Art Pact 191 - Ghoul Trouble
"Seriously," I asked. "What's the worst that can happen?"
"He could find out," she said glumly. "You don't know him. He's"--she rubbed her fingers together by her mouth, miming worms writhing their way into a body--"insidious. He'd find out. I couldn't keep it a secret from him."
"Couldn't?" I asked. "Or wouldn't?"
She shook her head: don't know.
I levered myself up slightly, putting more weight on the rotting tendons of my right shoulder than they were accustomed to, so that they creaked mightily and threatened to disintegrate and topple me back into the grave. From my higher vantage point I could see that the mist that was gently cascading in over me was spread throughout the cemetery, right up to the brick walls and the lightning-fire outside.
"What's the weather like out there?" I asked.
"What?"
"The weather. When you came here. You came here from home, right?"
She looked confused for a moment, then nodded.
"Yes, of course."
"What's the weather like, outside. Misty? Cold?"
"Yes, and yes. But it's not raining, at least. You can see the moon through the clouds."
"Good, good," I said, but I still looked nervously at the bolts of red and blue that flashed through the sky beyond the wall. Perhaps she was just telling me what she thought I wanted to hear. "So, this new one, what's he like? I mean, is he the burly type? Could he defend you, if..."
"If Roger came after me? I don't - I mean, Carl isn't really a fighter. That's - it's what I want, obviously, after..."
"I understand. But If you just make a clean break of it you have to find somewhere that Roger can't get at you."
"Or I could stay with him."
I coughed, my jaw rattling against my skull-bone. She looked away, still obviously not quite at peace with my current state.
"You can't stay with him," I told her. "That's the one thing I am sure about. The guy is a prick, and it's only a matter of time before something happens that sends him off the rails. It doesn't need to be anything tangible, take it from me. You can be perfectly above-board with Carl, and Roger will still suspect something. Trust me, if he's that"--I did the same mime with my fingers, probably considerably more evocatively, since my fingers had themselves been insinuated by worms in the recent past--"insidious, his mind will find something even if there's nothing to find. He'll make things up. He'll imagine excuses to be a shit to you, and that will turn bad."
I could see that I was losing her a bit, so I turned over and got my knees up under me - no small feat, and I think that I left my right patella down in the box - then stood up and motioned for her to give me a hand up. She looked uncertain for a few seconds, but then reached down with one gloved arm. I clasped on.
"God," she said. "You're so light."
"I know. I should write a diet book. Eat all you want and still stay dead, the Ex-plan diet."
"How much longer are you going to be able to..." she gestured at my mouth.
"No idea. But I don't - I mean, I don't sound different, do I? To you, I mean."
"No, no different."
"Perhaps I'll have my voice as long as I'm here, then."
"Do you talk to the other..."
"What, underground? Do we all have a good gossip when we're in our boxes? No, not at all. I don't even know if any of the others are - you know, still active."
"It can't just be you," she said.
"Who knows? Maybe I'm a trail-blazer. Maybe in ten years time everyone'll be doing it."
I looked at the boundary wall. It was low - easy enough for Penny to get over, and she had never been a particularly strong climber, not like her sister. I could get over it, I thought, even without help. But the storms beyond - great ripping sheets of lightning bursting in all directions, like Satan's firework display. I would be incinerated instantly. Unless the whole thing was a hoax. Clearly there was something outside, a real world where I had once lived and where Penny and Alison and Andrea still lived. Or maybe the lightning was real and the comfortable suburb a fantasy, Andrea sitting in her living room with her cup of tea and a picture of me on the mantelpiece while all around her those horrid bolts of fire lashed and writhed unseen behind the veneer of normalcy. I had to discover it.
"Do the others come here?" Penny asked suddenly. "I mean, Alison and mum?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "Perhaps. I assume so, but they don't come here at night, they don't talk with me the way you do. Maybe it's not me that's the trailblazer, maybe it's you."
She shuddered, wrapping her coat tighter around herself.
"He called me a bitch once," she said, her voice strangled tight. "The weird thing was, I was sort of relieved. I think somewhere inside I thought that he'd called me a witch."
"And that was worse?"
"Well," she said, shrugging. "I know I'm not a bitch, but the other thing... I'm not so sure."
I felt my teeth gritting - there was actually a lot of grit in them, so I tried to spit it out. I couldn't make any saliva though. I suppose I should have expected that. I moved around the open grave and sat on my headstone, my arse bones clicking beneath my leathery skin.
"He called you a bitch, though," I said. "There's no excuse for that. The man needs to be taught a lesson one way or another, and the simplest way is for you to get out of there. Just go, find somewhere safe to live out a couple of months then you can start working things out with this Carl fellow. If that's still what you want."
I could see that she wasn't convinced. So much for that way, I thought, looking nervously at the lightning outside. It would have to be the other, then.
