Author's Note: Third day, third chapter. Man, I'm proud of myself. Told ya it would be longer. Can't really think of anything else to put in here, so I'm just gonna say hope you enjoy.

They stood in front of a huge building. It was simply ginormous. And it was made entirely of bones. Mark recoiled at the sight. Nathalie looked faintly ill. "This is the House of Bones," she said. "Once the flesh has rotted off of a corpse, It sends someone to collect the skeleton. At least it's only those who volunteer..." she wrinkled her nose as a murder of ravens flew overhead, each bird carrying a bone and the raven flying point bearing a skull.

"There are animals here?"

"Well, of course there are! Animals die too, you know. And because of Lingua Mortis, we can speak with them. Lucky, too. I doubt any decent person would want to be a bone-bearer."

"What's Lingua Mortis?"

"The language of the dead. You're speaking it right now, although it probably sounds like English. All are united and equal in death, Mark. Even animals. Even plants."

"Plants?"

"Yes, plants die too. They don't speak much, but when they do, you would do well to listen." She looked over at him and grinned. "You have as many questions as leaves on a tree."

Mark could feel his face heating up. He started to stammer out an excuse, but Nathalie only laughed and said, "Questions are good. It means you use your brain. The same cannot be said for many..." she turned to the House of Bones. "We should go."

Though it was very disturbing, Mark had to admit that the place was designed well. It was strange, though-staircases and doorways leading to nowhere, twisting corridors all too easy to get lost within, and he swore he saw rooms change around. It was so full of impossibilities and contradictions that his brain was thoroughly exhausted by the time they entered the throne room.

Two rows of torches lined a long walkway down to a throne of skulls. Upon it sat a tall, hooded figure. A scythe lay across its lap. Before the throne stood a wolf. It looked rather young to Mark. The little wolf spoke in the voice of a boy, perhaps nine or ten. "Sir, or Ma'am, or whatever to call you, I have a message from the wolves."

"All of them? I know the packs almost never agree." It's voice was strange, neither male nor female, low and high and loud and soft and up and down all at once.

"Yes, all of them."

It sighed and leaned back into its throne. "I should probably listen, then."

The little wolf nodded, sat down on the spot, and recited, "The Clan leaders send I, Thunder of Clan Star, Pack Sirius, with a message to relay to It, Supreme Leader and Head Retriever. They send me with a request. A request for more Retrievers. As I speak, wolves are dying of the strange famine. And without sufficient numbers to bring them here, they are left alone and vulnerable to earth-lock."

Mark opened his mouth to speak, but Nathalie seemed to anticipate him. "Earth-lock is when a spirit is unable to travel to Limbo or the afterlife. Stranded on earth in a partially corporeal state, invisible but tangible, you may know them as ghosts."

It sighed again as Thunder finished his little speech. "Very well. Tell the Clan leaders to send a few potential recruits here."
Thunder seemed surprised. "I will tell them," he replied. "That was easier than i expected..." he breathed as he exited the throne room.

Nathalie stepped forward. "There was a car crash earlier this evening. Mark here was in it. But there's something odd going on... He's not quite dead."

It sat up a bit straighter at her words. "I see. You want to know what to do with him." Nathalie nodded. "Your case is an unusual one." It addressed Mark now. "Very strange. It rarely happens, and when it does, I usually just send a spirit to the afterlife anyway. A half-dead spirit is not really any good to anybody. It confuses the living and the deceased alike, and we really don't need any more of that here. You, though... when I look into your heart, I see no fear of me nor anything else you have seen here thus far. I see curiosity, and an uncommon keenness of mind. Perhaps I'll let you live. But for a price."

"What price?" Mark's voice seemed to speak without his consent, and he bit his tongue.

"Hmm..." Mark rather thought It tilted its head as to consider the spirit before him. "Well, I could always use more Retrievers. You humans are far too overpopulated, I swear...Any sort of problem at all, and you drop like flies..."

Mark nodded, though he had never told his head to move, nor his mouth. "I could do that."

