*Sheepish laughter*...
Yeah, I know how long it's been since I added to this.
But since we're back in October, which is the perfect season for "Over the Garden Wall" shenanigans, I'm getting back to work on it, and I'm gonna finish it if it kills me.
Before they could even think about running, Robbie was there, staring down at them. His pale face scrunched up in annoyance.
"Ugh. Scram, kids, I'm busy tryin' to write a song for my ex-girlfriend so she'll come back to me!"
To Ford's horror, Stan snickered. "Yeah. Tryin'."
"What was that?!" the older boy demanded, glaring.
"Oh, nothin', just sayin' that you can't sing ta save your life." Stan smirked up at him, appearing completely oblivious to the fact that Robbie was twice his size. Of course, he was also way skinny, especially compared to some of their normal opponents, and didn't look like he had as much experience with fighting as Stan did, but still.
It didn't help that Ford could feel Wendy struggling not to laugh on his shoulder.
"Why, I oughta-" Robbie began, raising his fist. Ford gasped, and prepared to run for it. But Stan just stood there, staring up at the older boy with challenging eyes, arms folded.
After a second, Robbie grumbled and lowered his arm, all the fight draining out of him.
"Meh, you're not even worth it! I'm a guitar player, I gotta save my hands!" And he flopped down with his back against a tree, and picked up the guitar again with a small sigh.
Stan turned to the other two with a "yeah, I just made him back down" smirk on his face...that evaporated under Ford's disapproving glare.
"What?"
He looked back over at Robbie-and this time he finally seemed to see what his brother did. Namely that the teen's shoulders were drooping as he plucked despondently at his guitar strings, and his eyebrows were drawn together in the most pitifully unhappy expression imaginable.
Stan's eyes saddened.
"...Okay, let's get out of here while he's busy moping," Wendy whispered in Ford's ear. Just as Stan walked back over to Robbie.
"Hey, hey! What's he doing?!" the bluebird demanded, hopping in agitation.
But Ford didn't need to answer, which was just as well, because he was as confused as she was. As they watched, Stan sat down next to him, and asked in a voice that was softer than usual, "You must've really liked her, huh?"
"What do you know about it?" Robbie demanded, glaring at him out of the corner of his eye.
Stan shrugged. "Not much. But I know what it's like ta want someone ta like you and they don't."
The defensiveness went out of Robbie as quickly as it had come, and he sighed.
"Yeah, I liked her a lot. She's not scared of anything, not even the Beast! She goes out in the woods all the time to climb trees, and she's tougher than every other boy in town, which is pretty hot." For a second his face relaxed into a wistful smile...before he frowned again. "And then she broke up with me, and she and her whole family just up and disappeared, and I don't know why!"
Ford glanced down at Wendy- and saw that her expression had changed from its previous irritation to quite visible sadness.
That probably means she's under a curse of some kind-I doubt that she became a bluebird by choice. I wonder if she offended some kind of magical being, maybe?
"That's rough, man," Stan said, pulling up a blade of grass and shredding it between his fingers. "Why'd she break up with you?"
Robbie shrugged. "She got mad about a few things I did, I guess."
The irritation returned to Wendy's face.
"A few things?!" she hissed. "You kept lying to me, and standing me up and then not apologizing for it! You were the most irresponsible, jealous-!"
"Ssh!" Ford hurriedly turned away, trying to shush the outraged bluebird.
The commotion drew the attention of the other boys, who looked over at them in surprise.
"What's that?" asked Robbie, looking at Ford's shoulder.
"That's a bluebird we found," Stan told him. "She is definitely not sentient."
It wasn't his best lie ever, but Robbie didn't seem to notice it. He was busy examining Wendy with interest, appearing completely unaware that he was looking at his ex-girlfriend.
Wendy, who by now had regained her composure somewhat, tilted her head at him. "Tweet, tweet."
Robbie blinked. "Did that bird just say 'tweet, tweet'?"
"Of course not!" Ford said hurriedly, putting his hand up in front of her face. "A bird's brain isn't big enough for cognizant speech-ow!"
He nursed his sore finger, and glowered at Wendy.
Robbie frowned. "You guys are kinda weird."
"We take that as a compliment!" Stan said defiantly.
Then, off in the distance, a voice called, "Oh, Robbie! Lunchtime!"
Robbie stood up, retrieving his guitar. "...Mom usually has plenty of food ready, if you guys wanna come. I guess."
