Necromancer: A Novella (2 page)

Ash took back her hand and stood up. “I’m not an angel, Mrs. Clausen, nor am I a devil. I’m just a Harbinger. I simply take your soul on to the next step. That’s all. And of course you feel fine. You don’t carry aching joints and sore muscles into the afterlife.”

“That’s what a devil would say to trick me.”

I had been feeling bad for Marjorie, but I didn’t like anyone giving Ash a hard time. I started to get ticked off.

Ash put her hands on her hips. Through gritted teeth she said, “I’m just one of Death’s assistants. I promise you that I’m a neutral party, Mrs. Clausen.”

“Death. Right.” Mrs. Clausen looked over at me. “And who’s he, the Muffin Man? Santa?”

I cleared my throat. “I’m Batman.”

Ash threw me a dirty look, and I just shrugged at her. It was all I could think of. “He’s an intern,” Ash said.

That seemed like a much better answer. Book-smart I’d always been, but Ash was quicker on her feet.

“I refuse to go with an intern,” Marjorie said with a sniff. “I’ve been a good Christian woman my whole life. I want an angel, or I’m not going.”

“Fine,” Ash said, “kicking and screaming it is, then.”

I slid a little along the wall to the left. I knew Ash’s angry tone, and that was it. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I knew that a small buffer zone would be a good idea.

Darkness swirled around them, blocking out most of the cheery yellow of the bathroom. A vortex opened in the ceiling and a flock of swallows flew out. They perched on the stall doors and looked down on Marjorie Clausen.

Marjorie slapped the stall with the flat of her hand. “Shoo!” she said. She glared at Ash. “That’s a health code violation, missy.”

Ash stamped her foot and another portal opened, this time behind Mrs. Clausen where the back of the stall had been. Out of the darkness, a few shapes materialized. Three cats came out of the shadows: a Siamese, a white Persian, and a fat orange tabby. The Persian circled around and pounced on Mrs. Clausen, knocking her back so she lay half in and half out of the portal. The orange tabby sauntered forward and sat on Mrs. Clausen’s chest.

“Oh-hi, kitty,” she said, scratching the orange tabby tentatively behind the ears. The other two leaned down and grabbed Mrs. Clausen’s uniform at each shoulder with their teeth and began to slowly drag her away. Or part of her anyway. Marjorie’s body stayed put on the floor while the cats pulled her soul into the portal. I think it was her soul. I’d have to ask Ash if management had another term for it. Mrs. Clausen looked back at both of the cats, startled. She began to yell. The cats, being cats, ignored her in that complete way only cats seem to be able to manage, and continued to drag her soul into the darkness. After Mrs. Clausen's ghostly white shoes vanished, the portal shut.

Ash's tense stance relaxed. “I hate it when they do that.” She turned to me. “I have to go after her. See you later?”

I looked at the birds. The swallows returned a glassy black stare. I hate birds. “You're going to take them with you, right?”

For some reason Ash threw herself at me and grabbed me in a big hug. I slipped my arms out of her grasp, since it was awkward being pinned by a little girl, and wrapped them around her shoulders. She went up on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek.

“What was that for?”

Ash leaned out of the hug and smiled at me, even though her eyes looked like she was about to cry.

“For never making me feel like a freak,” she said. She turned and held out her arms. The swallows flew down, grabbed bits of her clothing in their beaks, and pulled her off of the ground. They birds flapped madly one second and then an instant later, they were gone, taking Ash with them.

I was left alone in the suddenly empty girls' bathroom. A girl entered, one of the Goth kids I'd seen earlier. All the black eye-liner she used didn't darken her bright blonde looks.

“Sorry,” she said, and she looked back at the door. She frowned at the girl symbol.

“Me too,” I said, and I walked past her.

I slid back into our booth. My pie was still there. For some reason, that seemed like it shouldn't be. Hadn't I been gone a long time? I felt like a death should resonate, like the whole diner should have felt it. The pie should have crumbled into dust by now. People should be somber. But the Goth kids still laughed over their coffee, the drunks were still drunk, and my pie refused to mourn.

