Friends With The Monsters

by Albany Walker

The robes shift again. “You’re asking Death if he wants hot cocoa?” He sounds almost mystified.

  “What, you don’t like it?” I ask suspiciously. Even I like hot chocolate, and I can barely stomach food.

  His hood tilts. “I don’t know. I’ve never had it.”

  “Well…you don’t know what you’ve been missing.” I walk past him to the bedroom door. When I turn, he’s standing in the same spot. “Are you coming? I can’t rectify your lack of chocolatey experience if you don’t.” I raise my brows.

  When he still doesn’t move, I give him a small wave over my shoulder. “Your loss. The offer still stands anytime.” My heart is beating faster than usual. I want him to follow me, but I don’t want to pressure him either.

  I open the few windows I pass on my way down to the kitchen, letting some of the cool evening air filter into the house. Someone has a fire going. I can sense the burnt cedar and ash even though it’s probably a mile away. It smells like fall.

  I light a few candles and grab a small saucepan from the cupboard. I can feel him before I can see him. I go about getting the sugar, milk, and chocolate as if I expected him to follow me all along. I break off a few big chunks of the chocolate and set it aside while I heat up the milk and sugar.

  “I haven’t seen many of my friends lately.” I pause and look over at him. “Do you know Uncle Skinny Legs? He always comes by a couple times a week, but I haven’t seen him in days.”

  “I’m not the reason you haven’t seen them.” He sounds almost defensive.

  “I didn’t think you were.” I give him the side-eye. “I think he knows I want to know where Radmon went, so he’s avoiding me.” I start chopping up the chocolate. “What can I call you?” I jump topics.

  “Grim is fine.” He moves a little closer, still obscured behind the heavy cloak.

  “Really? Grim? Isn’t that kind of cliché?” I inquire, before thinking about how it might sound.

  “It’s my name,” he tells me slowly.

  “So, you really are the Grim Reaper?” I drop the knife and examine him.

  “Last I checked.”

  “That’s so fucking cool. Are there more than one of you? Do you know how everyone is going to die? When they’ll die?” I scrape the small bits of chocolate into a glass bowl and pop it in the microwave for twenty second intervals, stirring it in between.

  “I know when I need to collect someone’s soul.” He comes even closer and pulls out the chair to sit. I pretend not to notice, I don’t want to spook him. Instead, I check to make sure the milk isn’t heating too fast. I don’t know how to cook a lot, but I love hot chocolate, so I made it my mission to find the best recipe I could, and to learn how to make it.

  “It’s almost ready,” I chirp, with just a little too much excitement in my tone. “Do you think there’s weird shit going on lately?” I tilt my head, wishing I could see his face…I wonder if he’s a skeleton.

  “You ask a lot of questions.” Grim puts his arms on the counter, and one sleeve pulls back enough so I can see some of his human looking hand.

  “Not a skeleton then,” I comment more to myself. He pulls his hand back into his robe. “I haven’t had anyone to talk to in a few days—sue me,” I mutter, completely unapologetic. “The lion was the last person…whatever…that I talked to, and he wouldn’t even respond to me. He hid in the trees when I tried to go down to introduce myself.” I roll my eyes and grab two mugs.

  “A lion, you say?” Grim actually sounds interested.

  “Not just a lion.” I smirk. “He was rocking a golden mane. It was hard to tell from my window, but he looked really big, too. Not that I’ve seen many real lions. So, I don’t really have a comparison,” I ramble. Damn, I need to get out more if I’m this excited for someone to stop by.

  After pouring half the liquid deliciousness in his mug and the other half in mine, I turn the handle so he can reach for his own cup. “It’s hot,” I warn him, probably uselessly since he just watched me cook it.

  “Wait, you can eat and drink, right? I don’t really eat. I can, but most stuff makes me yak.”

  “Yak?” he repeats slowly. I think I hear a smile in his voice.

  “Yeah. Puke, vomit, throw up,” I answer, like he might be confused.

  “I won’t yak in your kitchen,” he tells me, and I’m certain I can hear his smile this time.

