Chapter 11

Hey, Big McSkelly
Work a bit on your vocab!
It's so rib-tickling.

I'VE SEEN STRANGE THINGS BEFORE, but not germinating skeletal hands.

All around us, the ground started to boil and crack. Bony fingers sprouted, clawing at the air as if looking for handholds.

My heart crept into my throat.

In a matter of seconds, full-grown human skeletons with glowing purple balls in their eye sockets and ribcages exhumed from the earth. Years of packed dirts trickled down their recesses.

The ground calmed. A moonlit rift broke through the fog indicating it was nighttime. I couldn't judge how time worked here. Ha! But I just love spending my nights with skeletons.

The monsters were armed to the teeth with array of weapons — including clattering teeth and mostly rusty Roman swords and shields. Some held the splintered limbs of their fallen comrades, spears (not again,) axes, bows, pila, a few tomahawks and an old-fashioned rifle with a dysfunctional trigger. They wore mishmashed customes, armors and hats ranging from tutu dresses with pirate hats to plumed helmets and Viking pelts to pith helmets with rah-rah skirts and Eskimo boots, or muumuus with skullcaps, Aztecan leafy arm bands or Greek togas, all and sundry.

My back hit something. I breathed sharply. Then I figured it was Bran backing up in fear. I've never been so relieved to have human company in my life, even if he was among those that were going to euthanize me a while ago.

The skeletons closed in on us. 

Ignatius Hikaru kept his hand gloved in fire. "Stand back!" He warned. 

A last skeleton germinated. He was a Bigfoot version of skeletons — tall and big-boned. He had a violet flaming skull. A tattered general cape covered his back. He held a broadsword with a basket hilt woven from phalanges. He regarded Ignatius Hikaru and made a series of click-clacking sound with his jaws.

I realized he was laughing.

"My name, Big McSkelly," the giant skeleton said. Then he pointed at Ignatius Hikaru's hand and laughed again. "Fire. No hurt me."

"Fire," the others chorused after the Big McSkelly, who apparently, was their leader. "No hurt, boss."

"What are you?" I reached for the double axes behind my back, except they weren't there anymore. "What do you want?"

Big McSkelly turned to me. A rusty-brown breastplate covered his ribs as if it mattered. He pointed a bony finger at me. "Want you, me master."

"Want you," The others said in unison. "We master."

I enjoyed being wanted but not by a bunch of skeletons with bad vocabulary. It was then I discovered how surrounded we were. Skulls, after skulls, after skulls rolled on forever. The cold fog hung low, not quite helping my dampened mood.

I promised myself that when next I get my hands on my axes, I would glue them to my back.

"Follow me," Big McSkelly stamped his foot impatiently, pointing to the mansion while his skull flared angrily. "Nekro Mansion."

"They want you," Bran found his voice. "Their master wants you in that building. Go with them."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious," I retorted, shifting my gaze towards the hulking gothic building again. Its magnetic pull was ever-present, dragging me forward.

Ignatius Hikaru gazed at me. He seemed eager to blowtorch some bones but was waiting for my go-ahead. This was my call, my decision to make.

Bran's hands were trembling. His face was skeleton-white with terror. I automatically knew he'd probably never seen giant rats before. He'd be peeing in his pants by now.

I sucked in a shaky breath. Truly, I wanted to smash some skulls, but at what cost and against how many skeletons? I wouldn't risk my friends' lives. Friends? I almost laughed. Yet, I've come to learn my lesson the hard way: Three against hundreds, if not thousands, is downright suicide. 

Alas, I could disarm Big McSkelly (interpret that in any way,) shatter him to pieces, barrel into a bunch of surprised skeleton warriors and then what? Get swarmed by more. I had this gut feeling that these bones were animated, ergo, if killed, can still be reanimated.

I took in another breath and said in a firm but decisive tone. "No, don't fight. I'll go with them to the Nekro Mansion."

♛♛♛♛♛

I EXPECTED MY FRIENDS TO DESERT ME.

I was shocked when Ignatius Hikaru said, "And you think you can have all the fun alone? I'm coming too."

I suspected there was something more to it than having fun: Friendship. I'd barely known him for a day and he was already risking his life for me. I resisted the urge to hug him.

"Why are you doing this?" I said. "It is me they want."

In response, Ignatius Hikaru said. "You jumped right after us. No one's ever got my back like that. I'm not leaving here without you."

I found his words soothing, it brought tears to my eyes.

I turned to Bran. He wouldn't meet my eyes. He simply said, "No," and studied the bone-littered earth. I couldn't blame him. If it were me, I would've chosen the most easiest path: Run.

Bran began to walk away and the skeletons smartly formed a two-walled line, parting for him as though they understood he was bailing out. At that moment, I knew for certain that I was the one they really wanted.

"Bran?" I called.

He stopped short, his back turned to me.

"Tell Elronde I'll be back." I said. "Tell her I promise it."

Bran waited for three, ten, fifteen seconds, as if debating whether to stay or go. Then he broke into a run until he was swallowed by the thickness of the fog.

I turned to Ignatius Hikaru. "Well, you too. Please —"

"Shut up!" He said.

"I know this is a hard choice to make. And I know you want to help. You don't have to sweat it. You still have a chance to go. I'll be fine."

