Page 6 of Bone Collector’s Mate

Chapter Five

Noir

Whisper Grove really was a haven. The day after my first night here, I’d shifted to human form and explored the town. Had a meal in the diner, which was maybe its best-kept secret. A vampire looked my way as I entered, cocked his head sideways, and then bowed a bit.

Vampires knew who we were. They were, themselves, undead. I hadn’t sat down with a vamp to ask what exactly they sensed about us, but they knew.

I nodded back at him, to be polite, went to sit in the corner, and devoured a burger with fries and a milkshake. It was the meal I missed the most while roaming.

There were deserted cabins in Whisper Grove and one of them, according to the local Realtor, could be signed over to me if I covered the taxes from the previous year. Pocket change for anyone. It was part of an abandoned Christmas tree farm and those overgrown trees had shrouded the cabin in shadows, so no one wanted to live there in the darkness or deal with the towering trees dropping needles all around it.

A shadow seemed like the perfect place to live for me.

And so, on the spot, I claimed it. Paid in cash for the taxes and was handed the keys. Sight unseen.

But anything had to be better than sleeping in the woods or in a tree.

Or in a grave. I’d done that too in the beginning of my journey. It was depressing mostly because I was, well, depressed.

Death used to make me sad.

I picked up some more beef jerky, locally made, and walked to the cabin which took me longer than I’d expected, but once I was there, it felt like home.

That was weeks ago. Now, I’d settled into Whisper Grove and into the community. People said hello to me. No one stared, except for the vampire who could somehow come out during the day.

I found some furniture at the local resale store. Not much. A couch. There was a dining room table already in the home. I didn’t want a TV but I did pick up a radio. Whisper Grove had a station that only reached this community. It talked about all kinds of creatures discreetly and gave the local news and played a different genre of music every two hours. It was pleasant.

The cabin needed cleaning, desperately. Every surface had to be wiped down. The floors took three passes before they were clean, but now the wood looked freshly polished. I had firewood stacked for the winter. The fireplace was cleaned out. That took over three days on its own.

The freezer was stocked with meat, and I even began making meals for myself courtesy of some cookbooks from the library.

It didn’t hurt as much to shift into my human form anymore, but at home, I kept to the skull and horns.

Also, there was a goat, Homer, I’d named him. I wondered why such a decrepit cabin had such an immaculately cut yard but didn’t think twice until I saw the black goat with red eyes munching away.

I let him. What was the harm? I didn’t have to mow the yard, and he had free food. I set up a bowl of water for him and he stayed around.

He didn’t run when he saw my skull, either.

Interesting.

A pot of chicken soup simmered on the stove as I rocked in a chair, wishing for colder weather so I could start the fire in the hearth.

The nights were getting colder. I’d bought some new sweaters from the thrift store and more jeans. Living in society and walking through the forest all the time were two different species of monster all themselves.

I had to fit in. This was my chance. My marrow told me so.

The door was open letting the spirited autumn air in, when I picked up footsteps. Looking up from my book, I saw a child at the door and froze. Goddess, the last thing I wanted to do was scare the crap out of a local kid.

I’d finally found a home.

“’Scuse me, mister, but I am lost and I can’t find my ga-lasses.” The little one with wheat-colored hair and suspenders holding his pants up seemed old for his age, which had to be three, maybe four years old. But he dressed like he was from another decade. One of the radio’s decades from the morning music.

I stood and so far, he didn’t seem wary of my skull, but I shifted to human anyway.

“What’s your name?” I asked him.

“My name is Benji. Benji Jackson James. But I can’t find home or my ga-lasses.” He pressed at his temple as though the glasses might appear.