《Perennial》 Ch. 1 Sprout Midnight ¨C A deafening crack of thunder echoed across Ironbark Graveyard. A horrid tempest swept through the area, twisting and snapping trees and fences. The crushing force of rain battered the Cemetery ground. Anyone who may have otherwise considered visiting at the ungodly hour were kept indoors by the vicious winds. Every living thing with any sense had hidden away, so not a single living thing saw. At least, nothing that should be living saw. At the base of a tilted gravestone, recently dug earth began to shift. ----- It was a nice day, all things considered. Yesterday¡¯s storm had been fearsome, but after the downpour, only a few puffy clouds were left over. With the sun as bright as it was, Edgar had no doubt the roads would dry before he closed shop for the day. Plus, a good drenching every now and then would let the local flowers fill out beautifully. He wouldn¡¯t be harvesting any, of course. He got most of his stock from out of town, but you don¡¯t become a florist without some appreciation for the flowers. It would be about another thirty minutes before the shop opened. Edgar had already clipped a few lilies from his garden out back and was replacing some of the older ones on display. The flowers he was replacing would still be good for another week or so, in his opinion, but the display flowers had to be at their most vibrant to catch the interest of passersby. The road his shop was on wasn¡¯t bustling, but it got enough foot traffic to draw in a fair few customers. Most of his sales, however, were flowers for the newly deceased. It was rather morbid, Edgar knew, that his business was kept afloat by its proximity to Ironbark Graveyard and relied of the tragic passing¡¯s of his townspeople. He kept himself upbeat by reminding himself that it was an important service for the departed. Without his little shop, they¡¯d need to find another way to get flowers or ¨C dreadful thought - go flowerless. Besides, without it, he wouldn¡¯t be able to keep his shop afloat. He pushed the thought out of his mind and went back to polishing up the display. After a few more minutes of tidying, Edgar heard a knock on the door. He looked to the source. A man ¨C a boy really ¨C who looked in his late twenties was standing patiently, hands behind his back, occasionally glancing at the flowers on the windowsill. Edgar checked his watch: about fifteen minutes till opening. He walked to the door. ¡°You¡¯re a bit early,¡± he said, opening the door a smidge. ¡°We don¡¯t open for another few minutes, but you¡¯re free to look around until I get the computer booted up.¡± ¡°Thank you kindly.¡± The stranger nodded and took his offer. From behind his back, he placed an aged-looking book on the counter by the door. ¡°You have an exquisite display up front. These purple flowers are, well, quite dazzling.¡± His gaze passes through the displays and settles on a plant near the bottom of a display rack. ¡°Hm, mandrake,¡± a slight look of surprise shows on his face before he returns to his usual pleasant expression. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you recognize that one. It¡¯s not too popular. As for the purples, those little pretties are chrysanthemums.¡± Edgar explained as he lifted a bin of old display flowers. ¡°They¡¯re originally from Asia and come in a number of colors. The yellow ones on the corner table are also chrysanthemums. Oh! the one¡¯s I sell here aren¡¯t from Asia though. They¡¯re grown in¡­ I don¡¯t actually know.¡± ¡°Is that right? They¡¯re fairly prominently displayed, are they popular?¡± ¡°Oh yes! Especially around here.¡± ¡°How so?¡± The stranger asked as he curiously fiddled with a flower bud. ¡°Well, there¡¯s a graveyard around here,¡± the stranger froze. ¡°Also, don¡¯t touch the display flowers.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think the flowers are all too cross about it, but very well. Do you need any help with that?¡± He gestured to the boxes he¡¯d started moving to the back. ¡°Oh don¡¯t worry, they¡¯re not as heavy as they look.¡± He leaned down to pick up another box. ¡°They¡¯re just filled with flow-ERG.¡± He suddenly strained. ¡°Nope! THAT is topsoil. That is not flowers. That is ¡­ that is definitely not flowers.¡± He opened the box and began taking out the bags of soil to carry individually. The stranger picked up a few and slung them over his shoulder. Edgar elected not to protest. ¡°You mentioned a graveyard?¡± He queried. ¡°Yes, Ironbark, only a few blocks away. If you go out the back and take a left, you¡¯ll see a sign pointing in its direction¡­ Well, actually, you¡¯ll see a sign pointing towards Ironbark church, but you can¡¯t see one without the other, so-¡± his sentence tapered off as he leaned down to drop the bags. The stranger followed in kind. ¡°Yesterday there was a storm, so there wouldn¡¯t have been anyone around there, correct?¡± ¡°Yeah, probably. Maybe some dedicated mourners would¡¯ve ¡­ no, no, it was pretty bad. There wouldn¡¯t¡¯ve been anyone.¡± ¡°Any restless groundskeepers that could¡¯ve been milling about?¡± ¡°Well, I can¡¯t say for certain, but I doubt it. Why? What¡¯s so interesting about it?¡± ¡°I just wanted to know if anyone¡¯s seen anything strange since yesterday, just thought you might¡¯ve heard of it.¡±This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Edgar stopped to consider the line of questions. It was odd, even to him. ¡°What for?¡± ¡°I¡¯m looking out for someone. A graverobber, of sorts.¡± ¡°A GRAVEROBBER!?¡± Edgar dropped the bag he¡¯d been picking up. ¡°of sorts,¡± The stranger looked unperturbed. ¡°Well, why do you think there¡¯d be one ¡®round here!?¡± ¡°Just a hunch.¡± The stranger placed another set of bags down. He stopped, looking thoughtful for a moment. ¡°So, if it¡¯s no bother, could you tell me if you see someone unusual or suspicious around ¡­ or even if you hear about someone suspicious from someone else.¡± ¡°I ¡­ I suppose so.¡± ¡°So, have you?¡± ¡°Have I what?¡± Had he robbed a grave? Absolutely not! ¡°Have you seen anyone suspicious?¡± ¡°Well¡­ I mean it¡¯s only been a day, less than a day really, I haven¡¯t seen anyone but you since then.¡± ¡°Well that¡¯s good.¡± The stranger carried the last of the soil bags over. Then looked at him for a moment before continuing. ¡°It is best to be safe after all.¡± Edgar shook himself out of his stupor, realizing that he¡¯d brought over almost none of the bags, letting a random stranger do most of the work. ¡°Is this what you do every day?