text: Emmet was thirteen when he had a brush with death. Ever since then, the wind felt colder against his dark skin, like there was frost in his bones. At times, he put on his leather jacket and laid under the star filled sky, wondering why he wasn't the same person as before. Was there nothing he could do to purge the frozen blood beneath his skin? Tonight, the stars sparkled more brightly than they had before. He laid on a hill in the lush grass under the dark blue sky. His home was a fair ways from the city, and you could only see the light from the moon and stars. The dark tree line wrapped around him and his red brick house. He tucked his arm under his head and stared into the night, with his thoughts wandering back to that night he nearly drowned as a kid. He didn’t feel sorry for himself or dwell on it simply because it was the only traumatic incident he experienced. Instead, he contemplated why it triggered a constant buzz in his bones. He contemplated why he felt distanced from everything at this point, as if he was never completely one with life again. The world was always gray. The world seemed to rain or snow or feel many moons away when everybody else saw a bright sun. confused because he never felt sad, he just felt like he was looking for something unconsciously. He brooded over what that could be but was never able to find the answer. Emmet wasn’t depressed or sad but he felt like there was music in the distance he couldn’t pin-point or a word on the tip of his tongue he just couldn’t remember. There was something humming in his bones and in the back of his mind that was never satisfied, even though Emmet was completely satisfied with his life. If anything, life and breath seemed sweeter after nearly dying. At that thought, a smile crept over Emmet’s mouth. The quiet moments created serenity within him. The quiet moments reminded him how grateful he was to have such a peaceful home and family. “Mom said dinner’s ready,” his aunt called. “Coming,” Emmet said, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. After Emmet and his mother and brother moved away from their house in the middle of the city, he realized why his family valued their house on the hill, surrounded by trees and moonlight. *** Emmet removed his brown jacket, placing it on the coat-rack. With his uncle stoking the fire and the oven running, it was almost too hot inside. But the scent of oven roasted chicken and potatoes distracted him. The warmth and aromatic herbs beckoned him to the table where everybody else was already sitting or placing tableware. His mother, Rosalie, just set down the chicken and sat with her hands clasped. He quickly sat and closed his eyes as she said a small prayer. All he could think about was ‘that’s where grandma used to sit and say the prayer for meal.’ Family and tradition was important to his mother, and while Emmet appreciated his mother’s dedication, it made him sad to see his grandmother’s place at the table replaced. That’s when the hole in his heart opened up again. But, with each passing day, it closed up a little faster and he could think up his grandmother’s face in his thoughts without excusing himself. “Do the constellations look pretty, Emmet?” Aunt Kiera asked, dishing up potatoes for her daughter. “I guess,” he said half-heartedly. “I don’t imagine the stars connecting like that; i just like the way the sky looks at night as a whole. Honestly., i was just distracting myself from that fact i forgot to practice violin today.” “You are getting lazy about that,” his grandfather grunted. Emmet shook his head. Should've known better. Grandpa was a devoted musician back in the day. The living room had nearly become a show room for his record collection, many of which, he had collected with his grandmother when they were young. Somehow, the world had since changed with the absence of one person. Though everyone at the dinner table conversed with each other like nothing was difference, they were also cautious. Deviating away from anything that could relate to her life. Emmet felt the complete opposite. He wanted to talk about his grandmother and remember who she was. He looked up to her kind, thoughtful character and emulated her almost more than his own mom. Emmet shoved his food in quickly in an attempt to escape from the smiling, melancholy faces. He missed his grandmother, but he didn’t want that to discourage his ability to remember and talk about her. So, once he finished and explained (lied) about a late music lesson, he grabbed his coat and left. Outside, Emmet began to shiver while walking on the wide road away from his new home. He blew into his hands and could see his breath like white smoke. Then, he shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to forget that the frosty air was seeping deep into his body, reaching his already chilled bones. He thought about the frost reaching his heart and if someone’s heart could really freeze over. He wanted to believe that and wanted it to happen when he experienced grief for the first time. Truly, his life had been a serene, flowing river until he nearly drowned in raging rapids and saw death only a month later. But Emmet soon felt okay with the sadness. Because