The Deathwaker, Chapter 1

Owen stood before the woman lying on the quilt thrown haphazardly overtop the pile of pallets. The woman, of course, was dead and had been so for at least a day, as far as Owen could tell. No, Owen didn’t kill her, but he was being asked to do something nearly as impossible, at least for him. He couldn’t accidentally splatter a bug on his windshield without feeling some sort of misgiving.

The others gathered around in a tight circle, awaiting his spectacular performance, because there was no other choice in the matter.

Perform, or be performed on.

This challenge was to the death, and to bring a corpse back to life was something had only done once before, which was the good news. The bad news was that he was only six at the time, and it was his cat that he brought back after had been hit by a car, not a human being. He held the mewling thing in his hands and somehow, the cat was granted another life, living on another twelve years. One hell of a feat, as the cat, Umbra, had been ten when she was hit by the car.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, the musty smell of organic decay mixing in with that of the mustiness of the old, decaying barn he had found himself in when he had come to only hours earlier, pervaded his nostrils. He looked at the woman’s slack face, wondering who she had been, the job she had once held, her family, her friends?

Her name?

He supposed most Deathwakers didn’t ask these kinds of questions because they were kind of occupied with one thing and one thing only; raising corpses to do their bidding.

Before his kidnapping, Owen only had rudimentary knowledge of the occult. He had wrongfully called what he was attempting to do necromancy, and the kind folks surrounding him holding swords and knives enlightened him into the understanding that necromancy was, in itself, a method of merely speaking to the dead, like the use of seances and crystal balls. The raising of a physical corpse, however, was a completely different ballgame.

How was he supposed to know that? They didn’t teach you that shit in public school.

Owen raised his eyes to the man standing at the other pile of pallets across from him. The pallet was also bearing the weight of yet another dead body, that of a hulking older man. The man standing over the corpse was taller than Owen, his exposed arms were like tree trunks and covered in tattoos. His head was shaved, and he had a goatee streaked with gray. The guy, who called himself Julian Gray, was claiming to be his cousin. Despite the gray in his beard, he was also claiming to be the same age as he, though Owen thought the guy looked significantly older than twenty-three.

Raising the dead can really take a toll on you, Owen supposed.

“You know that being in possession of corpses like this is pretty damn illegal, right… not to mention the whole, uh, kidnapping thing.” Owen said, and the group surrounding him laughed, though Owen could tell they weren’t being kind about it. One of the guys spit at his feet and called him something in a tongue Owen couldn’t place. Nearly all of them were drunk, all except Julian whose gray eyes were piercing through the last bit of nerve Owen had left.

“Alright. Shut the hell up, you guys.” He spat, and his lackies fell silent immediately.

Obviously, Julian didn’t take any shit.

“I know you have questions.” He said, crossing his arms. “You get three before we begin.”

“Um… so why am I here again?”

Julian’s furrowed brow eased a bit. He even managed a small grin, though his face didn’t really wear it well.

“You are here because I wanted you here. Question number two.”

“Really? That’s not even a—"

“Yes, really. Question number three.”

“Oh, what the hell, man?”

“Alright, glad that’s over with. Let’s begin.” He said, clapping his hands together. When he did so, the candles lighting the area flickered and an ominous feeling began to seep into the room. Owen glanced around uneasily. He had never felt anything like this before. It was as though someone had opened a door and held it open as a winter chill began to descend upon the area. Owen found it hard to breathe as he watched Julian hold his hands out over the corpse. The silence that fell over the room was tangible. Owen found himself shivering, wishing he could just send the feeling away. It was awful, maddening. Then the corpse below Julian’s outstretched hands twitched.
The candles flickered once more as the body seemed to relax, before going into bout of convulsions. A horrible, gurgling sound began emanating from the body as the mouth opened wide. Owen had heard of death rattles before, but he never realized that hearing them would make him feel this way. It was so loud, too. His insides felt as though they dropped off the edge of a cliff. The candles dimmed down to tiny star-like specks as the death rattle stopped. They stayed low, and the only sound that Owen could hear was that of wood creaking. His heart was now in his throat. Owen noticed two more specks of light coming from where Julian was standing. The candlelight returned and Owen staggered backward, nearly falling into one of Julian’s transfixed lackeys.

