Life With A Werewolf

Halloween Work Part 1

         From the rotten stench, ambling shuffle, and vague look of confused happiness on their faces, I could tell it was that time of year again. Time for the freshly dead to climb up out of their graves to shuffle towards a graveyard or two, do whatever it is they're set to do this year, and move on. It was also time for me to help.
         I'll never get used to the smell. The rot of death is something you shouldn't get used to. Well, unless you're a necrophiliac, I guess. But then that stench may do a whole different thing for you. And where was I going with this? Flowers, yes. Pretty flowers. ANYWAY....
         This year was ending up like most years for me. I'd already given several corpses trips to a chosen graveyard, this one outside a forgotten town nearby our own. Crash responded with his usual tact and understanding nature for my plight: I was given a custom "Zombie Taxicab" hat, complete with custom badge in the center, and a custom license plate surround that said "Hauling Dead". I swear, Etsy is officially off my Christmas card list.
         This year, I wasn't going alone. Zack had volunteered and practically jumped into my vehicle before I had a chance to say no. We'd taken two trips and he stuck it out, squirming in his seat at their site and smell, but stuck around anyway.
         I knew what he wanted. He had a look that was easy to identify. It was why he accompanied me to the gun range a few times. It was why he kept asking questions about my time in service. More about how we did certain things, performed certain moves. Zack wanted vengeance. After what happened to him, I don't blame him.
         Those guys had beaten him within an inch of his life. His left arm was still technically healing, and the wrap wouldn't come off of it for another two weeks. All for the crime of having a friend. That's what it boiled down to. He dared to have a friend that they didn't like so Zack got caught in the crossfire.
         Anyone could understand where Zack was coming from. It's not like Milton had many friends to begin with, his family all but disowned him, which is why he ended up in a paupers grave in our county instead of going home for burial. And, it's not like the corpse will feel much of anything. But, there was a wrinkle in his plans. It was now my official job to help these undead shufflers, and that meant the zombies had to be protected. They had to go from grave to graveyard safely. From what I'm told they generally find their own way back pretty easily. It's the way to whatever graveyard they're drawn to that confuses them all. So, no matter how much I sympathized with Zack on the issue. Which made it difficult on our second night out.
         He'd of course begged me to go out. Knowing who he was looking for, and also knowing why, I agreed. It's easier to misdirect someone when they're next to you, after all, and Zack was going to stay by my side the entire night, whether he wanted to or not.
         The night began easy. He played a song or two on the radio and we both sang along. It felt almost like an episode of carpool karaoke, only without that annoying host, the staged questions and incidents. That all stopped when we picked up our first "hitchhiker". This freshly dead corpse slid into the back as my car pulled up, almost as if it knew why it was there. Zack flinched a bit when he saw it, pulling a snicker from me that I couldn't suppress.
         "Shut up," he grumbled, staring out the window.
         "I...didn't say anything," I said, fighting back my smile. The zombie, a maggot feast of an elderly lady tried to give Zack a comforting touch on his shoulder. He cried out and nearly jumped out of his seat. I'd never thought I'd ever see a zombie nonplussed.
         "How did you get this job," he asked.
         "I think I'm the only one that'll do it. Or I'm the only human in the office, or I'm the new guy, one or those reasons." I shrugged as I dropped the corpse off at the graveyard. I looked over the tombstones. They were peaceful where they sat mostly forgotten. The light of the small town behind them barely touched their centuries old stones, with names and dates mostly washed away by weather and time.
         "You think he's here?" Zack was staring at the stones, looking across to the couple of zombies that was out there.
         "Milton's dead. He's not," I said.
         Zack looked at me. "I don't give a shit." Then he looked back out at the zombies milling around. "What he did..."
         I looked over at Zack. "You'll never get an apology. He'll never be able to. He's wherever guys like him go after we die. Hell, hades, oblivion, I don't know. But, I know he won't be out there."
         "Well, whatever," Zack grumbled. "Just take me home then."
         I put on my zombie cabby hat, and shrugged. "Okay, you're the boss." Then, I started for home. In the rear view mirror, I saw the shape of what could have only been Milton, carrying a head that looked as if it had been gnawed on. It gave a wave to the car, and kept shuffling on. Thankfully, Zack didn't see it.
         What should I even do, here? It's bad enough holding a grudge against someone who is alive. But what about someone who wasn't even a someone anymore? Holding a grudge against the corporal form of that person after the soul that makes them who they are has long since vacated the body? I wasn't even certain. All I knew was that, under no circumstances could I let Zack and Milton's corpse get together. Whatever happens, this will be one long month. Thanksgiving can't get here fast enough.