Ghoulish

by Kat Bellamy

  “A silver ring with a ruby, specifically. Worn on the right index finger, always.”

  “Thanks,” Colt said, reluctantly slipping it on. “Still feels kind of awkward accepting jewelry from another dude.”

  The other ghoul’s eyes danced with amusement. “It was my brother’s, if it makes you feel any better.”

  “Why doesn’t he wear it now?”

  “He didn’t choose to become a hunter because he likes socializing. He prefers to keep under the radar, and there’s certainly an argument to be made for doing so,” Stan mused. “The only reason we didn’t give you a ring sooner is because Susan and I both felt it would be safer for you not to encounter other ghouls without us present. Given your complicated background and affinity for humans…”

  “You were worried I’d get into a fight,” Colt realized aloud. “Looks like you were right.”

  “Don’t sweat it, Colt. You picked just about the worst ghoul to have a run-in with, but what’s done is done and it’ll all sort out. Just try to keep to yourself out there and don’t hesitate to drop my name if anyone gives you trouble.”

  “I’ll try not to be trouble,” Colt promised. “I should probably get going.”

  “Take care of yourself. Take a walk, get some sleep. The fresh air will do you some good.”

  “Yeah. Maybe I’ll try that,” Colt said, heading for the kitchen door. After excusing himself, Colt decided to take Stan’s suggestion and take a walk around the block. The Browns’ neighborhood was on the rural end of suburban and the fresh air and greenery proved more effective at dulling his sorrows than the six pack waiting for him back at his apartment. Alcohol rarely even got him buzzed those days, and after what he’d seen in the alley, he didn’t have the stomach for human blood even if he did know an ethical way to obtain it.

  As Colt rounded the block and came back to the Browns’ driveway for his truck, something small and hard bounced off the top of his head. He looked up to find Ronnie sitting on the rooftop outside his bedroom window, his sneaker dangling off the ledge where some rocks and leaves had accumulated near the gutter.

  “Sorry,” Ronnie called.

  “No harm done,” Colt said, kicking the fallen rock with his shoe. “How long have you been up there?”

  “Long enough to see you shuffle the soccer mom circuit.”

  “So is this where you’re hiding when you mysteriously disappear whenever I show up?”

  Ronnie rolled his eyes. “I’m not hiding, I’m avoiding you. There’s a difference.”

  “Right,” Colt snorted, pulling out his keys. “Have a good night.”

  “Wait.”

  Colt looked back up at the roof. Ronnie was watching him with the same blank look his mother wore that made it impossible to tell what she was thinking. “I’m sorry about your friend,” he said at last.

  “Thanks…”

  “Wanna come up?” Ronnie offered, patting the shingles beside him. “You can get a better view of Stepford from up here.”

  “Thanks, but I’d rather not disturb your parents again.”

  “Just come up,” Ronnie said, nodding to the white lattice on the side of the house.

  “Seriously?”

  “You build skyscrapers for a living,” Ronnie scoffed. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of heights.”

  “I’m not scared of heights so much as I am of landing in your mom’s roses.”

  A slow grin spread across Ronnie’s face. “Chicken.”

  It was Colt’s turn to roll his eyes. “Sorry, kid, but you’ll have to do better than that if you wanna get under my skin. Construction worker, remember?”

  “Bawk…”

  Colt sighed.

  The chicken noises intensified.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Colt muttered, grabbing the edge of the lattice. He hoisted himself up, surprised at how much easier it was to balance. He still felt like his weight was going to take down the delicate woodwork at any moment, but he finally grasped the edge of the rooftop and pulled himself up.

  “Isn’t making chicken sounds a bit immature for a high school student?”

  “College,” Ronnie corrected. “And it worked on you, didn’t it?”

  A fair point, Colt had to concede. He wandered over to the edge of the rooftop and reluctantly took a seat next to Ronnie. He glanced at the small cooler at the boy’s side and frowned. “What’s that, a picnic?”

  Ronnie flipped the top of the cooler open to reveal a few plastic-sealed pouches of dark purple blood nestled in ice. “Don’t tell my parents.”