"Okay, I'll go," he shrugged listlessly and turned. I felt an instant desire to weep. With meteoric speed, he spun and punched me in the face. Hard.

"Ow," I cried. "What's that for?"

Ignatius Hikaru tilted his head to the direction of the building. "For fun. I said, shut up and let's go. Ugh, you face hurts."

I had to smile and rub my broken nose as we waded through the lake of bones and advanced towards the gloomy Nekro Mansion.

♛♛♛♛♛

AT THE GATEWAY, an immobile weather vane rotated, warning us to do the same. 

Turn back.

I was tempted to grab Ignatius Hikaru's hand and scurry into a hole. But then, behind us were legions of armed skeletons leading me to their master.

Two winged gargoyles sat at the square tops of two freestanding columns, glaring down at us like surveillance cameras. In front of the gate, under each statue, rows of skeletons in full Roman armors held shields and spears, their shafts crossed at Xs.

Without breaking stride, Big McSkelly approached. The first two guards uncrossed their weapons and saluted, followed by the next two behind them, and the next two, and on, and on.

The yard was skull-shaped. Where the eye sockets should have been, two potted mini plants were grown. The plants were none like I've seen before: with bioluminescent purple petals, crimson veins, gray underleaves and writhing tendrils. A fountain gushed out thick red liquid in the centre of the yard where the nose was supposed to be. I was thinking, blood, when Ignatius Hikaru dipped a finger into it and licked.

"Yum," he said. "Ketchup nosebleed."

We forged on. The footpath that ran from the gate and stopped at the mouth of the main door was cobbled with bits of whites that gleamed under our feet. A skeleton crew of about ten — led by Big McSkelly himself — marched us into the coffin-shaped door while the rest waited out.

"Nice doorway," Ignatius Hikaru commented. "You guys have taste."

The interior was a stronger blend of eeriness and gothic decor. Motifs of lifelike gargoyles, elaborate tombstones, skeletons, crows, bats and vignettes dominated the deathly cold hall. The obsidian floor adjoined many dim rooms to the tapestried great hall. I got the creeps walking under the vaulted ceiling which felt like walking inside the refrigerated ribcage of a massive dragon. The room scented sickly sweet like graveyard soil after a downpour. As with every other fire, the torches and braziers held purplish flames. 

At the far end of the room, a hooded figure sat on a throne, staring with drooped head into his laps. Beyond him, a hulking portrait of a skeleton lady in black dress was titled Bona Lisa. To the left of the dais, a band of skeletons played in a mournful death metal requiem.

The hooded figure jerked as if awoken from a long trance. He gripped a skull-topped staff in his left hand and raised up his free palm — a human hand, I noticed.  The music swelled to an end.

"Master," Big McSkelly bowed. Twenty other skellies followed his lead. "Prisoners. To the Catacombs?" He asked hopefully.

"Arise, my able-bodied skeletons," the figure said in a sulky monotone. "I'm profoundly melancholic no one is going to the Catacombs today. How I wish… How I wish…"

Able-bodied? I glanced at Ignatius Hikaru if he got the humor. His face was beetroot red with suppressed laughter.

"I smell mirth in you two," the figure said in the same sulky voice, not even looking up. "What's tickling your funny bones?"

I couldn't take it any longer. I busted out with laughter. Ignatius Hikaru sizzled like an angry hose.

"Oh my poor ribs," the figure rose gloomily, stretching his joints which made loud, sad pops. "I'm bone-tired. I've been communing with the dead, going into death trances, trying to track you down, Cody Renwick, and what did I get? Laughter. You're in so much trouble."

My heart stopped. Did he just said my real name? Not my berserker character's name, Gaston, but my human name, Cody.

The figure removed his hood. He had a gaunt white face. His kohled eyes were so deep, hollow and empty of life they might as well be sockets. They bore into me like X-rays until I felt as if I were turning into a skeleton.

"Stop," I squeaked, my voice rising to a crescendo. "Stop! It!"

The skeletons raised their heads, alert by the sudden noise. They didn't attack.

The figure's long, grisly black hair was braided in a dreadlock. His skin had a waxy dull gray tinge — the color of ambergris. His sunken cheeks ended up in a goateed chin. Even with his silky black cloak and his skull staff that made him looked like the lieutenant of Grim Reaper, there was something warm about him — like the way he said my name and told me I was in trouble.

His eyes were cold and lifeless as he stared at me. "You have no idea who am I, do you?"

I just had to lower my vision and see through the glamor. There he was: a teenager with a messy hair, wearing a familiar orange TMNT shirt, grinning like an idiot … the glamor flickered and the black-cloaked guy pixelated into his place.

Impossible! No, it can't be him. I used to know him as a cheerful, lively guy not this … this glum-looking, grief-stricken fella that looked like Mr Thanatos the god of death.

"Morgan?" I said, taking a cautious step towards him.

"Cody," he managed a smile — with great effort — and stretched his arms wide for an embrace.

Was this even real? It might be a trap. What if this was my last embrace? Another cosmic joke for Daily Death Times: Berserker Dies in a Death Embrace.

The guy I suspected was Morgan cleared his throat, subtly but clearly saying, C'mon, bud. It's been a long time. I'm still waiting for the hug.

Teary-eyed, I walked up to him and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

Vote for an e-hug from me, thanks Reeders