he knew that grief would pass over him in time. Emmet would be okay, he believed, because he felt his heart was working right if he felt sad. “Don’t be sad because they died, be happy because they lived,” his mother told him. From that moment on, his perspective changed. And he allowed himself to grieve, but he also allowed himself to be grateful for her time. But at her funeral, he could still feel her spirit with him. As if she was singing to him from heaven. It sounded like the wind blowing through the trees as he walked down the road. A forest on either side of him, and the path lit by the bluish hue of the moon. *** Swiftly, Emmet climbed over the tall cemetery fence and walked to his grandmother’s gravestone. Under a big oaktree, her name was inscribed on the concrete grave: Lydia Roslyn Posh. “I’m still trying my hardest, just like you told me,” he murmured to himself. His mother once said, “we will all be folklore in the end.” But his grandmother was more than that, she was someone that made him feel proud of himself. He once thought she was mocking him because she said, “I will not love you because you are smart, I do not love you because you are handsome. Honestly, you are average in most means. But because you have a golden heart, you are someone I've always needed. There is nothing more painful than not having someone in your life that loves you unconditionally.” Then, he clutched the golden locket around his neck. It had a picture of his mother and grandmother inside. Nothing could change his mind that there was anyone who could make a bigger impact on him. Because those words were just a few of the phrases that kept his head up. *** On his way back to the cemetery gate, he noticed something white under a large tree. It was fabric fluttering in the wind. But that's when he noticed a body curled up in the fabric. His heart stammered. There was nothing more eerie than stumbling across a still body. Let alone a still body in a cemetery at night. But he couldn't pull himself away; what if they were alive and needed help? He walked slowly, the leaves crunching beneath his feat, and the humming in his bones growing. The body was drained of color; nearly translucent in a white dress. The chill inside him deepened; it began singing throughout his whole body. His legs felt weak as water and his hands shook. Her body was completely still, with the wind moving her pale hair. He hoped she was still alive, yet he couldn't touch her without getting fingerprints on the body. But her bony arms and legs said otherwise. The blue tones of her nails and toes made him wonder if she froze to death. That's when he noticed a red line on her neck. He bent over to get a closer look, his cold breath grazing her cheek, and noticed a bloody gash across her neck. Was she killed? Then a sound escaped her lips and he fell back, crawling away from her. A healthy tone spread over her whole body and he could see her rib cage moving, drawing in air. His body trembled and his head spun. But he watched as she pushed herself up. He stared, stuttering to find words, and breathing heavier than before. The gaping wound around her neck sewed itself together and her blue lips turned pink. She gasped for air, clutching her heart. Then, set her red eyes on him. He scrambled to his feet, looking the gaunt girl over. "You were dead!" "You think I don't know that!" She chided. He pointed at her arm. From wrist to elbow, her bones showed clean. No blood or loose skin. "What happened!" He gaped. She narrowed her eyes and grabbed his arm, pulling him over with unexpected strength. Her nails dug into his skin. "You're a necromancer!" She proclaimed. His heart leapt. He pulled away from her, rubbing the skin where she grabbed him. "What...I...You..." "Behind your ear," she said, tapping that exact place on herself. "There’s the mark of a necromancer. A raven skull." Emmet rubbed the place behind his ear, noticing that the chill had left his body. It was replaced by an eager glow of warmth. "And what's that," he said, pointing at the cat skull tattoo on her arm. She placed her hand over it. "Nothing." "Nah, you gotta tell me what that means. Because all of this makes no sense!" "Of course it does. And something tells me you aren't that full of questions anyway," she said. Truly, she was right. He didn't feel overwhelmed, though he tried drumming up questions. Within himself, he felt alarmed but aware of the situation. Which, worried him more. "I am not a necromancer," he scowled. "Sure." The girl began to storm away, and Emmet immediately hurried after her. "You can't walk away after all that," he said. "We have no business together. You don't believe me and who am I to force you. So, go your own way." "Wait," he said, "you were dead right?" "No, I was sleeping. Of course I was dead. Dead and left to rot in a cemetery," she argued. "Someone didn't even have the heart to put me under six feet." "I'm sorry about that," Emmet sighed. She turned on the spot, sticking a finger in his face. "What are you sorry for, huh?" "No, I just meant "sorry" with sympathy," he said, and she trailed away. "Where are you going?" He asked, wondering what a dead girl could want. And wondering what would happen