Backstage at the Calamity, Vol. I No. XI: Unholy Requiem, Body Count, and the Groundskeeper Part XI

First time tuning in? Start here.

When we last saw our protagonist, they had finished digging out the grave for the zombie, only to find another challenge lay squarely in their way. You can catch up with Part X here. Now, what is a new groundskeeper to do?

How am I supposed to deal with the fucking zombie when this green cloud full of who-knows-what is in the way? To say I am anxious, stressed out, and absolutely terrified of what might happen to me if I go into it would be underselling my terror. But what choice do I have? I was hired to do a job, it's a lot of fucking money they're paying me to do it, and all I can think at the moment is they're really just paying me to deal with this shit.

Which means if I want to get paid, I need to deal with this shit. Time to put on my adult pants and do the adult thing and deal with this shit.

I pull my knees to my chest, roll onto my side, and push myself up. Once I'm standing on the coffin, I look up at the mist and gather my resolve. Thinking about pants and shit makes me wonder if there's a clause in the employee contract where they'll replace my pants if I shit them. I probably should have read the contract a little more closely before signing. This train of thought does nothing to bolster my courage. But also, who am I kidding to think anything short of guaranteed painful death would have stopped me from accepting their generous offer? I have zero scruples. There's not much I wouldn't do for eighty dollars an hour.

And that's all the encouragement I need from myself to do the job I signed up for. I clamber up and out of the grave and into the mist before I have a moment to second-guess my decision, and as soon as I'm surrounded by it and the horrible sounds I've been hearing, all sense of direction is lost to me. I can't see anything but a thick wall of lime green all around me. I lift my hands and hold them in front of my eyes, and I can vaguely see them; they appear as shadows. I move my foot lightly behind me to check for the grave I dug out and am met with solid ground. That can't be right. I get on my knees and start feeling around, but no dug-out grave is within reach. I fight my rising panic by recalling the ordeal in the employee hall at the start of my shift. Weird shit happens here. If this is more inter-dimensional shit, then all I have to do is wait until it passes, right? I just have to stay put until whatever this is wraps itself up.

Staying put sounds like the smart thing to do, except the howling is louder, closer. The snapping jaws I heard earlier, whatever they came from sounds like it's prowling close by. I hear the heavy padding of some large creature moving in circles around me. I consider the idea that if I can't see it, it can't see me, and maybe shutting the fuck up and staying real still is the move. But what if it hunts by smell? What if, after having dug out a grave, I'm ripe and smelling quite divine to the hunter who is not searching for me, but in fact toying with me? What if it can sense my fear and is waiting until I am overwhelmed by it to devour me, because its food is far more delectable when consumed at the height of its terror?

I'm frozen on my hands and knees, wondering what to do, trying to tame my fear in case this thing feeds on fear as much as it does on flesh. It doesn't matter. Through the green mist, I watch a blurred, foggy shadow take shape as it moves closer, its smoky edges becoming a little more defined with each step. Considering how my hands looked when I held them in front of me earlier, I guess this thing must be massive to materialize the way it does, to be seen so clearly. And as it steps closer, head lolling from side to side, legs akimbo in its confusing gait, it dawns on me that here is one of my nightmares made real.

When I was in sixth grade, I snuck into the living room to watch a horror film my parents had put on. I spent the next several months terrified of the wolf man that lived under my bed. He lay there, waiting for the perfect moment to grab me and eat me. How the mist had taken him, I have no idea. But here he was, comfortable and confident; here I was, absolutely fucking terrified. So of course, I did the only thing a perfectly sane and rational human would do in such a situation: I ran like hell.

Well, perhaps our protagonist is not as carelessly insane as we may have suspected. Running does, indeed, appear to be a perfectly sane and rational response to the situation at hand. Will it be enough to save them, however? Find out next time in Part XII!

Are you enjoying the story so far? Please consider sharing this with someone you think will enjoy it as well! After all, things tend to be much more enjoyable when you can experience them with acquaintances, coworkers, friends, and loved ones.