Saturday, February 1, 2014

Dead Man Stew 7

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Noir didn't get any sleep.  He prepped the kitchen, and waited for someone to cook for.  No one came all morning, leaving Noir alone in the kitchen.

He never saw any sign of Vickie either.  He didn't expect to see Jesha, fairly sure that the undead hunter was more interested in trying to stop Vickie.  That and the argument they had had...

"This is why I don't open my big mouth."  Noir toked up a joint, deciding that the smell of cannabis wouldn't detract from his already empty kitchen.  "By the look of this crowd, you'd think Vickie was paying me to keep people out."

Pause.  Puffed out a bit more of the marijuana, letting the buzz take him.  He felt a bit of his appetite come back to him, albeit the tiniest morsel of a bit.

"I always wondered if this whole lack of appetite thing really is tied to my magic."  Noir paused, watching the smoke as it rose.  "Damn I should've gone to sleep."

"Long day with the reefer, eh?"  Bert interrupted Noir's internal monologuing revelry.

"Its been a boring day, last night made it twice as exciting."

Bert shrugged.  "I guess you don't want to go look into anymore of those deaths, eh?"

"I... Don't think that'll help much.   Last night... well, the numbers of ghosts coming here is increasing, Bert, I'll say that much."

"What happened last night?  You've hardly talked to me.  Like you're avoiding it or something."

Noir thought on that.  "I... Don't know what to say about it.  Or I don't think I know what to say."

"Better to not say anythin', you know."

"Bert, how do you apologize to a girl you've had a fight with?" Noir asked.

Bert scratched his chin.  "Did you win the argument?"


Bert shook his head.  "Lesson one, Boss.  You don't win arguments with women, you survive them."

"Survive them?"

Bert smirked.  "Well, you aren't going to get far without some sort compromise anyway.  Did Vickie tell you where she went after this fight of yours?"

"Uh... Bert I haven't seen Vickie since yesterday.  I just was thinking about... well..."

"Wait.  You haven't seen her either?  Then who were you yelling with last night-"

Static from the kitchen's ancient intercom buzzed on.  Music came on, interrupting their conversation.  "There is a house in New Orleans, They call the Rising Sun..."

"Oh.  Thats not a good sign."  Noir observed.  He walked out of the kitchen moving toward the lobby of the Inn.

"What do you mean 'thats not a good sign'?  Noir!"  Bert followed.  "Music starts playing, and you start to act crazy?"

Thump.  Thump.  Thump.  The walls around the front of the Inn rattled with each thump.

"Bert.  Look."  Noir pointed out a window.  There was no sunshine outside, or any sign of the morning at all.  The rain fell down in buckets.  Each drop fell, translucent and green.  "The storm isn't water anymore."

Bert walked passed Noir.  Noir shook his head, his eyes transfixed.  "I've never seen so many before."

Bert turned his head to look at Noir.  Noir shivered.  The necromancer could himself convulsing.  He could hear his heart throb when the storm outside thundered.

"Noir, you are making no sense.  What are you seeing Ghosts or what?"

"Um... That storm outside, Bert."

"What about it?"


Before Noir could finish, the window in front of Bert shattered.  A wave of ectoplasm flowed in.  A sea of ghostly ocean water crashed into Bert, sucking him out into the undead storm that surrounded the Sleepy Bear Inn.

A hundred screaming ghosts swam into the Inn, their ectoplasm flowing through the shattered window.  A foot, then a yard deep of ectoplasm flooded at Noir.

"Crap."  Noir jumped, aiming for a nearby table.  He landed on his stomach, the wind getting knocked out him.  He screamed, trying to concentrate.

"And do what stupid?  All you know how to do is talk and make dead people walk!  What are you going to do against a storm of dead people?  Summon more?  Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

Noir's table started to float upward.  The glowing green sea clawed at him.  A hundred or more glowing red eyes looked at him, and Noir could feel their maws licking in hunger at him.

"Oh great.  Noir the snack for the sea of unhappy dead people."

He stumbled off the table, trying to grab the doorknob to the dining room as he fell.  Noir got a hold of it, but felt his clothes tear and rip as ghosts gripped him.  He tugged, trying to take steps forward.

One by one, struggling with a dozen arms and legs and maws trying to bite into him he moved.  Noir felt bits and pieces of his own life force bled out, as dozens of ghosts gobbled them up.  They tried to take possession of his body too.  But too many tried at once, fighting like beasts over dominance.

Noir felt a hand grab his.  Cold numbness crept over him.  The necromancer tried to resist it, but the cold of the sea took him and...

...pulled him out of the undead sea into a pile of salt.  Ectoplasm evaporated from his body.

"Oh, seriously?"  His savior commented, her not happy at all.  "Of all the ungracious bastards in the world, I save the deadfucker's ass?"

"That’s Mister Deadfucker to you."  Noir coughed.

Jesha threw another handful of salt onto him.  "Argh.  Why in the name of all that... by Lupus Dei, why can't I just let them eat you?"

"No idea."  Noir sat up, noting how she didn't bother to try and help him up.

"The whole building is cut off.  They are taking this thing, I think."  Jesha shook her head.  "This is what happens when you don't take care of a bloodsucker like this sooner."

"Still convinced its Vickie, huh?"

"You aren't?"  Jesha asked him.  She motioned at the wall of ectoplasm a foot away from them.  The salt to stop them, forcing the sea of ghosts to halt inches from their position.

"Ah.  So you heard the song on the radio too?"  Noir asked, rubbing his sore head.  He really had no idea what else to say.  He was glad that Jesha at least hadn't decided to kill him.  That was a plus.