The Dead Ones - Raven

They were in the park. And true enough, Will could see the dead again. They wandered around. Looking confused. Like always. Will craved a cigarette. He hadn’t built up the nerve to ask Silas. Because Silas was watching. For something. Will didn’t know what. He’d have to ask that first. 

—Are you waiting for someone? 

—Yes. 

—Who? 

—You’ll see. 

—Right. Anything I should be worried about?

Silas said nothing. But continued to stare deep into the park. So Will waited. Craving. Fuck it, he’d ask. 

—Silas? Can I still smoke? 

—Why would you want to? 

—I still crave a cigarette. 

—Me too. Get some. 

—Er, how? 

—You don’t get it, do you? 

—Clearly not. 

—Ask one of the deceased. Or go to the shop. 

—I can go into a shop? 

—Yes. But DO NOT interact with anyone. Go in. Pick up the cigarettes. Leave. 

—Without paying? 

—What do you think? 

—Right. 

—Back soon. 

Will walked off towards the gates. A convenience store was across the road. He’d go there. It felt strange. He walked. Legs and feet were involved. But it was more like floating. 

He entered the shop. Nobody in there reacted. Of course they wouldn’t. They couldn’t see him. 

He walked in behind the counter. Picked up three packs of cigarettes. The store owner turned. He shivered. 

—Sorry, mate, I can’t get them any other way. 

The store owner stood still. All the colour draining from his face. He screamed. Will jumped. The owner tore at his face. His flesh was melting. Leaving wicked weals and bulging veins. He clutched his chest. And fell. 

Silas stabbed him in the chest. He appeared from nowhere. He wasn’t there. Then he was. His blade gleamed in the lights of the store. 

Will remained rooted to the spot. 

—Fool. I told you. You do not interact. 

—You did, but all I did was apologise for stealing—

—That’s interacting. You come in, take what we need, and leave. 

Silas wiped his blade on the dead man’s coat. 

—Come on. Bring lighters. 

Will grabbed a handful and followed Silas back into the park. 

—Give me a pack and a lighter. 

Will handed them over. Silas peeled off the cellophane and lit up. He exhaled deeply. Smoke leaving through the veins in his face. Will did the same. His hands shaking. And the smoke left his mouth. He wondered for how much longer. 

They sat on the bench. The one by the bin with the ashtray. The surrounding light shimmered. The air grew cold. The shimmering light faded into black. And a woman stepped out from nowhere. Or from somewhere Will couldn’t see. 

She wore an outfit identical to Silas’s. Including the hat. Her face was beautiful, with perfect white skin. But her eyes were black. 

—Will Lewis. She said. 

—Yeah? 

—The new warden. 

—Er, yeah. I think so. 

—I am Raven. Head of the Council. 

—Right, what council?

—The council that manages the dead. 

—They’re dead. They don’t need—

—How little you know. How much you have to learn. 

—But why do the dead need managing? 

—Silas told you about the space-time continuum, right? 

—Yeah. The dead souls fill the gaps. 

—Right. So there is your answer. 

—I don’t get it. 

—There are three dimensions of space. Length, width, height. And one dimension of time. Together, they are a four-dimensional fabric that allows existence.

—Ah. 

—So, any damage to that fabric. 

She made a shape like an explosion with her hands. 

—Yep. Got you. 

—Good. Now, the bridge. 

—Yeah?

—It is the crossing. 

—Yeah, I saw that. Why Whitlock? 

—It is the centre of the landmass. Dead centre. 

—Ha! Not a bad one. Corny as hell. But not—

—It is not a joke. Without it, there would be no crossing. No souls. No repairs. Total destruction. And the dead would walk among the living. 

—They do? 

—No. Watch. 

She walked over to two deceased ladies wandering around, wringing their hands. She touched their shoulders. 

They shimmered, turned a reddish-black, and then became skeletal, haggard forms of themselves. But back in the living. They both shuffled towards the gates. 

—Follow, said Raven. 

So he did. The ladies shuffled out of the park. Looking like zombies. That’s how Will saw them. 

They shuffled their way to the bridge. Dead expressions on both their faces. 

A man in a smart suit crossed the bridge. Saw them and stopped. He dropped his briefcase. They were on him. Their jaws dislocated, allowing them to take huge bites out of his flesh. They tore at him and gorged themselves. Blood sprayed up and covered them. They did not stop. They bit and gouged. His face became a bloody mess. They bit through his clothes. She chomped down on the flesh of his chest. 

He screamed. And screamed. 

Raven moved forward. A blur of movement. She touched both women again. And they both shimmered, twitched, turned reddish-black, and faded back to their spectral forms. 

—See, Will Lewis? That is what would happen if the dead walked among the living. 

It took Will three tries to light a new cigarette. Silas walked over. 

—Lesson learned? 

—Fuck. 

—Yes. Let there be no doubt. Our work is important. 

Will exhaled. He’d been thinking. 

—How do you end up on the council? 

—We don’t know. 

—Wha?

—It defies explanation. We just are. 

—The rest of us elect Raven, said Silas. —But we do not know how they select us for the council. Nobody knows. 

Will smoked his cigarette. Tried not to look at the entrails of the man on the bridge. He could hear an ambulance in the distance. 

—Do you get any choice? 

—No. 

—Do I get any choice?

—Also no. 

—Right. You’d better explain my role to me in detail then.