  “So, there must be more of you then, if you’re hanging out here. I mean, people are dying like every millisecond,” I conclude, bringing the mug up and taking my first sip. Yummy.

  “There are others,” he answers, all cryptic and creepy like. I wonder if he’s a wrinkled-up old man under there.

  “Are all of you named Grim?” I watch him as he stares down at the mug in front of him. “How will I know it’s you and not another Grim when I see you again?” I ask before he can answer.

  “It would only ever be me, and I’m the only one they call Grim.” His hood lifts up like he’s now looking at me.

  “The OG,” I tease.

  “OG?” he questions.

  I wish I could see his face. “Original gangster, or old gangster. I was just teasing.” I wave my hand. “Are you going to try it?” I motion to the cup.

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “Fair enough.” I lean over the counter. “Back to my question—”

  “Which one?” he interrupts me.

  “About the weird shit.” I take another sip.

  “What kind of weird shit?” Grim reaches for the mug, his hand covered by the robe.

  “Well, let me see. It all started a few days ago. I found a bleeding guy in my bedroom.”

  “That happen often?” His voice is light, like he’s teasing me.

  “Not as often as you’d think,” I muse. “I’m pretty sure he wasn’t a human, but I’m not positive. Scratch that, he wasn’t human,” I amend, waving my hand and dismissing my words. “He healed way too fast to be human.”

  Grim brings the mug near where his face should be. I hold my breath, waiting for him to pull back the hood.

  I make a raspberry with my lips when the mug disappears into the darkness of his hood. “You’re no fun,” I accuse jokingly.

  He ignores my comment. “You said it started with the bleeding guy. What else happened?”

  “Oh yeah, well, I gave him a ride to a club I hunt at—Rumors. Do you know it?” I round the island and pull out the stool next to him, but leave a little space between us.

  “I do,” he confirms, without giving me any other information.

  “The security there was acting weird. I think it had something to do with Gunnar. He was the bleeding guy. Then the lion showed up. None of my friends have been to visit since, and then there’s you.” It’s a really quick summary, but ever since Gunnar showed up it feels like something is changing.

  The hood nods. “What’s weird about me?” He sounds offended.

  “You’re not weird.” I lay my hand over where I think his forearm would be. “It’s weird that you’re sitting here talking to me. I’ve asked you to stay tons of times, and you never do, so why now?” I can feel his arm shift under my hand, and he doesn’t feel like a frail old man. I pull my fingers back and tuck them into my lap.

  “I wasn’t supposed to before,” he replies.

  “Why not?” My back goes ramrod straight.

  “I can’t tell you.” I can’t tell if he’s lying or not. Strange.

  “Can’t or won’t?” I find myself asking again this week.

  “It’s…complicated,” he offers.

  I let out a dark chuckle. “That’s a vague book status, not a real answer.”

  “What is vague book?” The hood tilts.

  “It’s not a real thing, I was making a joke about Face…never mind.” I roll my eyes, a little irritated.

  “I can visit you now, though,” he volunteers. I let out a sigh, feeling like I’m being left out, but it’s always been that way. I accept the monsters—accept I’m one, too—but
they still treat me like I’m different.

  “Fine.” I huff, standing and snatching my mug. I’m regretting the hot chocolate. It isn’t sitting right in my stomach tonight.

  “I don’t think anything you said is necessarily weird,” Grim tells me as I rinse out my mug and place it in the dishwasher. The way he worded his statement once again leaves me unable to read if he’s telling the truth or not.

  I look up at the ceiling. “It’s more a vibe than anything else. I feel like something has shifted. It’s hard to explain.” I can think of a few, more-subtle details, such as the way Gunnar knew right where my dishwasher was. How something about him felt familiar. There was even something about the lion that called to me, but I don’t know how to put it into words. I’m probably overthinking this whole thing.

  “You should always listen to your instincts,” Grim advises, bringing his mug over to the sink. I take it from him and rinse it, placing it in the washer next to mine.