"He could find out," she said glumly. "You don't know him. He's"--she rubbed her fingers together by her mouth, miming worms writhing their way into a body--"insidious. He'd find out. I couldn't keep it a secret from him."
"Couldn't?" I asked. "Or wouldn't?"
She shook her head: don't know.
I levered myself up slightly, putting more weight on the rotting tendons of my right shoulder than they were accustomed to, so that they creaked mightily and threatened to disintegrate and topple me back into the grave. From my higher vantage point I could see that the mist that was gently cascading in over me was spread throughout the cemetery, right up to the brick walls and the lightning-fire outside.
"What's the weather like out there?" I asked.
"What?"
"The weather. When you came here. You came here from home, right?"
She looked confused for a moment, then nodded.
"Yes, of course."
"What's the weather like, outside. Misty? Cold?"
"Yes, and yes. But it's not raining, at least. You can see the moon through the clouds."
"Good, good," I said, but I still looked nervously at the bolts of red and blue that flashed through the sky beyond the wall. Perhaps she was just telling me what she thought I wanted to hear. "So, this new one, what's he like? I mean, is he the burly type? Could he defend you, if..."
"If Roger came after me? I don't - I mean, Carl isn't really a fighter. That's - it's what I want, obviously, after..."
"I understand. But If you just make a clean break of it you have to find somewhere that Roger can't get at you."
"Or I could stay with him."
I coughed, my jaw rattling against my skull-bone. She looked away, still obviously not quite at peace with my current state.
"You can't stay with him," I told her. "That's the one thing I am sure about. The guy is a prick, and it's only a matter of time before something happens that sends him off the rails. It doesn't need to be anything tangible, take it from me. You can be perfectly above-board with Carl, and Roger will still suspect something. Trust me, if he's that"--I did the same mime with my fingers, probably considerably more evocatively, since my fingers had themselves been insinuated by worms in the recent past--"insidious, his mind will find something even if there's nothing to find. He'll make things up. He'll imagine excuses to be a shit to you, and that will turn bad."
I could see that I was losing her a bit, so I turned over and got my knees up under me - no small feat, and I think that I left my right patella down in the box - then stood up and motioned for her to give me a hand up. She looked uncertain for a few seconds, but then reached down with one gloved arm. I clasped on.
"God," she said. "You're so light."
"I know. I should write a diet book. Eat all you want and still stay dead, the Ex-plan diet."
"How much longer are you going to be able to..." she gestured at my mouth.
"No idea. But I don't - I mean, I don't sound different, do I? To you, I mean."
"No, no different."
"Perhaps I'll have my voice as long as I'm here, then."
"Do you talk to the other..."
"What, underground? Do we all have a good gossip when we're in our boxes? No, not at all. I don't even know if any of the others are - you know, still active."
"It can't just be you," she said.
"Who knows? Maybe I'm a trail-blazer. Maybe in ten years time everyone'll be doing it."
I looked at the boundary wall. It was low - easy enough for Penny to get over, and she had never been a particularly strong climber, not like her sister. I could get over it, I thought, even without help. But the storms beyond - great ripping sheets of lightning bursting in all directions, like Satan's firework display. I would be incinerated instantly. Unless the whole thing was a hoax. Clearly there was something outside, a real world where I had once lived and where Penny and Alison and Andrea still lived. Or maybe the lightning was real and the comfortable suburb a fantasy, Andrea sitting in her living room with her cup of tea and a picture of me on the mantelpiece while all around her those horrid bolts of fire lashed and writhed unseen behind the veneer of normalcy. I had to discover it.
"Do the others come here?" Penny asked suddenly. "I mean, Alison and mum?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "Perhaps. I assume so, but they don't come here at night, they don't talk with me the way you do. Maybe it's not me that's the trailblazer, maybe it's you."
She shuddered, wrapping her coat tighter around herself.
"He called me a bitch once," she said, her voice strangled tight. "The weird thing was, I was sort of relieved. I think somewhere inside I thought that he'd called me a witch."
"And that was worse?"
"Well," she said, shrugging. "I know I'm not a bitch, but the other thing... I'm not so sure."
I felt my teeth gritting - there was actually a lot of grit in them, so I tried to spit it out. I couldn't make any saliva though. I suppose I should have expected that. I moved around the open grave and sat on my headstone, my arse bones clicking beneath my leathery skin.
"He called you a bitch, though," I said. "There's no excuse for that. The man needs to be taught a lesson one way or another, and the simplest way is for you to get out of there. Just go, find somewhere safe to live out a couple of months then you can start working things out with this Carl fellow. If that's still what you want."
I could see that she wasn't convinced. So much for that way, I thought, looking nervously at the lightning outside. It would have to be the other, then.
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