Forever After (a dark and funny fantasy novel) (14 page)

              The whistling agony of the kettle drowned out the constant noise from the street outside. At its peak, moments before screeching to a deafening halt and clicking to indicate the water was boiled, the broken banshee screams of the forty year old appliance could rival any pneumatic drill.

             
Conversation between Michael and Naff stopped. All eyes, including those of James and Chip -- currently trying to work an equally antiquated games console in the living room -- turned to look at the kettle.

             
The screaming died, the kettle whipped a mechanical click, and then conversation resumed as if nothing ear-destroying had just occurred. Even James Waddington, previously unaccustomed to the kettle, continued on as normal.

             
Michael began pouring hot water into three cups. “You have to help me,” he told Naff as he measured out the steaming liquid before returning the clunky kettle to the stove. “Azrael said that this problem started with
your
department.”             

             
Naff accepted a cup from Michael, warming his hands on the heat that transferred through the ceramic. “I don’t really want to get mixed up with this, or with Azrael,” he said honestly.

             
Michael handed a drink to Chip, leaving James out. The recently deceased man had initially been deterred at not being able to drink coffee until he saw the coffee -- cradled in a grimy jar like the moist droppings of a swamp monster.

             
In the kitchen Michael said: “Apparently you already are, and if you don’t help me it won’t look good for you will it?”

             
“That sounded like a threat.”

             
“Fuck off, that wasn’t a threat.”

             
“It certainly sounded like one.”

             
“Do you want me to threaten you? I can threaten you if you want me to threaten you.”             

             
“I don’t think--”

             
“I’m not going to threaten you.”

             
“That wasn’t what I was going to say.” Naff put his cup down on the counter. “I can’t do this, I really don’t think--”

             
Michael interjected. “Do you really want to piss off the Angel of Death?”

             
“Now
that
was a threat,” Naff snorted. He picked up his cup and slipped the rim to his mouth. “But you have a point.”

             
They took their drinks to the living room.

             
Chip had managed to work the games console. He found the correct station on the television, tuned it in, worked out a kink in the power lead and unearthed both controllers -- a task he usually faltered at during one stage or another. He was preparing to play a game with James, the screen slowly loading, but the arrival of his flatmate had come during an argument.

             
“Spirit or not,” Chip said. “I don’t want your naked arse cheeks on my couch.”             

             
Michael took a seat opposite the couch, Naff plonked himself down on a hard-backed chair opposite him.

             
“I don’t think they’re
actually
touching,” James said, lifting himself up to double check. “I mean they are, but, well, do they even exist?”

             
Chip wasn’t in the mood for existentialism. He shrugged that one off, letting the dead man rest his buttocks in peace, adding, seconds later: “And for fuck’s sake keep your legs closed.”

             
“How you feeling?” Naff asked James, for want of anything better to ask.

             
James smiled back. “I feel...” he paused, shrugged. “Content I guess. Happy.”

             
“Were you happy when you were alive?”

             
“I guess so. I mean, I had a lot to live for. I had a family, a beautiful wife.”

             
“Turning into a dog every month must have been a downer,” Chip chimed.

             
“Well, yes, but--”

             
“You can control it though, right?” Naff butted in. “You can change when you want?”

             
“I can, but sometimes, during a full--”

             
Chip hadn’t finished. “Waking up naked in the woods, covered in blood and not knowing if you’ve spent the night raping sheep or eating them.”

             
“Well--”

             
“And if your kids found out, God, imagine that,” Chip stated almost dreamily, allowing his voice to drift into the heavens for a moment’s thought. “And when the police find your body, all naked and torn, left alone in the woods. Everyone will think you were a fucking lunatic. Or a sex fiend.”

             
“I don’t think your wife would be too pleased either,” Naff added.

             
James looked immediately dejected but still maintained a sense of calm.

             
“Leave the guy alone,” Michael jumped in. “I don’t think there’s any depression in death, but keep it up and I’m sure you’ll find it.”

             
James grinned at the reaper. He received a nudge from Chip, gesturing for him to press a button on his controller. Chip leaned forward and prepared himself for a game before another loading screen cut-in. He groaned and flopped back.             

             
“So, you’re the grim reaper then?” James asked Michael.

             
“Not
the
grim reaper, just one of them.”

             
James nodded like he understood, not letting on that he didn’t. “Are you all grim reapers?” he said, indicating to Chip and Naff.

             
“I’m a tooth fairy,” Chip said simply.

             
James laughed loudly, only stopping when he saw that no one else had even raised an eyebrow.

             
“He’s being serious,” Naff offered.

             
“Oh. And you?” he asked Naff.

             
“Records department. It’s--” Naff opened his palms as if to begin a lecture and then quickly closed them again. “It’s complicated.”             