  “I feel like that should have been said with more dramatic flair, and maybe some ominous music.” I turn to look at him. “You should lose the robe.”

  He smooths his hand over his chest and stomach. “You don’t think this look works for me?”

  “Depends on what you’ve got going on underneath there.” I fold my arms over my stomach and squint my eyes. “Most images depict you as a skeleton, but I saw your hand,” I remind him.

  “You did,” he confirms. I stare over at him. I think he’s staring back, but he could be looking out the window for all I know. I give him a shrug, if he wants to wear the robe, so be it.

  “Want to play a game or watch a movie?”

  Grim shakes his head a little. “I wish I could, but I need to go. Duty calls.” Truth.

  I deflate. “Really? But you just got here.” I sound needy, but I don’t care. I’m lonely.

  Before he can answer, I feel the awareness of the rage seeping into the room. Looking behind him, I see a slight shimmer in the air.

  “You don’t carry the sins,” I observe, looking back at him. It’s the first time I’ve actually thought about the sins he usually brings to feed me, and how I haven’t felt them since he first arrived.

  “No, they are attached to souls on the other side.” He takes a step back, getting closer to the shimmer.

  “I really am grateful. Thank you,” I murmur with complete sincerity. He’s been coming to me since I was far too young to find more sustainable meals on my own. He doesn’t respond.

  “Don’t be a stranger.” I wave as he takes another step back, disappearing along with the mouthwatering essence that came the same time the shimmer appeared. I just ate, but my stomach grumbles at the missed opportunity.

  I glance around the empty room, it’s still early. Maybe Theius or Samson will stop by. I sure don’t feel like going back to the club tonight.

  Instead of watching a movie, I throw on a sweater to head outside. Living way out here makes it easy for my friends to visit, but the isolation gets to me sometimes. I slide my feet into my boots and decide to go find Forea, the heart of the forest. She’s always in the woods. Maybe she’ll even know about the lion.

  Chapter 6

  I trudge through the woods, my boots growing heavier with every step. The ground is sodden with recent rain. I find myself walking next to the narrow path, rather than walking on it, to avoid the deeper mud.

  The calls of frogs and crickets keep me company as I move deeper into the forest. I hear and feel the thump of a fast-moving animal before I can see it. Within seconds, I spot a large buck leaping over fallen trees and brush about fifty feet to my left. I must have spooked him, even though I’m trying to be quiet. “Well, at least I know the lion didn’t eat you.” I continue walking once he’s disappeared, being mindful of how much noise I’m making as I go.

  A clearing eventually comes into view, one that always seems to be bathed in moonlight no matter how cloudy or overcast the night might be.

  Forea has her head bent low, drinking from a crystal clear pond. She’s a magnificent sight to behold. Not all my friends are what you would call scary. I’m sure many people have stumbled upon her and confused her for a very large male caribou. She lifts her head at my approach, not at all skittish, with water still dripping from her face.

  “Hi, Forea,” I call, while leaning against a large bolder bordering the pond. I’m more tired than I have the right to be after a thirty-minute walk. Maybe I need to come out here more often.

  Evening, child, she answers, but it’s not out loud. I can hear her in my head. Her voice is feminine, but deep, almost sultry. Her huge antlers are bowed wide up behind her with small strings of moss dripping between the points, resembling jewelry.

  How are you faring?

  I use my hands and lift my butt up onto the rock. “I’m okay. I thought I’d come for a visit since it’s been a while.”

  Time passes, child, with or without us. Forea turns so I can see her broad chest and the red patch that sits right in the center, as if her heart is exposed. Sometimes, I think she talks in riddles.

  A small bunny hops into the clearing, moving right to the pond to drink while standing in the huge reindeer’s shadow. There are other animals also: some bedded down, others munching on the grass and weeds.

  What’s bothering you? Your heart is heavy.

  I bring my knees up to my chest and plant my chin on them. The rock is so cold under me that I shiver, but my feet need a break from standing. “Are there any new animals in the forest?”

