Sitting on the grave of the long dead boy, the Ghoul watched the graveyard bloom under the moonlit night, like a field of rosebushes given their first sliver of sunshine for the day. The wooded area twisted and groaned as the brambles coiled about the underbrush, forming a dense undergrowth that would deter anyone from running from the path through the small copse of trees.
In the distance several other walking dead emerged from the ground, popping out of the earth like moles looking for air, climbing free of their earthen womb and shaking off the clingy mud afterbirth. The Ghoul smiled; he wondered how many of his fellow dead were able to think as clearly as he? He knew that without a fresh supply of body parts to feed upon, his mind was sluggish and dim, his movements rheumatic and disjointed.
By now, after consuming a full body (minus the head as it was currently editing some of his works) the Ghoul was back to what it preferred: a fully rational cadaver capable of making complex decisions without the consultation of his own ravenous hunger. Patting the grass next to him, the Ghoul stared off into the distance as he contemplated how this Hop was going to go.
“What do you think Derek? Should I tell separate tales or should I help out two lost souls?” The Ghoul asked the buried boy.
An earthy groan came up from the ground, causing the Ghoul to shrug. “I feel for them, I really do, but I don’t really like to intervene in the works, so to speak.”
Another low groan came from the ground, followed by two short grunts.
“So you want me to help out those two, eh?” The Ghoul guessed, forming a half smile with his chapped lips.
A short grunt confirmed his suspicions. “Well then, I suppose I’ll have to look into what can be done. Who knows? Maybe there’s a story for our star-crossed lovers still…”
Pushing himself to his feet, the Ghoul patted the headstone. “Try and work it out lovebirds, you’re going to be in there for a while.”
Strolling away with a smile as a groan rumbled from the earth, the Ghoul headed back into the dense foliage that hid his mausoleum from sight, pushing back a branch as he walked over thick underbrush. Looking down, he frowned at the sight of the thorny shrubs twisting around his ankles, before slowly releasing him.
“Save it for the living,” the Ghoul chided, moving along deeper into the woods to his home. The vine covered marble greeted him in the shadowed section of his home with the warmth of fresh snow, though the Ghoul didn’t mind; he didn’t want his home to be inviting. After all, that was why he had himself set up so deep into the wooded area. Walking down the steps, he raised an eyebrow at the sound of singing.
Stepping into the candlelit center room, he stopped to stare at the back of a tall, broad-shouldered figure that seemed to grow narrower as his body led to the floor, ending in two diminutive feet. A scarf was wrapped around the beings neck, and judging by the deathly pallor of his pale head, the Ghoul could only guess as to who his guest might be.
“Maestro?” The Ghoul asked aloud, causing the fae to turn and hush him, his arms moving up and down as he directed the Editor to sing for him.
The Editor looked none too pleased over this turn of events, but knowing how the Maestro performed, he likely took a liking to the Editors voice and “insisted” on the Editors song. To be perfectly honest, it wasn’t half bad, but it was hardly to the Maestro’s stringent standards thankfully. The Ghoul didn’t have time to reanimate another head and set it to editing… plus, he was out of fresh heads, as the others had either been eaten or were too rotten to be of use.
The Maestro cut off the singing before clucking his tongue. Wagging a finger at the editor, he turned to look at the Ghoul.
“She needs work if you are to have her perform anything,” the Maestro chided.
“She won’t be performing,” the Ghoul assured the unstable killer. “The party will be all about the written word.”
“Really? Going back to the classic days of Rome for our performing arts? How delightfully dreary!”
The Ghoul didn’t know how to take that so he merely smiled and agreed. “Yes, it’ll be a lovely time where we entertain guests as they come and go. I myself will step out from time to time to visit other artists in their lairs.”
“The host of the party leaving to attend another? Sir, I’m afraid I don’t quite follow, or like, where you are going with this!” The Maestro said, his eyes flushing red as he spoke, his needle-point teeth glistening in the candlelight.
“That’s why I have you here, to help act as a co-host of sorts. You’ve hosted thousands of parties in your time, I was hoping you could help with mine.”
The Maestro seemed taken aback. “I don’t know what to say… to host a party without music, with just the written word…”
“You can do it, and you’ll only have to do it while I’m out, which will be rare.” The Ghoul assured him.
The Maestro stared at the Ghoul before looking to the hanging editor. “Alright. Alright, I’ll help you out… but don’t forget about this, as I will be seeking aid in the future.”
“I’ll help in any way I can,” the Ghoul assured him. “Now, let’s get ready for some guests!”
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