The corpse of the man was now standing beside Julian. Julian wore a triumphant smile as the corpse stared at Owen. He noticed a grain of light coming from the corpse’s eyes, much like those from the candles only moments earlier. The man’s skin was mottled and sagging, his face still wore the death mask he had on the table, though the mouth was open and a ragged breathing could be heard.

“Holy shit.” Owen muttered as he stared at the moving corpse.

“Now, you’re up, buttercup. You’ve done this before. You can’t hide that from us. You are a Gray, after all.”

“Gray?” Owen said, wrinkling his nose. “My last name is Lawry.”

Julian shook his head and smiled.

“You know those peasants aren’t your real parents.”

“Yes, but even I don’t know who my real dad was. So how the hell would you know?”

“Oh, I have my ways. Now get to work, or we will.” He said, grinning. For the first time, a bolt of panic jumped up Owen’s spine. His heart began to race, thumping relentlessly against his chest as he glanced down at the very dead girl lying before him. She had to be nearly the same age as he, maybe younger. He watched her face as the candlelight flickered against it. She would have been pretty in life. He took a deep breath, the pungent odor of decay nearly choking him as he did so and closed his eyes. He tried to hold his hands out over the corpse and the group surrounding him started to laugh. The strange thickness in the air was gone now, the silence with it.

It felt like a century, but he held his hand out, over the corpse, hoping that something would happen. He tried to bring his breathing to a calm and steady rhythm.

It didn’t seem to be working. Nothing was working. These drunk assholes were going to kill him. Maybe he would become like that dead guy standing over there. What a horrible idea. He tried to steady his breathing again, and when he did so, this time something flickered to life inside his mind.

He saw her. The corpse girl, but she was alive. He saw her walking down the sidewalk a of a familiar city. She was with friends, laughing. She had an infectious laugh. It had a way of filling the room. She had a black cat who looked just like Umbra.

Her name was Willow. She enjoyed the sunshine, but really loved the rain. She didn’t like horror movies, but oddly enough, one of her favorite movies was The Terminator. Her favorite color was indigo.

She was scared, hiding in a corner of a dark room. The clothes she had been wearing on the city street were now in tatters. The room smelled of sweat and blood. She glanced up at Owen and when she saw him, she cowered further into the corner and began to scream. Owen saw flashes of someone. The man was tall, menacing. He had a bald head and tattoos. The goatee with streaks of gray.

Julian was smiling as he…

“I’m not here to hurt you.” Owen said, his voice cracking.

“I’m here to… to…” He thought for a moment. He saw the images flash before his eyes. He saw how the girl died. Felt her death radiate within his bones.

“I’m here to bring you back to life.”

She stopped cowering and her eyes met his own.

“What?” She said, disbelief etched on her face.

“I’m here to bring you back to life.”

Her eyes left his for a moment, then realization fell over her as her face crumpled and she pressed it into her knees. She began to sob. Obviously, she didn’t know she was dead.

Way to go, Owen. He thought as he stood there, trying to think of something to say. What the hell do you say to someone who has died? Who was brutally murdered? Owen held out his hand and said the only thing that came to mind.

“Come with me if you want to live.”

She looked up and through the tears, he couldn’t help but notice a smile. He felt like an idiot, but apparently it worked. Her face became hardened and she took his hand. There was an explosion of light as he was thrust from the small dark room back into where he was standing before Willow’s corpse. He staggered backwards as the candles, instead of going out, erupted in towering flames. Some of the tall flames licked at the worn wooden trusses above. A dizzying sensation came over him as a ringing began to ping his ears. There were shouts as the flames grew higher and higher, and Owen was dimly aware of the trusses catching fire. There was a loud pop and Owen fell forward, landing hard on his hands and knees, just barely keeping himself from falling flat on his face. His knees hurt like a bastard, but he picked himself up. As he did so, time seemed to stop.

Sitting on the pallet wasn’t a corpse but a young girl. Willow was sitting up now, her hand to her eyes. Owen didn’t think, as the world began to come into sharp focus, he realized this place was going to go up in flames and go up with them inside if he didn’t get her out of here. He reached out and picked her up and took off running towards the old barn doors.

“Shit!” He cursed when he reached them, realizing that they were still locked. Julian had made it a point to lock them all inside to prevent him from trying to run off if things went awry.

Things were going awry alright.

“You ok to stand?” He asked. He noticed she was shaking. Willow’s eyes met his. She was cold, but he noticed that some warmth had returned to her skin.