¡± The stranger asked. ¡°Pretty much. This and tending to the flowers and working the desk?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you get tired of it?¡± ¡°Not really, it can be hard work, but that¡¯s what makes it worth it.¡± ¡°Not quite what I meant.¡± The stranger flashed a pitying glance, before dismissing whatever he¡¯d been thinking about. ¡°Anything else you need help with?¡± ¡°No, no, you¡¯ve done more than enough for me already. Why don¡¯t you just pick out what you came here for? I¡¯ll cut the price since you helped me out.¡± ¡°What I came here for?¡± ¡°You did come here to buy something, didn¡¯t you?¡± The stranger looks at him strangely. ¡°Yes, of course! I¡¯ll look around for something.¡± ¡°I hope you find something that suits your fancy.¡± Edgar returned to the front of the desk and booted up the computer. The system was supposed to make transactions a bit faster than when he was relying on the analog register. In practice, he found it frustratingly unintuitive, and it took too long to set up in the morning. He glanced at his phone and sighed. He was supposed to have finished opening fifteen minutes ago. How could he keep his store running if he kept letting the opening time slip? He walked over to the door while the computer booted and flipped the door sign to ¡®Open¡¯. Then, he looked to his customer ¨C pacing the aisles, glancing briefly at some of the bouquets but never lingering. He began to move back to his post but bumped his elbow against something. A book? He didn¡¯t remember having a book like this in the shop. It was unmarked on the face and spine, with only the texture of whatever organic-looking material the binding was made of. Oh! It was the book that the kid brought in with him. The book that the ¡­ kid - what was his name? ¡°Hey um, what was your name again?¡± The stranger looked over. His eyes widened when he looked at me with the book. He quickly approached, grabbing the book and pulling it to his chest. ¡°I hadn¡¯t said. It¡¯s Evan.¡± He bowed slightly with his introduction. ¡°Well, Evan, sorry about your book,¡± Edgar said sincerely. He hadn¡¯t realized the book was so important to the guy. The boy, Evan, went back to browsing, now holding the book. After a bit, he spoke, ¡°Do you¡­ have any shovels?¡± ¡°Shovels?¡± Edgar was caught off-guard. ¡°I mean, I have a few but they¡¯re not really for sale.¡± They¡¯re mostly hand shovels for digging up the flowers in the back, he thought. Those tiny, sharp hand-spades ¨C is that what he¡¯s looking for? ¡°Most of the flowers on display are cut. If you¡¯re looking to plant, we have a few potted in the back, but it¡¯s a more limited selection.¡± Edgar walked back to the computer. Evan pondered for a second. ¡°Of course, but to do so, I¡¯ll need a shovel. Do you know where I could get my hands on one?¡± He flipped through his book before settling on a page and whispered something unintelligible. ¡°Well, there¡¯s a department store near the center of town.¡± He gestured in a general direction. ¡°It¡¯s a bit of a walk, but they probably have what you want.¡± He checked the computer screen, only to find a rapidly flickering screen. ¡°I don¡¯t have any money though.¡± ¡°Then you¡¯re going to have a ¨C damnit! ¨C tough time getting something.¡± Edgar rapped at the side of the screen in frustration. ¡°Do you need any help with that?¡± Evan asked. ¡°No, I¡¯ll get it eventually.¡± ¡°Will that eventually be after the store closes?¡± ¡°It¡¯s just a little- ¡° ¡°It¡¯s no trouble, just let me have a look.¡± Evan tapped at the counter in front of the screen. Edgar sighed, gazed frustratedly at the noncompliant screen, and moved aside. Evan positioned himself behind the keyboard and began typing away with one hand. After a few clicks, he slipped his other hand out of his book and put it on his lap. He whispered again and tapped a few more keys. The flickering faded out, and the screen returned to normal. ¡°Thanks¡­¡± Edgar said. ¡°No problem.¡± Evan backed up with a pleased look on his face ¨C pleased, and maybe a little smug. ¡°Wait, did you say you don¡¯t have any money?¡± Edgar finally processed what Evan had said. ¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t really have anything right now.¡± ¡°Then, why are you here?¡± ¡°Apologies, would you like me to leave?¡± ¡°No, I just mean, why did you come here then?¡± ¡°Just to look around.¡± He paced back and forth the aisle. A bouquet caught his interest, and he leaned over to get a better look. Eventually, he took a step back to take in the shop in its entirety. ¡°This is quite a large place, do you run the whole thing yourself?¡± He queried. ¡°Yes, I run this establishment, and own it too. I set things up every morning and clean things out every night¡± ¨C a slight boast. ¡°I even work Saturdays. We¡¯re closed on Sundays though.¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t that take a while, If it¡¯s just you?¡± ¡°It¡¯s just a few hours a day. I usually open on time; Today was an off-day.¡± ¡°I suppose you did let me in, though you were still moving bags.¡± ¡°You arrived early, even if I did open late.¡± ¡°I arrived at nine. That¡¯s when the door sign says you open.¡± ¡°You ¨C wait¡­¡± Edgar checked his watch, then the clock on the computer. Damnit! Fifteen minutes late. That means he didn¡¯t open fifteen minutes late. He opened half an hour late. That was inexcusably late. He¡¯d probably have to wake up earlier to make sure he opened on time. That, or¡­ ¡°You said you don¡¯t have any money, right?¡± ¡°Not a cent.¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you work here for a bit?¡± Edgar offered. ¡°Work here?¡± Edgar considered. He had mostly offered on impulse, ¨C ¡°I don¡¯t see why not.¡± ¨C but it seemed like a decent idea. ¡°I look forward to it.¡± Evan clasped his hands together, clearly pleased. ¡°So ¡­ What shall I do?¡± ¡°Well, first I have to fill out some paperwork. I¡¯ll need a bit of personal information.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have all of my personal information on me right now. Is that going to be a problem?¡± ¡°Just get it to me before your first paycheck at the end of the week.¡± ¡°So, shall I start working today?¡± ¡°Considering that you¡¯ve already done work today, I don¡¯t see why not.¡± ¡°Well then, let¡¯s get started, shall we?¡± Evan pulled his book from under his shoulder. ¡°Is there anywhere I can put personal belongings?