything I could do. There's a number of things you learn along the way, the first is never say the tall man's name, and coming in a close second is you never fuck with a Reaper when they've got work to do.
I soon realized why the Reaper on the fence had made me think of a collie. On the board there must have been twenty Reapers running the perimeter of the Island. They could be discerned from the death runners because in this particular conjure, they appeared on the map as small balls of light while the death runners were still just wisps of smoke.
I heard Em pull a deep breath, or at least the sound of one, when she picked up on their plan too.
Oh Aubrey, they're herding them to the River.
Well, you go to give 'em credit, it's a quick solution.
Only a few stragglers were able to penetrate and move through the Reapers lines, the others moved like lemmings to the final pull of the Tennessee. Some seemed to take it in stride and walked of their own accord into the final current. Others seemed to struggle and fight to the last minute. The worst was the three or four the reapers surrounded at the end. These poor bastards would never make it to wherever the final country lay. They were the prize the Reapers got for a job well done.
Reapers needed to eat too.
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