The Goth girl came out of the bathroom a few minutes later. She looked the same, so I assumed she hadn't looked in the last stall. If she had, she was handling it very well.

I grabbed my fork and slowly finished my pie. I don't like to waste things, and it seemed to make just as much sense to sit there and eat in silence as it did to go home and sit in silence. If you're going to think and be depressed, you might as well do it with pie, right?

On my way out I overheard one of the other servers asking where Marjorie had gotten off to. I quickened my step, hoping to get to my car before they started looking.

The next day I drove my battered Toyota to Highland and stopped in front of a white house with blue trim and a hand-painted sign that read THE CLAUSEN FAMILY next to the mailbox. I parked across the street and watched for a while. I'm not sure why.

A green SUV pulled into the Clausens' driveway. A young woman, tall and slender, got out carrying a foil-covered dish. Her brown hair was loose and a little messy from the drive, but she didn't bother to straighten it. Instead she knocked immediately on the Clausens' door. If a knock could sound worried and heartfelt, then that's what the woman's knock would have been. I wished briefly for someone to arrive on my doorstep that way, but felt instantly guilty for it. I wasn't the one on the block with the fresh hurt. Mr. Clausen deserved this visitor, not me.

A man answered. I assumed the man was Harold Clausen. He hugged the woman and took the dish. Harold was balding and fat but in a robust way. The hug looked stiff, like he wasn't a man who usually hugged, but he did it anyway. They went inside.

Through the window I could see Harold sitting at a table and talking to the young woman. A china hutch stood behind them, covered in floral arrangements and framed photographs. An altar to the Clausen family.

Two kids came out of one of the doorways. The girl looked like she might be at the age where My Little Pony toys were still cool, but the boy looked pre-teen, spiky-haired and a little angst-ridden, but still shiny under the bitter layer. He wasn't old enough yet to have lost the hope and innocence of youth. Since they both looked like a Harold and Marjorie squashed together, I guessed these were Todd and Judy. They seemed sad, their faces pinched and drawn, but they mustered up a hug and smile for the young lady. Even their mother's death couldn't dampen their obvious joy in seeing her.

Harold got them all sodas and a plate of cookies that were probably brought over by another visitor. They sat and talked, the lady smiling and touching cheeks, shoulders, hands, like she was trying to let her joy rub off on them. Judy even laughed a few times.

Todd never got further than a smile, but it appeared less forced after awhile. When Harold started to cry, the kids and the woman immediately closed in around him, making a tight knot of affection. I felt more instant guilt when I realized I was jealous of a widower and his family.

I started my car and drove back to my house. There was nothing for me to see there. I'd seen the process before, anyway. So I drove home and wondered why people always bring food to mourners. When Ash died the last thing I wanted was a chicken casserole.

Ashley didn't die fast like Mrs. Clausen, but she didn't take months either. She got sick and withered away. You could measure the time from the first symptom to the grave in weeks. At the time, it felt like forever to me, and also too fast. I sat by her bedside whenever they let me. My mom wasn't the type to worry about me catching things, and lymphoma isn't contagious anyway.

Sometimes we talked, if she felt up to it. Sometimes we watched movies. Sometimes I sat in the chair by her bedside and watched her sleep, glad that she was still with me, even if she was only sleeping.

Her funeral was open-coffin. Most of the other kids wouldn't go up to her, but I don't remember being afraid. Death hadn't turned my friend into a bogeyman. I still couldn't catch what she had by being near her. I remember thinking that, even though she looked the same, she wasn't Ash anymore. Something had fundamentally changed. That a vital part of her was gone and wouldn't be stuck in the ground to rot. That made me feel better, but only a little. I put my Batmobile in beside her, tucking it down by her hand, touched her cheek, and went home. I didn't need to stay to hear more words from people who didn't really know her. Not like I did.