if she ran into anyone that knew she had died. "Well, doing what any smart undead person would do, go hunting." His stomach dropped. "And...what does that mean?" "I am not truly alive, and the only way I can remain undead is to feast on life's blood. But it's wrong to do so, obviously," she explained. "So, I'll eat animal blood. Human blood is needed, but I can't bring myself to do that." Emmet felt squeamish. Suddenly, his head was filled with dreadful thoughts about bringing this girl to life. But how did he do it? What had he done and what does this mean? Who is she and how can she survive? "My mom's a nurse and is working in a blood donation center. I can get in and steal some for you," he said it without recognizing his voice. Why are you getting yourself into this Emmet , he thought. Leave it alone, he thought. But of course, she turned around and looked relieved. "Oh! Thank you!" *** After sneaking in just before closing hours, he snagged a few bags of blood and gave it to the dead girl behind the center. He turned away after watching her drink it like water. After she finished, he looked at her blood stained lips. One drop of blood trickled down her chin. “Are you any better,” he said, watching as more color filled her face. The dark circles under her eyes lessened a bit, and where her skin was almost translucent, a peachy hue covered her veins. “Much better.” she said and held out her hand. “Thank you. Thank you for believing me and faking a blood donation to steal blood for me.” He took her hand and said, “i’m Emmet by the way.” “Christina Parks,” and she shook his hand. “I’m afraid this won’t be the last time i need blood, but it will be the last time you get it for me. You don’t need to feel like you must help me.” Emmet took another bag of blood from his jacket and handed it to her. “Here, this is for next time.” She gasped. “No really. It will only make me want it more.” she pushed his hand away. “I need to get used to animal blood for now. Besides, don’t you think the patients need it more than i do? I mean, they are alive.” “How do you know all of this. I mean, the needing blood and everything?” he asked. But Christina looked down, her platinum bangs covering her eyes. “That’s a long story...” she saw he was about to speak and cut him off, “I’m allowed to keep some things to myself.” “Well, we should probably go. We’ll get in trouble if they find us back here,” Emmet said. They left the shadows behind the center and started towards the city. Emmet checked his watch and saw that all of this had happened within an hour. His family didn’t expect him back for another hour, so he could help her to a hotel or wherever she used to live. “Do you know where you’re going from here,” he asked. “Like, are you going back home?” “I lived with my roommate...but I can’t go back there.” she said. At that, she remained silent for a while. “How do you plan to...live or...function,” he stammered, trying not to offend her. “Like any other human. But without cooking my meat,” she smirked. “Blood doesn’t taste coppery anymore. It tastes sweet and irresistible. Like the best dessert you’ve ever tasted. It envelopes your senses. Blood is miraculous after death.” “Interesting,” was the only word he could spit out. He rubbed his wrists, right where his veins were, hoping she didn’t want anymore blood for now. “And it smells good too,” she said, like a child opening presents on Christmas for the first time. She spoke with amazement and wonderment. “Blood smells like delectable cherries or chocolate cake or chocolate covered berries. Or perhaps, it smells like that because that’s what i loved most when i was alive.” “I’m sorry,” he said. “Does your family know about your death? Can you go back to live with them?” “I know they must be looking for me. It was a few days ago, but the cold weather served my body well at least. What killed my roomate killed me. Seeing as you’re the first person to find me, I can probably see them again and...but I can’t explain what happened.” Emmet opened his mouth to speak but kept quiet. Some things you don’t have to share. And this was a sensitive and traumatic matter. He didn’t want to press her bruises. *** They both stopped, dead in their tracks. Christina touched a finger to her lips and Emmet didn’t need to be told twice to be quiet. From amidst the dark tree line, a figure emerged. Emmet could smell its grotesque odor from there. Decaying flesh. He saw it emerge, disfigured and purified, limping from the woods with a rattling breath. “Come on,” he said, tugging on Christina’s arm. But she didn’t budge. With brute strength, she didn’t even waver. “No,” she said, “it's for me.” The decayed figure and Christina bolted towards each other. She swung her legs around the creature’s neck and threw it down. Emmet watched, stunned as she bit the creature’s head clean off. She grimaced, wiping her face, trying to rid herself of the taste. Still, Emmet was unable to say a word. His legs felt weak again and his heart hammered like a drum in his chest. “What was that,” he cried in a forced whisper. Christina swallowed, realizing she couldn't keep her secrets anymore. "That was a gift sent here for me. The underworld wants me back."