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“Don’t move . . . don’t move or I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”
If the touch of a scar wraith could extinguish you, could the blast of the scar wraith’s shotgun do the job too? Mikey didn’t want to find out.
“Run, Nick!”
Nick did what he was told. He ran, and although Clarence aimed at him, he didn’t fire. In a moment the Chocolate Ogre had disappeared into the night.
“Damn it all to purgatory!” shouted Clarence and aimed the shotgun at Mikey, who put his hands up.
“If you shoot me, you’ll never know.”
“Never know what?”
“Everything,” Mikey said. “All the things you want to know.”
Slowly Clarence lowered the weapon. “Tell me,” he said. Then he went to get the toppled chair, set it upright and sat down again, laying the half-dead shotgun across his lap. “Tell me.”
“Okay,” said Mikey. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything, just like you said. Everything there is to know from the very beginning. And if I don’t like what I hear, well, let’s just say . . .” Then he stroked the shotgun like a favorite pet sitting in his lap.
Mikey sat down in the middle of the cage, took a moment to compose himself, and began.
“More than a hundred years ago, my sister and I were hit by a train as we were walking home from school. . . .”
CHAPTER 11
Chocolate Reign
Nick, Nick, Nick, Nick.
The Chocolate Ogre knew very few things for sure.
Allie, Allie, Allie, Allie.
So the things he did know, he held onto with a passion.
Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, Mikey.
He found that being a spirit of limited self-awareness, while frustrating, was also very liberating. He felt a freedom he suspected he had never felt in his previous life. He had few expectations, and fewer fears, and whenever he felt anxious it passed quickly like a summer storm cloud, too small to give rain.
All in all, it was good being the Chocolate Ogre, although he didn’t feel much like an Ogre. Ogres have a bad temper, they ruin things, they chase people. Ogre was the wrong word. He felt more like a Chocolate Bunny. He told Mikey that, and Mikey instructed him never to say that again. “Bunnies are timid and fearful, and stupid,” Mikey had said. “You’re none of those things.”
“Yes, I am,” Nick had insisted. “I’m stupid!”
“No, you’re not,” Mikey had told him. “You’re just not yourself. That doesn’t make you stupid, it just makes you . . . muddled.”
It only served to confuse him, because if he wasn’t himself, then who was he?
Nick, Nick, Nick, Nick.
He ran from the cage and the farmhouse and the crazy scarred man, happily reciting the three things he knew that he knew. He kept to the train tracks as Mikey had said. They were easy to follow because the tracks had crossed into Everlost.
Allie, Allie, Allie, Allie.
He was content to live in the moment, but he sensed a certain sadness deep within himself. A longing for all the things he had once been, whatever those things were. He knew he had once been very clever. He had led hundreds of Afterlights, and, in fact the train he was following had once belonged to him. Mikey had said so.
Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, Mikey.
