Keeping Up with the Deadlanders

by J.R. Rodriguez

  *

  Later that evening, the living room was buzzing with activity. Morrigan had come over with Ankou and the two now sat near the fireplace and were looking through an ancient photo album. Llorona was going through a plastic tub of paint tubes, examining each one carefully before either tossing it into a garbage can or into another tub. The Reaper was bent over the coffee table carefully extracting pieces of a model ship from a small glass bottle.

  Famine quietly came down the stairs seconds later. He had pulled on a tank top and a pair of plain black trousers. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, heavily accenting his pale bony face. As soon as he walked into the living room, everyone else looked up without a word.

  “Is there a party?” he asked nervously.

  Morrigan smiled, got up, and gave him a tight hug. “We were worried about you, sweetie. When you didn’t call, we didn’t know what had happened.”

  “I’m so sorry…”

  The three adults put down what they had been working on and turned their attention to the boy. Famine could tell by the looks on their faces that they weren’t as happy to see him as Morrigan was. Their eyes were absolutely piercing. As soon as his friend let go, he took a seat on one of the chairs opposite Llorona. He cast his eyes downward and spoke softly. “I know I upset everyone by doing what I did. I just lost track of time.”

  “What’s that to do with getting drunk, child?” asked Ankou sharply.

  Famine faced his uncle and sighed. “Nothing. I went out with Devon like I said I was. After dinner, we went to this ghost club and we started drinking. I had never been in a place like that. It was so exciting…I just had to do what everyone else was doing.”

  “But you’ve never even drank before. How did you know it wouldn’t do anything to you?” Llorona asked with a bit of concern.

  “He didn’t think about it. He just had to follow the crowd.”

  “Ankou, please,” said The Reaper tersely, “Let’s hear what else he has to say before we get upset. Go on, tell us why you even went to a ghost club in the first place. You’re not old enough to get in."

  “It was Devon’s idea—“

  “Of course!” Ankou snapped.

  Llorona shot him a nasty look and the old cart driver shut up. He pulled one of the chairs near the fireplace closer as Famine continued.

  “Like I was saying, it was Devon’s idea. He thought I should try something new. He thinks that I need to get back in touch with my human roots. He helped me get in. Once I got in and started dancing—“

  “Dancing?” asked Morrigan with surprise.

  “Yes…dancing. Once I started dancing with the other ghosts, I just lost control. I was having fun.”

  Famine looked from face to face but found no pity in any of them. He cast his gaze down again. “I don’t expect any of you to understand.”

  The Reaper stood up, brushed off his shroud, and began pacing the room. “If this had been a first time, we could ignore it. But it wasn’t. I had asked you to be back home at midnight the last two times you were out with that kid. You ignored me both times. I asked you several times to help me move some corpses from the graveyard into the small mausoleum for processing and you didn’t. I could maybe look past that but you also stood Morrigan up. She’s your friend, I thought you would’ve had better sense.”

  “That’s okay, Mr. Reaper…it really is. It wasn’t important.”

  “That’s not the point, dear. He’s continually broken promises because of this boy. He’s also been very short with all of us. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. What’s so special about him anyway?”

  Famine looked The Reaper directly in the eye sockets with a defiant face. “Devon understands what I’m going through. He knows how lonely and confusing death can be. None of you guys know anything about that…about what it was like to be mortal…”

  It was now Llorona’s turn to be angry. She pointed at the teenager as she edged towards the edge of the sofa. “I do! Don’t forget, I used to be human, too, young man. I know full well how stressing it can be.”

  “But you’re old! You don’t know what it’s like to be my age and in my place!”

  “Maybe I don’t, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to behave this way. Besides, you know full well you can come talk to me any time you want.”

  “It’s not the same. Devon makes me feel special and wanted. Not like any of you.”

  Llorona sat back, a look of hurt in her face. Ankou and Morrigan exchanged looks of similar emotion. Only The Reaper remained unphased. He marched up to Famine and looked down on him. “That was uncalled for.”

  “You just hate what I am!” spat Famine hatefully.

  “No, that’s not true. We really don’t care about your other nature. We’d like anyone you brought home.”

  “Then why do you hate Devon so much?”

  Ankou spoke up. “I may not like his type…ghosts…but I’d give him a chance if you had taken a different approach to dating him. Did you expect us to act any differently?”

  Famine stood up fast and pointed at everyone in the room. He was livid. There was even some color returning to his face. “His type? What nerve you have! You’re all just jealous of what we have! He can give me what you all can’t!”

  Morrigan reached over and touched his shoulder. “Honey, please calm down. We’re just trying to understand things. You have to give us a chance.”

  “I don’t have to give you guys anything! You’re just a bunch of bigoted fools! If you can’t get me or Devon, then maybe I should leave!”

  Famine pushed Morrigan out of the way and hurried past the Reaper. He gave everyone one last look of rage before he opened the front door and stormed out. No one said a word. Ankou walked over to Morrigan and talked gently.

  “Would you go and try to calm him down?” asked The Reaper.

  “Of course. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”