Ford and Wendy both blinked in surprise-but Stan leaped to his feet. "That sounds great! Come on, guys!"
Wendy made a noise of protest, but it was too late.
Robbie's house looked like just the kind of place where they'd expect him to grow up: an ominous-looking black cottage with a sign in front: Valentino Funeral Parlor-If you were dead, you'd be home by now!
"O-kay, that explains a lot," Stan murmured as they passed the rows of tombstones on either side of the path.
"Yeah, my p-my mom's an undertaker," the teen said, kicking a rock with the toe of his shoe.
"...You don't sound as thrilled about it as I thought you would be."
Robbie let out a long, dramatic sigh. "She's got a really weird attitude about her job. You'll see."
He pushed open the door with one hand, wiping his feet on the mat (which had "Valentino" written on it; Ford suspected it was the family's surname) as he stepped over the threshold, and the two boys followed him-only to be accosted by a frighteningly perky-looking woman with bright red hair and a smile that was just a little too wide-who was also carrying a long, sharp-looking fork in one hand.
"Well, happy day!" she chirped, "I didn't know Robbie was bringing friends home for lunch!"
Ford took an unconscious step back.
"Um-"
"They're not friends!" Robbie grumbled, "I just met them and thought they might be hungry or whatever."
"Oh, that's so sweet of you, honey!" She lifted his hat with the tip of the fork, allowing her hand to sneak in and ruffle his hair.
"Mo-om!" Robbie scrambled away as quickly as possible, with the type of glower used by angsty teenagers everywhere in the circumstance of being forced to allow their parents to be in the presence of their peers.
His mom laughed brightly, and looked back at Stan and Ford. "Robbie says I am way too cheerful to be a funeral director; he just doesn't understand the importance of seeing the joy in life when you're surrounded by death!"
"...Yeah." Stan managed to smile. "So what's for lunch?"
Lunch turned out to be spaghetti and meatballs shaped to look like smiley faces.
"We also have some mashed potatoes if you boys want, but unfortunately there's no gravy," Mrs. Valentino said in an apologetic tone. Then, more brightly, "We do have some molasses, though!"
"What kind o' weird-ow!" Stan leaned down and rubbed his throbbing shin, as Ford pulled his foot back and said more diplomatically, "No, thank you."
"Suit yourselves!" At which point she dished out some potatoes for herself, along with a generous dollop of molasses.
The group of children glanced at each other. Robbie seemed somewhat comforted by the twins being as weirded out by his mother's behavior as he was. Despite that, they were quite hungry, and so they started eating.
Whenever the Valentinos weren't paying attention, Ford would feed Wendy little bits of noodle. He didn't think it was that healthy for bluebirds, but it had to be better than nothing. She didn't complain, just lightly pecked them off his fingers.
At last Stan cleared his throat. "So. It's just you two?"
"Oh yes!" Mrs. Valentino chirped, smiling (somehow) even more widely. "Robbie's father left a week ago without any kind of explanation, breaking my heart into a hundred pieces in the process, but we're both used to it by now! Isn't that right, Robbie?"
Her son dropped his fork with a clatter, and then abruptly got up and stomped out of the room. Ford heard Wendy gasp a little, and her wings did an agitated flutter against his hair.
"Dude," she whispered, "...that actually explains a lot. I mean, Robbie's been gloomy ever since he hit puberty, but-"
"...Is someone talking?" Mrs. Valentino tilted her head in confusion.
"No! I don't hear anything!" Ford felt his cheeks reddening a little at the lie, but she didn't seem to notice; she just went right back to her dramatic-yet-frighteningly-cheerful monologuing.
"If only he were here to protect us from the undead creature that's been prowling around the neighborhood…"
Stan sat up straight. "Wait, what?"
Mrs. Valentino scooped up a generous forkful of mashed potatoes, and just stared at it for a second instead of eating it. "Oh, Robbie didn't tell you? There's an undead creature that's been prowling around the neighborhood every night."
The boys looked at each other, then back at the woman. "...As in a skeleton?" Stan finally asked. "We ran into a bunch of those in a town farther down the-"
He was interrupted by her giggling.
"Oh, no no no! It's still got flesh on its bones. It's just decaying, rotting flesh, combined with a craving for our brains!" For the first time in this whole peculiar afternoon she stopped smiling, and frowned in apparent concern for a second...before the smile returned with a vengeance. "It's a shame he won't let us bury him again! Business hasn't been too good lately!"
Ford decided that he had lost his appetite.