This time, when Ash rapped on my window, I wasn't asleep. I wasn't even in my pajamas, but sprawled out on my bed in my jeans and a Pac-Man T-shirt. My feet made soft sounds on the carpet as I walked over to let her in. Then I sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Thanks,” she said. She crawled in and closed the window behind her. She sat next to me.

“You just do that to make me feel better, don't you? The knocking, I mean. You could just pop into my room anytime you felt like it, right?”

Ash nodded. “I suppose, but it's rude. I have to force people to do what I want all the time. It's nice to give someone a choice.”

“And this,” I waved my hand at her image, this time in jeans and a KISS T-shirt. “Is this also for my benefit? I mean, if you can wear whatever you want, can't you also look like whatever you want?”

“I guess,” she said, “but this is how I'm most comfortable, and, again, it helps people not be afraid of me. I died at ten. I'm content with ten. I could look twenty-five, change my hair, whatever. Some of the other Harbingers do but most of us stay the same.” She shrugged. “I guess it's one of the few things we have left of our earthly selves.”

“Do you visit anyone else?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. I check in on my parents, but I can't talk to them. Generally, it's frowned upon. Most people don't see me unless they're dead, anyway.” She picked at a loose piece of thread on my comforter. “Except you.”

“Why me?”

She shrugged. “Some people are just more sensitive to other things.” She kicked my foot lightly. “And maybe it's because you're not really alive.”

I blinked at her. “What does that mean? I'm not dead.”

“No, but you're not really living, either. You aren't connected to anyone. You go to school, come home, and go to your room. You're like a phantom.”

“It's not that easy. People aren't that easy.”

Ash shook her head. “What's hard? You walk up, you shake hands, and you talk. Easy.”

“It doesn't seem that simple,” I said. “Not for me.”

“I know, but you can't expect other people to do all the work for you all the time. If I hadn't approached you, would we have been friends?”

I looked down. “I'd like to think so. That us being friends was inevitable.”

Ash leaned into my shoulder.

“Can I come with you?”

“No,” she said.

“Why not? You said it yourself, I'm not really living.”

“But you're not dead either.”

I opened my mouth but she cut me off. “Don't go getting any ideas in your head about killing yourself, either. Not a good idea, Matt.”

My mouth snapped shut. I hadn't actually been considering it. Not really.

“You shouldn't be in such a hurry to come over.”

“I know,” I said. I didn't want to die; I just didn't want to lose her again. It seemed a cheesy thing to say, though, so I kept my mouth shut. Ash guessed my thoughts.

“Matt, you ever wonder why I took this job?”

I shook my head. “I just assumed you were assigned it, or it was a punishment, or a reward, or something.” I'd never been able to figure out whether Ash's job was a good or a bad one. Some days it looked good, some days I wasn't sure.

“No, I chose it.” She went back to picking at the thread on my bedspread. “This way, I could wait for you.” She smiled at me wanly. “I guess you're not the only one having trouble moving on.”

“Great,” I said, “Death is waiting for me.”

She pinched me. “Harbinger,” she said.

We sat in silence for a minute. I was always happy to be around Ash. I felt half-empty whenever she was gone. And as weird as it was, it felt good to know that she'd been hanging around for me. That I could move on with my life without leaving her behind.

“Grab your parka,” I said. “I owe you some waffles.” I hesitated as I reached for my keys. “Let's go to a different diner, okay?”

She grinned and, just for me I think, did the Bewitched nose wiggle to get her parka.

I thrust my keys into my pocket and slipped my sweatshirt over my head. “And Ash?”

“What?”

“Thanks for never making me feel like a freak, either.”

“You're welcome, freak,” she said. “Meet you in the car.” She winked at me and was gone. I heard my Toyota shudder to life outside. I guess now that I'd seen her work, the magical gloves were off.

I went out to join her, gently closing my bedroom door, safe in the knowledge that Death's Harbinger would wait for me no matter what. As long as I could bribe her with waffles, anyway. It's amazing what makes some people happy.

Hold Me Closer,

NECROMANCER