Chapter 4

In Which My Soul Did Tremble

Isolation called to me, in my most dark and desolate days.

It may have been because of this that my mind did so wholeheartedly reject the notion of my strange guest's presence longer than an hour's length. That is what I thought at the time, at least, as I ignored the prickle at my neck and the raised goose flesh on my arms.

Outside a murder croaked throatily, and this, too, I ignored; I was an ignorant man, then. Not now. For now I know the signs of nigh and am privy to information sought by all those who wish to escape a fitful end (yes, dear reader, I speak of you). Listen heartily to these markers as my own eyes did refuse; they will serve you well in your prolonged fate.

In the end, however, the monetary gain in my midst did win out against my lonesome wistfulness and so I let him stay. He thanked me kindly and tipped his hat, for once his thin pale lips curling into a smile which, once seen, I hoped would never appear again. His teeth were each a glistening pike, the likes of which I assume only the souls of mortal men could sate. He smiled at me and retreated to the stairs and I, hesitant to follow, watched him go.

Already, my regret had begun to grow.

[turntechGodhead has begun pestering tentacleTherapist]

TG: shes not sleeping again

TT: I know.

TG: its getting really bad lalonde im at the end of the rope here

TG: there is no slack left im clawing at its wispy ends

TG: if ropes had nether regions id be dangling by the short hairs fist deep in curly braids

TT: Stop.

TT: Stop right there.

TG: sorry

TT: Is she with you now?

TG: yeah shes here shes in the other room watching that shitty squiddle cartoon for like the bajillionth time number included not only for ironic purposes but because i had to fucking invent a value high enough

TT: Of course.

TT: And you have not roused her suspicion through your absence?

TG: nah shes

TG: shes pretty out of it

TG: i dont think she even noticed me leaving

TT: Well, do try to coax her back to bed.

TT: Perhaps a cup of warm milk and a soft blanket?

TT: And you, of course.

TT: Strew about the rose petals and offer yourself to her.

TG: what

TT: Oh, Strider. I am sure you are not limited in your physical prowess, are you?

TG: what

TG: no

TG: stop

TG: stop stop stop stop stop

TG: i am not talking to you about this jesus fuck you are creepy

TG: why are you even joking right now this is not a time for joking ive heard that theme song so many times i fucking dream about it now its the soundtrack of fucking HORROR

TT: As much as I jest, my only suggestion is that you be there for her.

TT: With her.

TT: For reasons unbeknownst to me, you do seem to have some level of calming effect on her.

TT: I suggest you exploit it.

TG: yeah i know

TG: i just

TG: dont want to see it anymore

TG: id rather the zombies stick to video games and shitty b movies if you get my drift

TG: dont need them chilling in my living room coked out on childrens cartoons

TT: I know.

TG: i want her to feel better

TT: So do I. Persevere, Strider.

TG: persevere persevere i fucking know persevere im not about to give up on her

TG: i just wish i could get a little goddamn knowledge here like what the fuck am i supposed to even do

TG: what do i say

TG: what do i

TG: jesus

TT: Calm down, Strider. It wouldn't do to have you panic, too.

TG: i know i know i know i KNOW

TT: Careful. Your mask is slipping.

[turntechGodhead has ceased pestering tentacleTherapist]

I offered Death my bed that night and he looked at me as though amused at some unknown joke.

All beds belong to me, he said, a tone of horrid humour pervading his every breath. I thought he meant his influence; perhaps he owned a mattress factory and was merely commenting on its success. A joke, a joke, a joke on me, and I did not get it.

Oh, but I would.

Sir Charon lay down upon the bed without much ritual or fuss. He merely placed his hat upon the table and folded his hands upon his chest as if in burial. It was unnerving to watch this strangely skeletal man arrange himself, fit for sarcophagus and funeral the moment his breathing quelled.

I bid him good-night and fled to the stairs, the hell's shadow nipping at my heels. That night I slept on the parlor sofa and oh, it may have saved my life.

The moment the clock struck witching hour, the ghosts came.

They were not friendly.