  Colt hesitated. “I’m not even sure if there’s a legal age limit for O-negative, so your secret’s safe with me. Thought you didn’t like people?”

  “Blood’s different. It comes from people who’re still alive. And it’s easier to get my hands on than alcohol.”

  “That’s…weird.”

  “Heads up,” Ronnie said, tossing a pouch at Colt.

  Colt caught the bag and frowned. “I dunno…”

  “Come on, your friend just died and you got your ass kicked by a girl. If ever there’s a time to get drunk, this is it.”

  “I didn’t get my ass kicked,” Colt mumbled. He watched Ronnie tear off the top of the pouch with his teeth and followed his lead. The blood tasted a bit like flat wine, but it hit his head on the second sip and the buzz was a welcome distraction from the cocktail of guilt and misery that had plagued him ever since his own first--and hopefully his last--kill.

  “I’m just messing with you. Evelyn’s tough shit. You’re lucky you didn’t get killed. Guess she has a soft spot for pretty boys.”

  Colt snorted. “You always eavesdrop when your parents and I are talking?”

  “Pretty much. But don’t worry, I usually tune out about five minutes in,” Ronnie said, leaning back against his window. “You’re kinda boring. No offense.”

  “None taken. I think I’d rather be boring by ghoul standards than interesting any day.”

  “Just because I think you’re boring doesn’t mean the others do. You’re the talk of the town.”

  “Why doesn’t that sound like a good thing?”

  “Because it’s not,” said Ronnie. His gaze traveled down to Colt’s right hand. “I see you’ve been initiated into the secret club.”

  “Already outed myself. I guess your parents figured it couldn’t hurt,” Colt said, glancing at Ronnie’s hand. For the first time, he noticed a ring nearly identical to his own on the young man’s index finger. The only major difference was that Ronnie’s band was engraved with flame patterns. “Nice customization.”

  Ronnie snorted. “I picked it out when I was still going through my goth phase. It’s dumb, but it gets the other ghouls to leave me alone. I’m kind of appetizing,” he said dryly, patting his stomach.

  Colt nearly choked on his bagged blood.

  “You know, the only thing more awkward than getting made fun of for being the chubby guy among a race of modelesque superhumans is people pretending like you’re not.”

  “I wasn’t pretending anything.”

  “Mhm,” Ronnie said, kicking back to prop himself up on his elbows as he looked out over the rooftop. “You must think I’m weird.”

  “Why would I think that?”

  Ronnie glanced over at Colt out of the corner of his eye. “It’s kind of weird. Being a ghoul who gets sick at the thought of human flesh.”

  “Kind of,” Colt agreed. “Still not as weird as being a ghoul raised by humans.”

  “That’s for damn sure,” Ronnie mumbled, flipping a chunk of floppy brown hair out of his eyes. “Guess we’re both weirdos.”

  “Guess so,” Colt agreed, tossing the empty blood pouch back in the cooler. “You gonna be okay when you go through your first shift and you have to start eating meat?”

  “Guess I’ll have to be, won’t I?”

  All Colt could do was nod.

  After a few minutes of surprisingly comfortable silence, Ronnie spoke up. “That guy who die
d. Were you close?”

  “Sort of,” Colt said, watching a stray cat dart out from underneath the porch across the street. “He was my boss. We mostly only hung out at work, but I’ve known him for years. Chuck gave me my first job when I decided I couldn’t hack it at school.” He paused. “Yeah, I guess we were close.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “What’s what like?”

  “Knowing humans,” said Ronnie.

  “You go to college. I’m sure you know plenty of them.”

  “Yeah, but it’s different,” Ronnie insisted. “My whole life, I’ve known I wasn’t one of them. I’ve never fit in with the other ghouls, but I’m not human, either. You can go to a foreign country, but that doesn’t mean you know the language or understand the culture. You thought you were one of them, and now you know you’re not.”

  “I guess I’ve never really thought about it,” Colt admitted. “Like you said, I always thought I was human. Building relationships, caring for humans, it’s normal for me. They were my parents, my teachers, my friends…”

  “Your boyfriend.”