...He was too intrigued by the idea of there being a zombie available to study.
Robbie's room, when the twins excused themselves from the table, was at the end of a long hallway. On one side were several large paintings of Robbie, showing him as a somewhat cheerful-looking kid...then an awkward pimple-faced teenager...and finally the scowling presence they had met this morning.
"Yeesh," Stan muttered, "hope that's not gonna happen to us when we're teenagers."
"Trust me, it will," Wendy said. "Maybe not quite to that extent, but it will."
"...Good to know we've got so much to look forward to." Stan shoved his hands into his pockets as Ford knocked on the door to Robbie's room (obvious due to the "KEEP OUT" sign in black and yellow).
"Go away, Mom!" the teen's voice snarled from the other side.
"It's us!" Ford called back.
There was a moment of silence from the other side; at last Stan got tired of waiting and just opened the door.
Robbie was lying curled up on his bed, with his jacket pulled over his face; he grumbled something incoherent when they came inside.
The room, Ford noticed, was mostly decorated in black and various shades of dark red, with various horror novels lying scattered around and a painting on the wall that he identified as a copy of Goya's Saturn Devouring his Son.
He questioned whether undertaking really was a suitable profession in which to raise a family.
"...So, you got a zombie on the loose," Stan said at last.
"Yeah. Probably the only good thing that's happened to me all year," Robbie muttered. "I keep hoping someday Mom'll let him in so he can put me out of my misery."
Had his attitude been just about Wendy breaking up with him, Ford would have felt that this reaction was a little extreme.
But, combined with the tragic disappearance of his father, it was...still extreme, but gave his depression somewhat more justification, as he was probably suffering some severe abandonment issues.
Judging from Stan's expression, he was thinking more or less the same thing.
"...You twerps can stay the night, or whatever," Robbie muttered. "Mom probably won't care. Just grab some spare blankets from the cupboard down the hall."
"Uh-you sure-" Ford began, but was forced to stop by Stan elbowing him in the ribs.
"Thanks!" his twin said with a bright smile.
Robbie burrowed under his blankets with another muffled "Whatever."
Sure enough, Mrs. Valentino seemed to have no problem with the two of them making up a bed on her sofa that night, with one of them at each end and Wendy perching on the back.
However, both boys were too excited to sleep; instead they sat and strained their ears, staring at the door and windows with interest.
"Man, you guys are weird kids," Wendy said, puffing out her chest feathers. "I thought you'd be at least a little scared if a zombie was supposed to show up."
"We've seen way worse stuff," Stan said without taking his eyes off the door. "Like that town full of skeletons, or the Jersey Devil."
The bluebird blinked. "Wait. Really?"
"Yeah, we were actually hunting for it before-" he glanced at Ford uncomfortably- "before we wound up here."
A muscle in Ford's cheek twitched, but before he could speak whatever was on his mind he sat up straight. "Do you hear something?"
Stan and Wendy tilted their heads, listening.
Sure enough, there was a noise coming from the other side of the front door: a dark, chilling, groaning noise that sent chills running up and down the boys' arms and made them tighten their hands in the blankets. They looked at each other uneasily, but then Ford's jaw clenched in resolve, before he slipped out from under the covers and began creeping towards the window right next to the door. Stan was at his side within seconds, only stopping to slip his brass knuckles onto his hands.
They saw that a dark shape was standing on the threshold; it was hard to make out in the scanty moonlight, but they could hear it groaning as it pawed at the doorknob.
And then-
Maybe it was Ford's imagination, but it almost sounded like the zombie was muttering a name.
"Jaaaan...Jaaaaannnn…"
"Huh," Stan whispered. "I thought zombies were just supposed ta be capable of saying 'Braaaainssss!' over 'n over."
"Well, maybe they're different here, or people in general have created misconceptions about them," Ford whispered back. "After all, the original type of zombies from Haitian culture-"
A hand slammed against the window, and suddenly they were staring right into a pair of bloodshot, undead eyes in a horrifying, deformed face.
"AAAAAUUUUGGGGGGHHHH!"
The boys leaped back, nearly tripping over each other's feet. A second later, though, Stan regained his composure enough to shove Ford behind him, while he lifted his fists like a boxer.
"Back off, ya undead jerk!" he snarled. "I don't wanna haveta use these!"
The zombie blinked a few times, and then started pounding its fists on the glass. It uttered another incoherent groaning noise.
"Stanley, m-maybe we should go get Mrs. Valentino," Ford stammered.