It's tone became more serious. "Are you sure? It will require a long, arduous period of training, and the job itself is dangerous and difficult, not to mention quite disturbing. Some have gone mad from what they have seen. Will you do this in exchange for your life?"

Mark hesitated. Whatever force had driven him before stayed silent now. Would he really do this? It would be so much easier to just let go, to die, to wander the afterlife forever. He didn't have to do this. But Mark wasn't the type to just do what was easiest. He was the type to do what was right. And somewhere, deep down, he had a feeling this was the right this to do. He just knew it. Standing straighter, he looked up at where he thought It's face would be-if it even had a face-and said, "I'm sure."

It nodded. "Then, Nathalie, take him to his new quarters."

She turned and started to walk away. Mark, once more, hurried to catch up. Is she always this brisk?

She led him out of the House of Bones, to a hole in the courtyard. "Follow my lead." She spoke loudly and clearly "Tower of the Retrievers!" and jumped into the pits. Mark peered over the edge. She had vanished. Taking a deep breath, he followed her.

Wind rushed in his ears as he fell down, down, down... It seemed he fell for ever and ever. Gradually, he slowed until he might have been as light as a feather drifting to the ground. Then, without warning, he was launched up and out of a hole. He landed on his back and, cursing, got up. Nathalie was giggling at his predicament. He glared at her for a moment, but he couldn't stop a smile from sliding across his face.

Once Nathalie had gotten control over herself, she consoled him, "Don't worry about it. I've haven't seen a single spirit use the Sifting Pits without falling on their first try."

"Shifting Pits?"

"Yes. When you say which pit you want to go to and jump into one, it shifts the landscape around you. Or you around the landscape. Depends on your perspective. Either way, I guess you could call it teleportation of sorts." She spread her arms in a gesture of welcome. "Welcome to the Tower of the Retrievers."

Yes, it was a tower. A very, very tall tower indeed. It branched out like a tree at the top, to accommodate their flying residents, he supposed. When they entered, Mark noticed a set of stairs leading down as well. Nathalie, however, walked upstairs.

On the ground floor, there were a few doors with labels on them, though they were in a strange script the Mark couldn't read. He pointed this out to Nathalie, who replied, "The written form of Lingua Mortis. You might speak it well, but you must learn how to write it."

The stairs spiraled up, up, up, until it seemed they would never end. Part of the way up, they ran into a girl who looked to be about sixteen or so. "Hi, Nathalie! New recruit?" she asked.

"Yes, his name's Mark."

"Hello, Mark. I'm Alyssa. Welcome to the Retrievers!" she said, sticking out her hand.

Hi. Um, thanks." Mark shook her hand, unsure how to react.

No problem. I'd stay to chat, but I need to get a message to Al. Catch you later!" she called over her shoulder as she hurried down the steps.

Finally, after what seemed like hours and hours of climbing, they stopped in front of an unadorned black door. Most of the doors had handprints or pawprints of various shapes and sizes and colors, but this door was completely blank.

"Put your hand on the door and say your name," Nathalie instructed. He did as she told, and when he pulled his hand away, a print glowed red on the door. His name was inscribed above it.

"Your spirit is connected to this room," she explained. "once you enter this building, you need only think of it to travel there in an instant. And it will bend to your will. However you wish it to be, so it will be. This is your room, Mark. Nobody else will mess with it." She glanced down the stairway. "I should go. Goodbye, Mark." With that, she left him beside the door.

"Bye," he called after her. Feeling lonely, he supposed there was nothing for it but to go inside.

It looked just like his old room. Feeling nostalgic, aren't we? Asked a nasty little voice in his head. But it was true. He missed his old life already. Yes, this place was already proving itself quite interesting, but he couldn't help but feel a stab of regret as he thought of the life that was once his. And his fans... Maybe they didn't know anything had happened yet. Maybe they were wondering at his sudden silence. Maybe they knew, and they mourned already... His heart nearly broke at the thought.

There were a few changes, though. His computer desk had nothing on it. Guess there's no Internet connection in the afterlife. And a trunk sat next to it. Wonder what that's for. But right now, he was too tired to care. He simply fell onto his bed and slept.