¡± Ch. 2 Digging Evan tread along the footpath leading further into Ironbark graveyard. The gravelly surface was still somewhat damp from yesterday¡¯s rain. Evan¡¯s eyes traced over the lines of headstones. There were many here ¨C more than he¡¯d expect from a town like this. Most of them were old though, not of any current significance, and though Edgar had implied this place was a major boon to his business, Evan didn¡¯t see many flowers on the graves. It was possible that the storm blew them all away, and they hadn¡¯t been replenished since. It was also possible that there are so many graves here that even a low flower density is enough to sustain a business. The place was large ¨C large enough that if something unusual happened it might take people weeks for anyone to notice, months perhaps. Past the 30th row of gravestones he stopped walking along the track and continued perpendicularly along the rows of the dead. The moist soil squished underfoot when he stepped off the path. Evan moved past stone after stone, some with patches of moss, some with overgrown crabgrass, some with splotches of dandelions. The sun had almost completely set now. He¡¯d ended work at the florist¡¯s just after six but had waited a bit longer to come. It would be better if he worked under the cover of dark. He checked his tome; He was almost there. Eventually, he caught site of it ¨C a pit in the soil with a mess of uprooted earth around it, leftovers of what had thrust itself out and crawled away in shambles. The hole had caved slightly. Much of the dirt pushed out had collapsed back into the cavity. It had been matted down by rainfall. That might make things more difficult. Evan checked his tome again to confirm, though at this point it was obvious. He placed the book on a neighboring stone and took out the garden shovel Edgar had lent him. It had taken a bit of convincing. He had told Edgar if he didn¡¯t bring it back, He could take it out of his wages. Since Edgar agreed that his work for the day was worth at least $20, he conceded that even if he absconded with the shovel, Edgar would have more than broken even. He sighed and began to dig. He needed to go quickly if he wanted to find the anchor in time: The object that binds an undead to the world. Judging from the tome, it was here. Living corpses could only survive a few days after resurrection, but that meant he had to hurry. If something were going to be done, it would have to be done soon, and the only way a dead man can return to life is with the life of another.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! --- Edgar paced back and forth along the aisles of the store. Evan had left at the end of the workday, but Edgar like to hang around the store past closing time, just to take in the odd beauty of flowers bathed in artificial light, and, when the lights go off, darkness. What a lovely view. He supposed he should go to bed early today; He hadn¡¯t gotten much sleep the day before, so¡­ A knock at the door ¨C again! This one after hours. For a moment Edgar considered the possibility that Evan had left something behind and was returning to retrieve it, until laid eyes on the source. Another boy, this one in his early twenties. What are the odds he¡¯d get a strange boy knocking at his door before and after he closed? Granted, the first one had been mistimed, but still. He leaned to get a better look. The boy had an anxious look about him. He kept shifting, showing discomfort. Edgar walked to the door. ¡°we¡¯re closed.¡± He was much less keen to let someone in after business hours. Everything had already been shut down, and unpleasant things more often happened at night, or at least Edgar assumed so. ¡°I am here ¡­¡± the kid shuffled, then had a look of realization and shot up straight ¡°¡­ on official business.¡± ¡°On official what business?¡± ¡°I am an FBI officer!¡± He declared unevenly. ¡°No, you¡¯re not.¡± Edgar walked to his counter to pick up his phone. The kid looked harmless, but he couldn¡¯t be sure. He¡¯d call the police, or at least fake it to get the kid to go away. ¡°I have a badge with me.¡± The kid shuffled around his satchel and pulled out what looked like a leather billfold. He held it out to the closed door. Edgar made sure the chain lock was still on as he opened the door a smidgen to take the item with a gloved hand. He firmly closed and relocked the door before flipping it open. ¡°This is a police badge.¡± ¡°Wait! I meant I¡¯m a police officer.¡± The kid began to panic. ¡°I¡¯m calling the real police.¡± Edgar took out his phone. ¡°Wait No! I¡¯m just ¡­ I only need to ¡­ I ¡­ I ¡­¡± The boy sunk onto his knees, leaning against the door before assuming a fetal position. ¡°Please don¡¯t call the police.¡± He begged, sobbing. ¡°Leave, right now.¡± ¡°But, I ¨C ¡° ¡°NOW!¡± Edgar shouted. The boy jumped back and skedaddled off into the night. What was that about? Edgar wondered. Was it an attempted prank? Had he lost a bet? Either way, the kid was ill-prepared for going through with it. Edgar hadn¡¯t seen the kid before, but he didn¡¯t seem dangerous, even if his actions were incredibly suspect, so he didn¡¯t report him. He hoped the kid got back on the straight-and-narrow, despite whatever made him act like this. Impersonating an officer is a crime for goodness sake. Maybe he was the graverobber Evan had mentioned ¡­ No, he couldn¡¯t be. Ch. 3 Take Root Edgar hadn¡¯t gotten much sleep last night. Too many bizarre things happening in one day led to some tiresome pondering in bed. It was an interesting changeup from his usual routine, and today promised to be another, less weird (hopefully), changeup. His new employee walked in at 8 AM sharp: punctual, a good trait. ¡°Welcome, worker bee.¡± Edgar remarked enthusiastically. ¡°Hello.¡± Evan replied curtly. He seemed a bit wearier than the day before. Edgar chalked that up to waking up early, not that Edgar knew the boy¡¯s schedule. ¡°So, what is my first task for the day?¡± ¡°Yes, time to start learning the schedule. Well, we¡¯ll start with what we started with yesterday: Moving boxes.¡± And so, the day continued in that manner. At 2 PM, Edgar told Evan to take a late lunch break. Most of the maintenance work for the day had been done, so Evan wouldn¡¯t have much to do until closing. Plus, it was important to keep a healthy schedule of three meals a day. When Evan told him that he hadn¡¯t brought any food, Edgar offered his own, which Evan politely but resolutely declined. He then sat quietly and began flipping through brochures when Edgar remembered. ¡°Something weird happened last night.