  “Him, too.”

  “You know that’s pretty much doomed to fail, right?”

  “Thanks for sugarcoating it, Ronnie.”

  The corner of the younger ghoul’s mouth tilted up. “Sorry, but it’s the truth. It was one thing when I thought you were just another jerk, but I feel like it’s only fair to warn you now that I find you somewhat tolerable.”

  Colt cocked an eyebrow. “You never pull any punches, do you?”

  “Nope, and I figure I can blame it on hormones for another year at least. Seriously, if you love this guy, dump him. It’s only a matter of time before he becomes lunch.”

  Colt grimaced. It wasn’t the harshness of Ronnie’s words that he found off-putting but rather the fact that they echoed his own internal monologue so closely. “Your parents said as long as I ate regularly, I’d--”

  “My parents are monsters,” Ronnie said without a hint of hesitation. “I love them, but they are. So am I. So are you.” He shrugged. “You don’t blame a lion for eating a gazelle, but you’d blame the zookeeper who put them into the same cage. Being a ghoul is like being the lion and the zookeeper. Maybe you’ll get lucky and nothing bad will happen, but is it really worth the risk?”

  “No,” Colt conceded, his voice rough. “But it’s not as simple as you’re making it out to be, either. Jason isn’t just my boyfriend. He’s my best friend. We grew up together. Our families know each other. Then there’s my parents… I can’t just leave them, especially now that I know how much danger is really out there.”

  “Better the devil you know,” Ronnie murmured. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”

  “You disapprove.”

  He shrugged. “None of my business. If that’s a risk you wanna take, as long as you know it’s a risk, it’s yours to take.”

  “I appreciate the warning,” Colt said, managing a small smile as he stood and prepared to head back down the lattice. It looked far flimsier than it had on the way up.

  Ronnie watched Colt closely, tilting his head. “You’re not gonna take it, though. I can tell.”

  “No, I’m not,” Colt admitted. “I know what it seems like from the outside looking in, but if there’s one thing in this world I’m sure of, it’s that I could never hurt Jason. Not on purpose, not on accident. Not for anything.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Colt stopped to consider it. “Jason is everything I’m not. I shouldn’t stand a shot in hell with him. Hell, his mom’s been trying to get us to stop being friends since I was half your age. I’ve been living with the fear of losing him for a long time, and that fear’s stronger than anything else, including the hunger.”

  Ronnie listened in silence, finally blowing a long puff of air through his lips that ruffled his bangs. “Sap.”

  Colt smiled. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Ronnie. And try to go easy on the blood.”

  Ronnie flipped him off on the way down. It was the closest yet Colt had gotten to a “goodnight” and coming from Ronnie, it was practically a gesture of affection.

  Chapter 11

  Monday came and went and Colt realized that foreman or not, he was due for just as much hazing as he had gone through at his old job. His locker had already been filled with shaving cream and his lunchmeat replaced with sandpaper. Luckily for his new crew, he’d taken a cue from Ronnie and packed a “vegetarian” lunch that day. He still didn’t trust himself enough to cut back on flesh, but eating more human food than he could handle helped him not think about it as much throughout the day.

  Bracher Construction was everything it claimed to be from the reflective skyscraper it called home office. Colt’s name was even stretched across the door to his office in chrome-plated lettering. He spent more time in it than he would have thought, between the expense reports and the order forms, and by the end of a long day, he was more than eager to trade his desk chair for a saw bench.

  Susan and Stan called several times over the weekend to check in on Colt, but he couldn’t help but suspect that they were also trying to feel out whether his guilty conscience had gotten the best of him.

  To be fair, that night at the funeral, it nearly did. As Colt stood off to the side of Chuck’s grave and watched the man’s widow sobbing from a safe distance, the guilt ate at him with its blood-stained teeth. He couldn’t get the image of Evelyn out of his head, her face contorted into something grotesque and her fangs buried in Chuck’s neck. One minute, Colt had been drinking with the man, the next, he was gone. Colt had never imagined that his farewell party would be Chuck’s last goodbye.