"No time! He's already breaking through!"
Sure enough, with an almighty CRASH the window suddenly smashed open, and the zombie stuck his head inside.
In desperation, Ford whirled, looking for something to throw.
His eyes landed on a jug of water which was sitting nearby, probably for watering the plants. In one swift movement he snatched it up, lunged forward to throw it, lunged farther than he meant to because his socks slipped on the tiled floor, and lost his grip on the jug.
Which hurtled forward, splashing its contents all over the zombie's face.
Stan barely managed to catch his brother to save him from smashing his face into the floor; as he looked back up, he let out another inadvertent scream of fright.
The zombie's face was melting!
Large clumps of flesh were falling off, splatting on the floor in horrifying blobs, dripping in a nasty-looking goo! It was like the Wicked Witch of the West, except more scary!
There was the sound of footsteps behind them, and then the lamp was turned on, flooding the hallway with light. Mrs. Valentino and Robbie were standing there, eyes wide and faces frozen as they stared at the zombie.
Before either boy could speak, though, Mrs. Valentino asked, "...Greg? Is that you?"
"...Howdy, Jan," said a cheerful, somewhat-less-raspy voice; the boys whirled their heads around, and saw that the "zombie" was now a dripping wet, mild-faced man who looked quite a bit like Robbie. "Would one of you kindly help me get out of this window? I think I'm a little stuck."
"Where have you been?!" Mrs. Valentino demanded of her husband once he was inside and had gotten cleaned up. He'd been covered in some kind of hideous-looking grayish-green muck that coated him from head to toe, which was heavily caked around his legs and arms and made it hard for him to move.
"Well, I was taking a shortcut to another town to put up advertisements for our business, when I got lost in a swamp!" For someone who'd been through such a frightening situation, Mr. Valentino was remarkably chipper about it. "I ended up falling into some kind of sinkhole thing and got covered in the stuff! And every time I tried to get help, people would scream and run away, so I couldn't get it off! It got so bad I could only come out at night, and I kept calling for you to let me in, but I guess you couldn't hear me or something!"
Mrs. Valentino giggled, and ruffled his hair. "We thought one of our guests in the cemetery had broken loose and was after our brains, silly man!"
The two of them leaned on each other and laughed merrily.
Stan and Ford looked at each other.
"...These guys creep me out more than the skeletons," Stan whispered.
Ford gave him a scolding look for saying that in front of them...but he kind of had to agree.
The next day, after a warm breakfast, the boys and their bluebird got ready to go on their way. Robbie, surprisingly, volunteered to walk them to the road; having his father back seemed to have taken at least a little bit of the gloominess off his shoulders-replaced by irritation at having twice the number of embarrassing parents again, but oh well.
"You guys know where you're going?" he asked as they walked; he absentmindedly strummed his guitar, playing something that didn't sound half-bad as long as he wasn't singing.
"Yes, we're looking for Gideon of the Pasture," Ford said.
"Huh. Never heard of him."
As they reached the road, Robbie started to turn back towards home...but then paused.
"Hey…" He dug a self-conscious toe in the dirt for a second, "...thanks. We probably wouldn't've found out that the zombie was actually Dad if you hadn't been there."
Stan shrugged. "Eh, you might've figured it out sooner or later."
"Still though." Robbie's face did something weird; it took Stan a moment to realize that he was actually smiling at them. As disconcerting as it was, he and Ford just smiled back.
"Take care of yourselves, dorks." He turned back towards home-but then paused.
"Y'know what, I think I'm gonna go see how Tambry's doing," he muttered. He slung the guitar over his back, and then set off to the right of his house. His step was a great deal lighter than his normal slouch.
"Huh. Guess we inadvertently restored his sense of optimism or whatever," Stan said with a little shrug.
"I didn't think that was even possible," Ford agreed.
Then both of them were startled by Wendy's angry splutter.
"Tambry? What the heck?! Just yesterday he was still pining over me, and now he's gonna go off and see Tambry?!"
"What do you care?" Stan asked in bewilderment. "You don't wanna date him, do you?"
"No, but-ugh!" She leaped out of Ford's curls and went flying off down the road in a huff.
The boys looked at each other.
"...I don't understand girls," Stan said.
"Me neither."
Goth subculture wasn't a thing until the 1980s, so I just made Robbie as close to one as possible without fully being one.
Sorry if any of this chapter feels less than my usual (apparently) stellar work; I just wanted to get this episode over with so I can finally get to the good stuff.