¡± Edgar recalled that Evan had asked for information about anything strange happening. Although he didn¡¯t really think the kid was what Evan was talking about, Edgar wanted to share what¡¯d happed regardless. Evan sat silently, waiting for him to continue. ¡°So, last night, after you left, some kid came knocking at the door. The store¡¯d been closed for well over two hours at that point, so I thought it was weird that someone would show up. I went over to see who he is, and the kid, who couldn¡¯t¡¯ve been over 25, claimed to be FBI.¡± He pauses to take a breath. Evan is listening intently, with a nervous expression. ¡°So, then he says he can prove it and hands over a fake police badge! Can you believe it?¡± ¡°What did you do after?¡± Evan inquired, shifting nervously. ¡°Well, then I told him I¡¯d call the REAL police, and he started breaking down crying. Then he ran off.¡± ¡°Did you call the police?¡± ¡°Nah, he was just a stupid kid.¡± Edgar concluded, but then he glanced at Evan. The boy looked pale. His eyes were focused intensely on the ground, unblinking. ¡°Are you ok?¡± He shot upright. ¡°Evan, are you ok?¡± He repeated. ¡°I¡­ I have to go.¡± Evan sputtered. ¡°Evan?¡± Did he know this kid? Was the kid dangerous? What kind of danger would make him react like this? Question buzzed in Edgar¡¯s head, but he found himself unable to ask any of them. ¡°I need your shovel again!¡± Evan practically yelped. ¡°S ¨C sure¡­¡± It hadn¡¯t been a question, but Edgar felt the need to respond anyway, just to say something. Hours were left before the end of the workday, but that didn¡¯t seem to matter right now. Evan rushed out of the store, grabbing book and shovel before he disappeared out the back door. What could possibly be happening? Maybe he should call the police? Edgar pondered to himself. --- Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Edgar swept the floor in his empty shop. The shop¡¯s floor was already cleanly swept, but it calmed him down a little. Twenty minutes ago, Evan had left, panicked, and Edgar wasn¡¯t sure what he should do about it. He wasn¡¯t sure if he should do anything about it. Was this his business? If Evan was in danger somehow, surely Edgar should do something, but what? What was going on? Edgar¡¯s pondering was interrupted by something in the corner of his eye. Just through the window, half in the back alley next to his shop, someone was snooping around. Edgar recognized them immediately. ¡°You!¡± Edgar yelled. ¡°Eep!¡± The boy jumped up. ¡°It¡¯s you! From last night! What are you still doing here? Go away!¡± If this person had rattled his employee that much, Edgar didn¡¯t want him anywhere near the shop, and he was too tense to deal with this nosy kid with any patience. ¡°Yes sir! Yes sir!¡± The boy rushed off again. He traveled off in the opposite direction that Evan had gone. Good, he didn¡¯t want him anywhere near Evan. Edgar began sweeping angrily. Should he call the police, or shouldn¡¯t he? Was he making mountains out of molehills? He was just a flower shop owner, why was he having to deal with this insanity again? ---- Evan rushed down the graveyard pathway as fast as he could while holding a heavy book and shovel. He hoped that the person who¡¯d shown up at the flower shop was just an insignificant kid, but he couldn¡¯t risk it. He was running out of time. He would be incredibly conspicuous doing this during the day, but it didn¡¯t matter. He was running out of time. Past the 30th row of gravestones, now along the graves, he broke into a run. He didn¡¯t expect them to be this fast. He had to find the anchor. He arrives at the hole. It was here. It had to be here. The book said it was here. The book can sense it nearby. What is it? What is it? Evan took out his spade and started digging. It had to be somewhere in the grave, dropped upon reanimation and escape. He desperately dug at the hole, clawing at dirt with his bare hands when the shovel wasn¡¯t enough, only stopping to scan his surroundings ¨C no one there, dig. He tore at the dirt for what felt like hours. His hands were caked in dirt and filth. His clothes permanently stained. There! Something glimmered in the dirt. He greedily seized it in his hands, pulling it out with a clod of earth, before wiping it off. A ring, the ring, THIS ring? Was this really it? He reached for his book. Flipping through the pages with his filthy fingers until he reached the dowsing spell. He drew his finger across the page, leaving a trail of dirt. The words lit up, and Evan could feel himself directed towards the ring in his hand. This was it. This was definitely it. This was the anchor. ---- Edgar was closing up shop in a tizzy. Two incredibly unusual days in a row had left him rattled, and he probably wouldn¡¯t calm down for at least a week. He was prepared to leave this weirdness behind him. He was not prepared for Evan to burst into the store, covered in dirt. ¡°Ev ¨C an? What is ¨C What? What is going on?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll explain in a moment. Did that person happen to come back here?¡± He questioned, exasperated. ¡°What person?¡± ¡°The stranger from yesterday, did they come back?¡± ¡°Well, yes they ¨C ¡° ¡°I see. You were locking up for the day, correct? Are the doors in the back locked?¡± Evan locked the front door. ¡°Evan, what is?¡± ¡°Are the back doors locked?¡± He yelled. ¡°Evan! Explain!¡± That was it. Evan was tired of all this jerking around out of his control. ¡°If you do not explain at this very moment, you are not welcome here anymore.¡± ¡°Sorry about this.¡± Evan cracked open his book. ¡°That¡¯s it! Please leave.¡± Edgar felt something wrap around his wrist, and his hand slammed into the table. He winced in pain and tried to wrench his hand free, but something curled around his other wrist. Panicking, he tried to get a look at his constraints. A pair of vines had snaked their way around his wrists like bracelets, trailing from a bouquet of chrysanthemums, tethering him to the table. ¡°Wha-¡° stunned, Edgar couldn¡¯t finish ¨C couldn¡¯t think a full thought. This was impossible, not strange or unusual: impossible. This couldn¡¯t be reality. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about this.¡± Evan spoke solemnly. ¡°Truly, I am.