  Jason stood at his side, clad in a near-matching black suit. Of course, Jason always looked like he belonged in a suit. Colt still felt like a kid trying on his dad’s work clothes. The tie felt like a vice around his neck and whatever chemicals the drycleaner used made his elbows itch. Jason’s presence was usually a comfort, but Ronnie’s words were still buzzing around in Colt’s ear like a fly.

  Maybe he wasn’t the reason Chuck was dead. Maybe he’d arrived too late, and if he hadn’t, maybe there still wasn’t anything he could have done. But maybe there was. Somewhere across town, maybe there was another widow grieving the life Colt himself had taken. Maybe the mugger wasn’t all that different from Chuck, save for a few divergent life choices.

  In retrospect, Colt’s imagination was tormenting him with all sorts of contingencies. What if the mugger hadn’t really been prepared to kill him? What if he’d had kids? Parents who still didn’t know where he was, but stayed up at night wondering if they’d ever even get the chance to bury their son?

  Jason squeezed Colt’s hand, drawing him back to reality. The mourners were beginning to disperse. Chuck’s widow had already let the clod of dirt in her grasp slip through her fingers, raining over the shiny black wooden casket. The gravediggers would fill in the rest later, but the ceremony, like the life it was meant to honor, had come to an end.

  Colt followed Jason back to the car. For once, he’d agreed to let Jason drive since his black Mercedes was far more appropriate in a funeral home lot than a massive green Chevy. Jason started up the car and they drove in silence for a while because Colt scarcely knew what to think, let alone how to put anything worth saying into words. For his part, Jason made the silence easy. He was good about that kind of thing.

  Once the car came to a stop in front of Colt’s building, Jason reached out and touched his hand. “Do you want me to come in? We could watch a movie and I’ll make popcorn, or we could just talk. Or not.”

  “Thanks,” Colt said, leaning in to kiss him. He brushed a few strands of hair away from Jason’s eyes and smiled. “But I’ve got work in the morning, and you’ve got class. I’ll be fine. Really.”

  Jason seemed to hesitate, but he finally nodded and shifted his car into gear. “Call me if you need anythin
g?”

  “I will,” Colt promised, shutting the door. He leaned in through the window. “You’re going straight back to the dorms, right?”

  Jason cocked his head. “You turning into my father?” he teased.

  Colt snorted. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, stepping back. “Just be careful out there.”

  Jason’s eyes softened. “Always.”

  Colt watched from the curb as Jason drove away before heading inside. He opened the refrigerator out of habit and reached for a beer, stopping short when he realized there was a reason the six pack in the back had been there untouched for a month. He eyed the plastic container and realized for the first time since his birthday that he had entirely forgotten about eating for a full twenty-four hours.

  He knew it was playing with fire to start skipping his daily dose now, but his stomach was full of lead and all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep until his alarm went off in the morning. He closed the refrigerator door and shuffled into his room, telling himself that it wasn’t really a risk if he had no plans of interacting with humans for the rest of the day.

  Colt kicked off his loafers and pulled off his tie, but he couldn’t be bothered to change out of the rest of his clothes before he flopped down face-first on his mattress. Sleep eluded him for an hour, but his mind was more than content to torment him with memories of Chuck and his demise all throughout the night.

  Chapter 12

  As Tuesday morning came, Colt decided there were only two things in life that were certain: death and punching in at nine a.m.. He’d woken to a voicemail from Stan nestled between a few from his parents warning him that the police investigation into Chuck’s death was underway, but that he and Susan had “taken care of it.” Colt neither had the energy nor the desire to figure out what that meant.

  Some people dreaded work, but Colt had never been one of them. Sitting in a classroom, trying in vain to focus on the droning monologues of his teachers had always made his skin feel like a heavy old suit he couldn’t wait to slip out of, but work was different. It didn’t matter if it was a luxury skyscraper or a one-floor ranch, as long as he had a purpose to set his hands to and the sun beating down on his face, he was good. He lived for that shit. It was the living between one shift and the next that had always given him trouble.