She wasn’t a returned dead. She was alive.

Willow nodded, and Owen let her down.

“Get back here!” A voice called out.

Julian was coming up behind them.

“Her soul’s bound to me. You can’t take her out of here.”

Owen said nothing. He was thinking, at least he was trying to. It was getting smoky and hard to breathe. His eyes darted around the door, trying to find another way out. That’s when he saw the boarded-up window to his left, and a nail embedded two-by-four to his right.

“Hey, mother fucker! I’m talking to you!” Owen didn’t think, he just reacted. Once the footsteps got close enough, he juked to the side, grabbed the board and with one swift movement, brought the board around, swinging it towards Julian’s head. Owen felt the board hit something with a sickening crack that sent a violent jolt up his arm. It reminded him of playing baseball in high school. Only that was no ball he hit. The corpse that Julian had raised took the blow to the head, swerved drunkenly, then lunged back at Owen, just barely missing his throat.

“Forget the fucking fire! Get them!” Julian called out to the others. Owen had a moment to react. He ran over to the window and in a panic, kicked out the side of the piece of plywood covering it. He got Willow to climb out first, and then he moved to follow her out, but stopped.

The clammy hand of the hulking corpse had clasped tightly to his ankle and was now dragging him back through. Owen fell and as he did so, he felt a stabbing pain in his leg. The window, though boarded up, had jagged, tooth-like pieces of glass remaining in the frame and they had plunged themselves into his thighs. He cried out as the lumbering dead man dragged him closer. He couldn’t help but think as the shards sliced up his thighs and to his waist that he would be disemboweled if they made it beyond that point.

The kinds of thoughts that just nonchalantly go through the mind in the moment of certain peril are astonishing.

Then the dragging stopped and a horrible half gargle-half-howling sound began to emanate from the window. Owen chanced a look and saw Willow standing above him. Her hands where held out upon the corpse’s hands, but instead of pulling them off, her hands were causing the decomposing skin there to erupt in foul smelling green flames. The abomination let go of Owen and Willow dropped down to help him up. He writhed as he pulled himself free of the shards of glass and, in a panicked burst of adrenaline, the two of them fled into the dark woods surrounding the now burning barn.

Despite the quite literal stabbing pain in his thighs and the sickening feeling of the oozing blood growing cold there the chill of the night, Owen managed to flee far enough into the woods to escape the light of the burning barn. He collapsed against a tree, feeling colder and weaker than he had ever felt in his life.

“Go on. I think I’ve done all I can.”

Willow turned to him. Was it the weakness he now felt? A strange delirium of one so close to death? Willow’s eyes seemed to dance with a strange light in the darkness of the woods. A calming blue glow seemed to flicker from somewhere deep within her eyes. It was similar to that of the corpse that tried to kill him, but in a way, completely the opposite.

“Let me take a look.” She said, dropping down to examine him. He realized with a dull pang of embarrassment that he would have to take his pants off for her to examine the wound properly, but she just closed her eyes and placed her hands gently on his thighs. He gasped as a sharp bite of pain erupted in his legs, a pain that seemed to radiate in pulses throughout his body, crawling steadily up into his chest and arms. He bit down and clenched his fists, but soon realized the pulsing pain had started to ebb away into a dull, steady throb. With each throb the pain grew more distant until in a matter of moments, the pain was gone.

“There.” Willow said simply, but swayed on the spot, having to put an arm out to catch herself.

“What the hell?” Owen said, opening his eyes and running his hands over his thighs. Despite the torn parts of his still bloody jeans, the wounds were healed over. He looked up at her in astonishment.

“How did you…?” He started, but realized the question was a moot point. Where the two of them were at this point was uncharted territory. She had been dead only minutes before, and so had that man. Now both were up and walking around and Owen had just received what should have been a mortal wound, him being out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere like he was, with no hospital for miles. She had healed him with just her hands, just like she had caused that corpse’s flesh to catch fire.

What did he do?

What was she?

“Looks like we’re even now.” Owen said with a small laugh after a moment of silent contemplation. He could tell her mind was working just as hard as his was.

“Not even close.” She managed. Her voice was faint, just above a whisper. She leaned up against the trunk of a nearby tree. They were both silent for some time; it could have been a couple minutes or a couple hours. All Owen knew was that the two of them were drained and despite the calm of the night air, he couldn’t help but shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come.