¡± ---- Grey was disappointed in himself. He had done nothing but mess up since he received this job. It wasn¡¯t even his first assignment, so he had no excuse. It was supposed to be simple, hunt down the undead who¡¯d emerged in a small town with one graveyard. He¡¯d followed his senses to a small dealer in colorful plants, but he had bungled his introduction so thoroughly that the owner did not let him be anywhere nearby without threatening involvement with law officers, and if Grey got himself that much attention, there would be consequences for sure. Just thinking about it made him want to tear up again. Now he had to think of another way to- Something was wrong. He felt it: magic. Someone had cast something in the direction from which he¡¯d come. If it was coming from there, Grey knew what it would be. He turned around and sprinted towards the flower shop. He could only hope he wasn¡¯t too late. Ch. 4 Repotting Evan finished binding the shopkeeper. This part wasn¡¯t pleasant, but it¡¯s what Evan had to do. The man was kind, but unimportant, and Evan needed to survive. Evan deserved to survive, and unfortunately the only way a dead man can return to life is with the life of another. Evan set the shovel down and prepared the ring. He¡¯d need it for this next part. Evan tossed down the spade and opened the book to the transference spell ¨C it was one of the few he kept dogeared ¨C and began the process. He forced the ring onto Edgar¡¯s finger as the man sputtered in confusion and protest. ¡°Is anyone there? Shopkeep?¡± An exasperated voice called out, much to Evan¡¯s chagrin. He shifted himself to get a good look while obscuring himself. He pressed a hand over Edgar¡¯s mouth. If one of them was here, he¡¯d have to finish this quickly. If the stranger went away, Evan would have nothing to worry about. Evan¡¯s hopes were dashed when the boy¡¯s expression turned serious. A steel scythe materialized in the stranger¡¯s hands, and he drew back to swing. Acting fast, Evan flipped to another bookmarked page and ran his finger over the arcane text, reading aloud the inscription. The front of the store burst into flames. The reaper jumped back, just barely out of the way of the blaze. Evan would need to complete the ritual now, while the fire kept him at bay. Then, he¡¯d use the smoke and flames as a cover to escape. It would be difficult, but not impossible. Once it was over, they shouldn¡¯t be able to track him anymore. His second life would be safe soon, very soon. All he needed was the anchor, the shopkeeper, and time. ---- Edgar was terrified. He was confused. He was cold. He had no idea what to do. When two young strangers showed up at his flower shop over two days, he¡¯d thought that was the strangest life would get for him. He had been very wrong. Now, he was tied up by vines and Evan was flipping through some book while the other kid was knocking at the ¨C OH GOD FIRE! No no no no No NO NO NO! Not his store ¨C don¡¯t burn down his store. He¡¯d spent a decade working here, carefully investing his savings into this place, making it perfect. Now it¡¯s all burning! It¡¯s all burning! Was he going to die here in the ashes of his once-beautiful shop? Was he going to be buried in that horrid graveyard without even any uncharred flowers to lay on his grave? NO! This can¡¯t be how it is! This cannot be real! This can¡¯t be how he dies. With his heart beating in his chest, Edgar looked around frantically. Evan seemed distracted by setting his beloved shop on fire. There had to be something to do! He felt the heat of the flames on his face. The sound of the fire must have been overwhelming, but he couldn¡¯t hear it over the pounding of his heart pulsing blood through his body. THERE ¨C the shovel! It was sitting on the ground where Evan had tossed it aside. With his left foot, Edgar pushed off his right shoe. With his now bare foot, he stretched as far as he could for the spade. He felt his back strain from years without stretching, but he pushed further and further. Finally, contact! A single toe managed to reach the very tip of the tool. He pushed it to the ground for a better grip then yanked his foot back. Instead, the shovel began spinning in place. He cursed beneath his breath. His eyes dashed back to Evan ¨C still distracted warding off the boy at front and setting up some weird ritual. Edgar breathed in deeply, burning air filling his lungs. He lifted his foot over the spinning spade and focused all his concentration on it. He exhaled and slammed his foot down, catching the shovel at its closest point in the spin. Pinning it to the ground, he pulled again. This time, the shovel slid closer. Yes! He thought. Now I just have to get it up.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. He pulled the shovel until it was between his feet. He clasped them together, getting a shaky grip on the tool. Carefully, he lifted the spade, straining against his restraints to twist his body until he couldn¡¯t lift any more. No! It didn¡¯t reach. This was as far as he could go. No matter how hard he tried ¡­ no, there must be something. Maybe ¨C He let his legs slack slightly, then wrenched them back, flinging the spade so it clattered down as close to his right hand as he could. He reached and ¨C YES ¨C got a firm grasp. He twisted the tool around in his hand and began to saw at the restraints. He glanced at Evan and ¡­ Evan was looking right back at him. Edgar panicked as Evan approached with fury in his eyes. Edgar cut more frantically as he approached, haphazardly ripping through plant matter. Evan ran towards him and grabbed his hand. He yanked the spade, trying to free it from Edgar¡¯s hand. Edgar, feeling the spade loosen from his grip, pulled back with his leg and kicked ¨C knocking the oversized book out of Evan¡¯s other hand. Almost immediately, the fire surrounding the store died down. Edgar heard Evan gasp a breath of panic as he turned around. Spade forgotten; Evan lunged for the fallen book. Edgar used this moment to rip through the weakened restraints on his right hand and used his restored dexterity to cut through the restraints on his other and fled. -------- Today wasn¡¯t fair. In fact, nothing in the last few months had been fair. Evan fumed. Firstly, he¡¯d died; an unfortunate event for anyone, but less so for him than most. He¡¯d prepared, just in case. He had been sure that when he died, he¡¯d be able to transition smoothly back without anyone noticing. Then, he woke up to find that he had not, in fact, been left in his family¡¯s crypt, as per his instructions. He had been buried in a horrid graveyard in some Podunk town six feet underground. When he¡¯d finally gotten out, he had to walk more than ten miles, on foot, during a goddamned hurricane, only to find out that his house had been ransacked. They¡¯d left his family¡¯s tome - those idiots wouldn¡¯t have thought it worth anything ¨C but anything else of value was gone. To make matters worse, when he checked his dowsing spell, it turned out that his anchor was ten miles back in the town he¡¯d just walked from, left behind buried in the one place he never wanted to see again. Worst of all, going back to the place he had been buried would make him far easier for THEM to find him quickly. He had done everything he could to blend in as a small-town worker, only digging late at night so no one would see him, and they¡¯d still found him way too quickly. It wasn¡¯t fair. Even now the world seemed against him. The flower shop guy had run off after he happened to be able to reach the shovel Evan had dropped, and he¡¯d run off with the anchor, meaning he wasn¡¯t able to finish the ritual. Now, one of their agents - a reaper ¨C was right on his tail. He wasn¡¯t going to get caught. He didn¡¯t deserve to. He was smart, driven, capable, but he¡¯d died at nineteen. He deserved at least a few more years of life, a lot more so than the middle-aged man running a flower shop. A middle-aged man who had just run off ¨C the though brought Evan back to the present. The man running wasn¡¯t a problem. Evan could track him down with the dowsing spell and set up the ritual elsewhere. As for the reaper boy, he looked young - inexperienced. This gave Evan a better chance. The man¡¯s incident with his book may have brought the wall of fire down, but its sudden appearance and disappearance gave the reaper pause. The boy probably suspected a trap. Well, if he was too scared to approach now, he would be petrified at what happened next. Evan opened the book to the darkling chant. He spoke the words aloud, and darkness fell. ----- Grey had messed up again. He knew he was supposed to keep a low profile, but in trying to do so, his approach had been too tepid. He had known the target was around here somewhere, he sensed the traces of magic clearly, but he¡¯d wanted to respect the florist¡¯s wishes, and by doing so, had put the man in danger. He was so stupid! Stupid! Stupid! When the wall of fire disappeared, he should have come in immediately, but he was worried it would¡¯ve made the target attack the gentleman in panic or retribution. Then, the darkness fell, and the target had used it to get some distance. Now he was probably chasing the man down, Grey had put him in danger again. He¡¯d make it up to him once he was safe. Luckily, the target was fairly easy to track now. He was so drenched in magic that Grey could sense his presence without even focusing, and Grey was chasing as fast as he could without exhausting himself, but it exacerbated the ghastly itch in his throat. Grey began coughing violently, he¡¯d been close to the wall of fire when it went up and had inhaled a rush of smoke with it. He kept having periodic coughing fits and having to slow down his pace to catch his breath. Keep moving - he forced himself. He had to catch up. Undead don¡¯t belong in the world, and they certainly don¡¯t deserve to take the life of another to extend their existence. The target catching up to the flower gentleman before Grey caught up to him would be the worst thing that could happen. Grey needed to return him to the other side. Ch. 5 Wilting Edgar just ran. He didn¡¯t know what had happened in his shop. He didn¡¯t know what would¡¯ve happened if he stayed. He didn¡¯t want to know. All he knew was that he was in danger. The sun had set, and his eyes were having trouble adjusting to the darkness after they¡¯d been exposed to the blinding towers of flame. He wouldn¡¯t be able to tell if anyone approaching him was the Evan boy or someone else who¡¯d pull a scythe out of nowhere. He didn¡¯t even have a phone with him to call the cops, so he just ran. He¡¯d run out the back and gone in pretty much a straight line, which meant he was running on the fringes of Ironbark, whether he¡¯d been drawn here subconsciously, Edgar didn¡¯t take the time to consider. His legs ached as he sprinted without restraint, frequently coughing as he gasped for air. The smoke hadn¡¯t helped his lungs much, but he kept pushing himself. The farther he could run, the better chance he had to get away. He could feel the ache of his legs shoot all the way up to his ears, but he ran and ran. The sky spun above him. Dazed, he slammed into the ground. What had happened? No, he knew. He¡¯d put weight on one of his legs, and it had ultimately given way. Which leg it had been, he couldn¡¯t remember. A creeping sensation of panic came over him as he lay wheezing on the ground ¨C he couldn¡¯t run anymore. In his addled state, it was the only option. He couldn¡¯t think straight, couldn¡¯t think of alternatives. He coughed after his gasping caught phlegm in his throat. A burning sensation spread from the center of his chest outwards as he hyperventilated. His panicking intensified as he tried to catch his breath. He was drowning in air. He strained his arms to push himself up, hoping it would help him catch his breath. Balancing himself; his hand came down next to a patch of wildflowers. They¡¯d been growing at the base of a large gravestone, which, Edgar realized with a pang of fear, he¡¯d been only a few inches from hitting his head on when he fell. As the fear faded, Edgar found he could breathe much easier. He sudden realization of his near death unexpectedly helped him calm down. He didn¡¯t know how long he¡¯d been running, but he was sure the flower shop was far away. He may have run in a mostly strait line, but Evan didn¡¯t know that. He would be able to hide here and catch his breath, while considering with a clearer head what to do next. Edgar shifted himself so he was obscured by the headstone. His next step would be to get somewhere with a phone, one that he could use in the middle of the night. It was that or go directly to the police station, and he didn¡¯t know where it was. Small town as it may be, it was difficult to memorize the location of every important building. Even now, he wasn¡¯t sure where he was. Ironbark Graveyard was large enough to house the deceased from the local population and the nearby towns, so it stretched incredibly far. He might not even be near an exit. He pondered silently amidst the grass. A minute, an hour, several hours ¨C Edgar didn¡¯t know how long he¡¯d been there, crouched behind the marker of someone¡¯s final resting place. The numbness had made way for a throbbing ache in his legs and an invisible weight on his chest that kept him wheezing. Periodically, he tried to slow his breath, only for his body