that."
"What?" Griffin looked puzzled.
"'Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition! Our chief weapon is surprise ? surprise and fear ? fear and surprise, our two chief weapons!'" I did my best Michael Palin impression and hoped he had watched Flying Circus. Otherwise, I just sounded insane, and let's face it, rabid zombies don't last long.
"Oh jeeze!" Griffin burst out laughing and I sighed in relief. I was pretty sure he had to have seen at least the skit, if not the show, because it was fairly popular. "You know, Bob, you have a great sense of humor for a zombie. Most of the shamblers I've met are grouchy."
"Well, it's not easy being green." I shrugged. I never did take compliments well.
"I can imagine." He winked at me, and I nearly face-palmed when I remembered I was talking to a green man. The smile he was wearing transformed into a frown. "You zombies sort of lose everything when you're brought back, don't you?"
"Yeah. At first, you think everything will be fine, but it takes a little while for the decomposition to begin. The magic that reanimates us holds it at bay. The stronger the necromancer, the longer we appear alive and normal. As their magic wanes, Mother Nature busts in to take what is hers. It's never a pretty process, and for those people who love us, I can imagine it is psychologically devastating as we turn from our normal living selves into a walking, talking corpse.
Our eyes cloud over, our skin turns weird colors, our stomachs distend because of gasses, and mold starts growing here and there. Sometimes we get depressed and want to lie in bed with the covers over our head, but we can't do that because of the risk of maggots. We can't drown our sorrows in alcohol or drugs, and we can't kill ourselves. It's pretty much just sit and accept that your life is over and this new hell has begun." As I spoke, Griffin looked at me with a frown.
"Wow. That has to be heartbreaking for you. I may not be part of your horde, but if you ever need anything, please know I'll be there for you." I could tell he was being sincere, mostly because he was a nice, caring fellow. More humane than most humans, for sure.
"Thanks, man. I appreciate that." Awkward silence filled the truck. Griffin reached over and turned on the radio. "Leroy Brown" was on, and we both started singing along to it, breaking the silence and cementing our new friendship.
"We're looking for 622 Liszt Street." Griffin kept watch out his side, and I stared out of my window, both of us belting out the oldie but goodie.
"There it is." I pointed ahead to the sign that read Liszt St.
"Good eye."
"Thanks." We went back to singing along and searching for the house. I couldn't see the address, but when a dilapidated, old Gothic Victorian emerged ahead of us, I was pretty sure we had the right place. The number on the sidewalk out in front confirmed it.
"Who the hell would live in a place like this?" Griff asked as he swung open the creaky, rusty, old iron gate.
"The Addams family? The Munsters? Bob Dole?"
"Bob Dole?" Griffin raised an emerald eyebrow at me. I shrugged, and he chuckled. We strode up the broken, weed-choked, cement path to the house. I stepped up on the bottom wooden tread, and my foot went right through. The board was almost completely rotted away.
"Watch your step." I pulled my leg out and inspected it. Don't know why. It's not like I'll die if I get tetanus or anything.
"Thanks. Phew, this house is almost as decomposed as you are."
"I wonder if staples would work on it."
"Probably just turn the place to dust and piss off the termites." Griffin grinned and gingerly stepped up to the porch. He reached out to touch the doorbell and jumped when it rang out loudly through the house and property. "Reminds me of the Addam's house even more now."
I half expected Lurch to open the door, and so I was surprised to see a young woman who was thin as a rail and pale as a ghost.
"Yes?" She didn't even appear to notice us, and as a zombie standing next to a green man, it set off some warning bells and reminded me of my black days of depression.
"Hello, Miss. We're looking for a necromancer who brought a skag of ghouls back from the dead." Griffin skipped the formalities and went right to the point. The young woman gasped, finally seeing us for what we are.
"Oh, sweet Jesus! You're here to kill and turn me, ain't you?"
"No, definitely not. We just need you to rein in your ghouls. They ruined my bar today."
"My ghouls?" She looked surprised and a bit addled. I wasn't sure she was the one we were looking for when a sudden awareness shined in her eyes. "Oh, those monsters that followed me home from the cemetery. They're not mine. They crawled out of the ground and followed me home like puppies. I told them to leave, but they wouldn't. You look like one. Are you one?" She looked at me quizzically.