             
“And boring,” Michael added. He turned to James, “Tell us what happened out there in the forest.”

             
Chip groaned, sensing that he had just lost his playmate.

             
“OK,” James placed the controller down on the floor, much to the dismay of the small man next to him. “I have a little place out in the woods for when I turn. During a full moon I can’t control it, I can’t stop myself from turning and I have no control when I do. I tell my wife I’m going on a business trip.” A flicker of emotion entered his eyes and then departed. “It’s just a tiny shack really. I don’t spend much time there and it keeps me away from the centre of town after I turn. I was there this afternoon, preparing. I took off all my clothes and lay down on the bed.”

             
“Was the naked thing necessary or just for dramatic effect?” Chip wondered.

             
James looked at Chip with the look of someone who wasn’t sure if he was talking to a joker or an idiot, not realising it was probably both. “They rip and tear, and what’s not ripped and torn is usually covered in blood, mud or shit by the morning.”

             
Chip nodded, “Fair enough,” he said, indicating that James had his permission to continue.

             
“So, I was lying in my bed waiting. I heard a car pull up outside so I went to investigate.”

             
“You get many visitors there?” Naff interrupted.

             
James shook his head, “First time I've seen anyone else. When I looked I saw two men climbing out of a car and heading my way. I didn’t know what to do, I thought maybe they were police, I didn’t know, but I panicked. I couldn’t really hide from them, I mean I make so much noise and I can’t control it. So I just ran.”

             
The attention of the room was on him.

             
“The next thing I remember is being hot, like a pinprick of heat all through me, no pain at first, and then a massive surge of agony.” He looked off into the distance as he recounted. His hands worked up and down his body as he remembered the agony that had coursed through it during his demise. “I slowed, staggered. I realised they had shot me. I saw the wounds, but then they shot me again and again. I fell, then...” he shrugged. “Next thing I know I was up and running again. No pain. No heat.”

             
“You were dead,” Naff stated the obvious.

             
James nodded. “Apparently. I couldn’t run though, something pulled me back, forced me to stay. Luckily the men weren’t near and weren’t rushing.” He pulled his eyes back to the group, to Michael. “Then I saw you guys.”

             
“Did you get a look at the two men?”

             
“Not really. They were both tall, muscular. They wore dark suits, dark sunglasses. Same height. Same hair. Same build.”

             
Michael looked a little unsure. He turned to Naff, “Any ideas?”

             
Naff shook his head. “Could be anyone. We can rule out the police though, whoever did this knew what they were doing and they had information on who they were doing it to.”

             
Michael nodded, “OK, great, now what?”

****

              A pitiful morning sun wrapped its faded rays around the deforested urban jungle, providing little light to the world awakening to face, with great reluctance, another day on its dismal streets.

             
A woman tottered along the path with a high heeled shoe in each hand. Her face a testament to a night on the town: her mascara smudged, her hair matted, her short skirt riding up her thigh to expose a faux tan-line and the ghostly flesh above.

             
A serendipitous dog scavenged the street for food, finishing a half-eaten kebab on the street before stumbling across an opened, barely touched, chocolate bar. Dinner and dessert within three flicks of a mangled tail.

             
In a second floor flat, above a sparse business either closed down or on its way, a bedraggled tenant poked his face through thick curtains, checking to make sure that yes, the morning had started and no, he hadn’t died in his sleep and escaped another miserable day.

             
From his vantage point at the tip of an alleyway across the street, Michael watched the man in the window blink away the sunshine, groan and then duck back behind the curtain.

             
Behind him James Waddington broke a silence that had only previously been punctuated by the catcalls of domestic violence and the urgency of police sirens in the adjoining streets.             

             
“I feel exposed,” the recently dead man complained.

             
Chip looked him up and down. “You’re naked,” he noted.

             
“It's not that, it’s just--”

             
Michael turned his attention away from the bed & breakfast opposite, the small man operating reception, just visible through the main window, had now picked up a paper and was flicking through the Sports section.

             
“No one can see you,” he interrupted.

             
“No mortal anyway,” Naff corrected at the back of the group, hovering in a slight shadow provided by an overhanging drain pipe. “There
are
a few exceptions though.”

             
James was pacing back and forward. Trotting to and fro like an agitated horse in a stall. “Don’t I need to be somewhere else?” he wondered, not looking at anyone in particular. “I feel like I need to be somewhere else. Are we going soon?”

             
Chip watched his nervous movements with something resembling awe and amusement. “Is he mad?” he asked.

             
“I feel like I’m going that way,” James answered for him.

             
Chip turned to Michael, the beacon of knowledge in those situations. “I thought they needed to stay near their body,” he said. “Is that why he’s…” he glanced at James and then lowered his voice. “
Losing it?
”

             
Michael frowned at Chip. “He’s fine. And they can go where they want when they’re with me.”