to scream for more air. He would go soon, but he didn¡¯t know how far he¡¯d be able to make it before his legs gave out again. Wait, was that¡­ he thought he¡¯d heard something. He quieted his breathing as much as he could and listened. A faint sound repeated, a crunch of dirt ¨C footsteps. Was it a gravedigger? A security guard? He shifted slowly and glanced around the gravestone. No one yet, they were just over the hill. He watched in silence, heart thumping in his chest. The sound was louder now. Whoever it was; they were approaching. A figure took form over the hill, a figure holding a heavy tome. Edgar¡¯s breath caught in his throat. It was Evan. It was the worst person it could¡¯ve been. He was still too tired to run. He ran so far, but Evan found him somehow. It had to be that book he was holding. Whenever Evan opened that book and spoke aloud, ridiculous things happened. He¡¯d seen it happen twice ¨C no ¨C three times. The first was before his computer started fritzing. He hadn¡¯t thought much of it at the time.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. He¡¯d opened and closed the book, then started muttering something. Edgar thought frantically. Maybe he could use this. Maybe there was some way out of this, please god let there be a way out of this. Every moment that passed, Evan stepped closer ¨C directly, without deviation or deliberation. Edgar tensed. He looked away and ducked further behind the gravestone. The boy was too close to watch without Edgar being seen. By now, Evan was surely only a few meters away. Every crunch of dirt sounded as though he was inches behind Edgar¡¯s ear, but he waited. If he mistimed this, he didn¡¯t know what would happen; He hoped he¡¯d never find out. Three¡­ Time slowed to a halt. Edgar could feel his heartbeat in his ears. The sounds of the world faded into nothing. Two¡­ His hands clenched around the dirt at his feet, clinging on to the still-moist soil. One¡­ He took a deep breath and ripped up some of the soil. It was now or never ¡­zero. Edgar leaped out from behind the grave ¨C Evan before him. He was less than a meter away, but reacted instantly, stepping back and beginning to chant. Edgar flung a handful of soil at Evan¡¯s face. Reflexively, Evan raised his hands, and with them: the book. Edgar ran with every ounce of strength his legs had left and grabbed the book in his hands. Edgar had seen his weird voodoo fizzle out last time he¡¯d dropped it. He yanked as hard as he could to wrest it from his grip, but Evan knew his goal and hung on for dear life. Edgar pulled again. His arms screamed for him to stop, and his eyes met Evan¡¯s ¨C filled with fury and frustration. Evan opened his mouth and began to speak, but what came out were the same inhuman words he¡¯d heard before the fire. Panicking, Edgar stopped pulling and pushed. The book slammed into him, interrupting whatever spell he was using. Edgar circled and pulled in a different direction. Stubbornly, Evan held on, now bleeding from the lip. Edgar felt burning, cutting pains in his arms as he strained. He had to finish this soon or his body would give out. His grip faltered, and his left hand slipped off the book. With ennewed fear, he searched his mind for anything he could do ¨C any baseless, reckless idea he could think of. It came to him. He remembered in the shop ¨C he could never forget ¨C the wretched-sounding words that had come of Evan¡¯s mouth before he was tied up with vines and his shop had burst into flames. Edgar opened his mouth and spoke. Evan¡¯s eyes widened as he realized what Edgar was doing. Edgar saw the same shock and fear he had felt. Evan strained to pull the book away, but too slowly. As the last word left Edgar¡¯s lips, an intense pain pushed through him, as if his stomach were pulled out and his life was pouring through the hole. He felt his grip over the book slip. Before his hand left the tome, wildflowers surrounding Evan convulsed and stretched into spiked tendrils and wrapped around his arms and chest. The coils tightened, wrenching Evan¡¯s hands from the book. Evan¡¯s eyes widened in panic as the vines whipped him back, slamming him into the ground. Edgar couldn¡¯t feel triumphant. His body felt empty, his strength sapped. Even without Evan pulling the book away, he couldn¡¯t hold on. The book fell to the ground. Almost immediately, the vines withered away. Only the flowers remained. Edgar collapsed on his knees. His body didn¡¯t ache, it didn¡¯t feel numb, it felt as though it wasn¡¯t there at all. It felt as though he was far, far away from the man on his knees in the graveyard. He didn¡¯t move at all, even as he watched Evan push himself off the ground. Clearly dazed, Evan swayed heavily as he got to his feet. He put his hand over his face and grimaced painedly as he balanced himself. Edgar knew he had to act, had to get up, but his body moved as if in slow motion. Evan¡¯s eyes locked onto the book ¨C an intense, burning gaze, as if nothing else existed. His entire body was shivering after the blow to his head, his breathing belabored. He took a step towards the book and collapsed to his knees, but he was within arm¡¯s reach. Edgar too, started towards the book. His weakly shifting body began moving faster. His limbs felt loose. They dangled uselessly by his side. He knew he wouldn¡¯t be able to grab the book, but he continued forward. Evan reached, grasping the edge of the book, just as Edgar¡¯s body slammed into him. Evan toppled. Edgar had no strength left in his body to move, but Evan was the same. As Evan fruitlessly reached for a book out of his grasp, Edgar lost consciousness. Ch. 6 Nutrition A haze of grey, an emptiness, no feeling at all ¨C a man slowly awoke in a graveyard, unsure if he was alive. His memories felt far away. As he reached for them, they retreated into the ether. He lay, eye¡¯s closed, hoping his body would choose to move, or the nothingness would return. His eyes drifted open. The colors around him bled together into clouds of greens, whites, blues, and greys. His eyelids began to shut again, the hazy splotches stretched into pancakes of muted color, but a dull sound kept him from closing his eyes completely. It was hard to discern, but it kept repeating ¨C once, twice, thrice ¨C a pause, then more insistently. ¡°---¡± He recognized the sound. It was voice. Someone was trying to speak to him. He listened. ¡°--l-o¡± It sounded clearer. His eyes too, began clearing. Some of the colors before him coalesced into a human form. ¡°Hello?