  Forea makes a grunting sound. There are always new beings—sixteen moths are taking flight right now. She lifts her nose in the air and I can see a tiny blast of steam as she puffs out an exhale.

  “What about a lion with a golden mane?” I wrap my arms around my legs.

  Ah, the Nemean. It’s like I can hear her smile, but nothing on her physical face shifts.

  “You know it then?”

  I know him, child, just as I know you.

  “I’d never seen him before yesterday. Has he been here long?” I take comfort in the fact that Forea knows him.

  He comes and goes, just like the seasons, along with many others.

  I nearly jump out of my skin when a bird screeches in the distance. I hadn’t even realized how quiet and calm the night has gotten. “Damn bird,” I mutter, readjusting my legs. “What about Gunnar? He was the injured male that made it to the house.”

  He did not pass through the woods, my dear.

  “Are you sure? How would he have gotten to the house?” I know not to doubt Forea, even without my senses telling me she’s being truthful, but I still ask the questions.

  There are many ways one could travel and not venture into the woods. That statement confirms that he isn’t human, but what could he be?

  I lean back on my palms and look up at the clear sky. The frigidness of the rock finally warms under me, or maybe my body is growing used to the cold; either way, I’m more comfortable now. The small animals continue scurrying about, while Forea dips her face back into the pool for another drink.

  I sit in the quiet of her and her animals’ company for a long while. My legs are stiff when I slide off the rock. “You know you’re welcome at the house anytime.” I break the silence. Forea only dips her head a bit to acknowledge me.

  My walk back is just as sluggish as my outward journey. The mud on my boots had dried, but they’re caked over with even more by the time I make it to the tree line bordering the clearing of my house. The sound of someone’s rapid breathing freezes me in my tracks.

  “She’s not here,” he grumbles into a cell phone near his ear. I take cover behind a thick oak tree, but keep him in my sights. A shot of adrenaline courses through my veins. I’m not scared—quite the opposite in fact. I can’t see the man’s face, but I know he’s human.

  “I don’t know. Her car is in the garage, but there’s no one in the house.” The man winces and pulls the phone away from his ear. “I know I’m not supposed to go in
the house. I only checked because I hadn’t seen any movement in hours.”

  “Well, shit,” the man mumbles, pulling the phone away from his ear again. In the next second, another man appears right next to him out of thin air. The newcomer grabs the other man by the throat and lifts.

  “I didn’t go in,” he croaks, holding on to the arm that’s lifting him in the air.

  “Then how the fuck do you know she’s not in there?” I tilt my head, his voice sounds familiar.

  The man being choked makes some gurgling sounds before the other man releases him, and he falls to a heap on the ground, immediately grabbing at his neck.

  “Footprints,” the man gasps. “She went into the woods.” It takes him several attempts, but he finally gets the words out.

  “Fucking idiot.” I know that voice. Gunnar? No, it couldn’t be him, he sounds completely different. “She probably just went for a walk. Get back to the truck and get the fuck out of here before she comes back,” he orders, stomping away from the man still crumpled on the ground. When he turns, the moonlight shines on his face, and I see it is, in fact, Gunnar.

  “What the hell are you doing here, and why do you have someone watching me?” I mutter under my breath. Damn, I do talk to myself way too much.

  His head snaps in my direction and I slip farther behind the tree. I want to know what he’s up to before I decide what to do about it. Too bad, I actually kind of liked him.

  I close my eyes and control my breathing. I can’t do much about how fast my heart is beating other than force myself to stay calm. After several long moments without hearing a sound, I peer out from behind the oak to find the clearing empty, with no evidence that Gunnar or his little minion were ever here.

  I give it several more minutes before coming out from the tree line, making sure he’s not lying in wait for me. I skirt the house, moving around the back of the property, and when my back door is in sight, I dash from the cover of the trees and run up the stairs. The door opens freely—I hardly ever lock them, but it might be time to start now.

  The house feels empty when I enter. I send out my senses to every corner just in case, but no one has been in the house. I think I’ll be making a trip back to Rumors tomorrow—twice in one week, a new record for me.