"No, I'm a zombie. My name's Bob."
"Oh. What's the difference?"
"Well?." I trailed off and looked at Griffin. I didn't know what to say. It seemed she had no idea of what she was or what she had done. He sighed and nodded to me slightly, letting me know he was going to take over. Pretty sure they heard my sigh of relief all the way over in China.
"Are you Christine Whitaker?" he asked her gently.
"Yes. What does that have to do with the difference in these creatures?"
"Well, Christine, I don't think anybody has ever told you this before." He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the task of shattering her world completely. "You're a necromancer. You have the power to bring the dead back to life. To answer your question, the difference between zombies and ghouls is that ghouls need their necromancer to call on them occasionally or they run wild. They forget the person they were and become akin to wild beasts, attacking anyone who crosses their path. Zombies retain the full soul of the person who was reanimated, they don't need a sorceress to hold their consciousness together the way ghouls do."
"You think I'm a necromancer? That's silly, I'm no sorceress. You must be mistaken. I don't know why those things followed me home or what the deal is, but it's not my fault." She had the look of a frightened animal, and I was a little afraid we'd scared her into bolting. I got my foot ready to stop the door from closing should she decide to shut us out.
"Miss Whitaker, ghouls don't follow people; they usually just eat them. They will absolutely follow the person who raised them, but they sure as heck don't tag along after normal folks like some putrid puppy," Griffin's tone softened and I could feel the peace and tranquility he was emoting. When she turned to him and gasped, I realized she understood he was creating or at least enhancing those feelings.
"Christine, is everything ok?" one of her neighbors hollered. It seemed to shake her out of her reverie.
"I'm fine, Kathleen. Thanks for asking, sweetie. These fellas are old friends of my Nan. You remember her, the actress?" She smiled sweetly, and I was glad the neighbor couldn't see the stark fear in her eyes.
"That explains why that one looks like one of those things from The Walking Dead. Is he part of the show?" She looked eager, and I grimaced, sure she was about to request an autograph or ask for a picture with me.
"No ma'am, just came from a zombie run a few towns over," I hollered to her with what I hoped was a polite smile. I hated those zombie runs. Seriously people, we don't limp unless we limped in life, and we aren't slow-moving idiots caring for naught but brains.
"Oh, I've heard of those runs. Well, I'll see you later, Christine. Yell if you need anything, okay?" She cast another suspicious look at us.
"Thanks, Kat. I will see you later." Miss Whitaker held the door open and ushered us into her living room. She gestured for us to sit on an old camel back sofa made of mahogany and upholstered in a lush, purple velvet.
Griffin and I sat down, and I was surprised by how comfortable the couch was. Christine saw my shock and smiled at me, a smile that actually reached her eyes.
"I had the inside of this place, and most of the furniture, restored last year. When I get enough money, I'm planning to have
the outside restored." She sat across from us on a Queen Anne chair, which was upholstered in a silk that matched the color of the couch perfectly.
A thought occurred to me, and I voiced it: "Christine, if you don't know the ghouls, how did they get hold of your credit card?" Griffin looked at me, his mouth slightly open in surprise. Apparently, he hadn't thought about it until this point.
"I told them to leave me alone and gave them the card as payment to stay away from me. They were scaring me. I thought maybe it would work."
"So, you just handed over a credit card to a bunch of creatures you didn't know? I'm supposed to believe that you would give ghouls you had no connection to the power and access to wipe out your bank account and ruin your credit rating? I don't think so." Griffin's kind face morphed into a snarl of disbelief.
"Fine. Look, I didn't know what I was, I swear. When I accidentally raised those things, I gave them the card and told them to leave me alone and that, if they overused it, I would cut them off completely."
"That would kill them," I blurted. This woman wasn't the sweet, unassuming waif we'd thought her to be, that's for sure.
"I-I-I didn't know that." She looked genuinely shocked.
"Well, you need to call them. At least once a week, so that they stay in line and you can nurture the essence of life you gave them."
"No problem, just give me their phone number and I'll give them a ring." She sighed, her relief evident.
"No, not phone.