¡± The voice was trying to greet him? No, it was inquisitive. It was asking if he was there. Or was it asking if he was ok? Was he ok? He tried to think, to focus until his memories began to return. His name was¡­ Edgar. He¡¯d been running away from someone and had gotten injured, seriously injured, and more than physically, too. Something had gone wrong deep inside of him. Something had¡­ ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°H-Hello?¡± His voiced surprised him. He hadn¡¯t expected to speak, nor had he expected to sound so confused when he did. ¡°Oh, thank goodness, you¡¯re still here.¡± The voice sounded relieved. Edgar tried to focus, to bring himself back to reality. Eventually, images began to form. He recognized the person kneeling in front of him. ¡°Are you still hazy? Do you feel any dizziness? Here, eat this.¡± It was the boy who had pretended to be a police officer, or had it been an FBI agent? He held his hand out. In it was some kind of¡­ granola bar? It took a few seconds for Edgar to process the boy¡¯s words. ¡°Oh, ok.¡± Edgar accepted the bar. He nibbled silently. The blanks in his memory steadily filled in. None of it felt real. When he¡¯d spoken inscrutable words holding that book, it had messed with his head somehow. ¡°What¡­¡± he began after a time, ¡°happened to me?¡± There were a lot of questions he wanted to ask, but this was probably the most important. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it¡± the boy replied. ¡°No, I need to know.¡± ¡°hmm¡­¡± the boy considered for a moment. ¡°You read out of his grimoire, I think.¡± His grimoire? ¡°You mean the book he was carrying?¡±The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°Yeah¡­ casting something from that takes energy from your life.¡± ¡°My life!? Am I going to ¨C ¡° ¡°No, no, you¡¯re fine.¡± The boy made an x with his arms. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t have any permanent effects as long as you get something to eat and get some rest¡­ and make sure you have fiber in your system.¡± Edgar took a larger bite of his granola bar. ¡°Who are you?¡± ¡°Me? I¡¯m Grey.¡± He extended his hand. ¡°No, I mean¡­ what are you? Why do you know all of this? How can you do¡­ what you do?¡± ¡°It¡¯s my job to track down people like him.¡± Grey still had his hand out, so Edgar shook it in awkward silence. ¡°People like Evan? People who use grimoires?¡± People Like me. ¡°Was that his¡­ Yes ¨C I mean ¨C no, I track people who have come back from death using things like that book. Evan was one of those people.¡± ¡°And you kill them?¡± ¡°I return them to where they¡¯re supposed to be. People like Evan can¡¯t live without a source of life. They drain the life out of other people and use them to fuel their existence and their magic.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what he wanted to do to me.¡± Edgar felt a shiver go through his body. ¡°Yes, it is.¡± ¡°So have you already ¨C ¡° ¡°-Yes, before you woke up. Evan is gone.¡± Grey sighed. ¡°I¡¯m really sorry. I tried to deal with this without drawing any attention, but I¡¯m really new at this and you ended up getting really hurt.¡± They both sat for a few seconds silently. ¡°So, what happens now?¡± Edgar began. ¡°Do you wipe my memory or something?¡± ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know how to do that. I guess I just have to ask you to not talk about it, but¡­¡± Grey reached into a bag that probably hadn¡¯t been there second ago and scrounged around until he pulled out a small golden slip of paper. ¡°Here, for your troubles.¡± Edgar took the slip of paper. It looked like some kind of theme park ticket and had ¡®1-Day¡¯ written across the front in impact font and nothing else. ¡°What, what is this?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a paradise ticket. It¡¯s for when you die. It lets you spend a day in paradise before you move on to oblivion.¡± ¡°Umm, thanks¡­¡± The explanation gave Edgar an unpleasant feeling in his gut. He hadn¡¯t expected, or wanted, to know as much about the afterlife as he¡¯d just been told. ¡°So, why¡­¡± Edgar began, ¡°¡­ why did he go after me?¡± ¡°I thought I already ¨C Oh, you mean why you specifically.¡± He pondered for a few seconds. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Does it matter?¡± ¡°I suppose it doesn¡¯t.¡± Edgar dropped his shoulders. Both sat silently for a few minutes before Edgar resumed. ¡°So that¡¯s it right? Do you have something to do afterwards?¡± ¡°I have to fill out some paperwork, but I can stay if ¨C I mean, I¡¯ll only leave if ¨C ¡° ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± Edgar¡¯s words carried finality. ¡°You can go.¡± Evan looked over Edgar concerned. His worried face slowly faded into a thoughtful one. Eventually, he bid Edgar farewell, and in a few seconds, he was gone. --- When Edgar had returned to his store, he had been surprised to find it completely unburnt. For a moment he considered that everything that happened to have been a dream, but the pain in his body and the general mess brought him back to reality. He spent the next few hours standing still as he processed what had happened. Edgar looked over his empty store. Rows of flowers, bulbs, and seeds sat silently in their places, slowly decaying. The bulbs and seeds would become flowers if they were planted. They would be put in the ground, watered, and grown into flowers. Then, they would decay and die. Edgar ran his fingers over the leaves of a purple chrysanthemum. He silently noted the lack of ring on his finger. Grey must have taken it before he woke up. With all that happened, Edgar had left the shop empty for almost a full day, but he doubted he missed that much business. Unless there was a funeral, his shop barely made enough money to get by. Most of his days were spent quietly tending to the empty shop. Nearly five o¡¯clock, Edgar began shutting down for the day. He wondered if the shop¡¯s low visitation was his fault. Maybe he hadn¡¯t done enough to draw in customers. Perhaps waiting for people who needed flowers wasn¡¯t the best way of doing things. Waiting for people to die, or get married, or have children was¡­ Edgar finished shutting down. It was a few minutes to the end of the day, but no one was going to show. There were changes he¡¯d wanted to make to the store, but he¡¯d start tomorrow. At some point during the day, he lost track of the paradise voucher, or whatever it was called. It was probably hidden in a desk corner or beneath a flowerpot. It didn¡¯t really matter. What¡¯s one day in eternity anyway?