Hazel had seemed to leap right off the grid. No more routine, no more daily bullshit alarm clocks and wearing a fucking uniform to a place of business for pennies on the dollars you earn for said business. No more of that shit.
What Calvin noticed about the people around him that differentiated them from himself and hazel was that they all appeared dead. It took him these last few weeks of pondering, but he finally decided that he understood why Ghastly wanted him to see the world in this way. He was witnessing the internal struggle of the common man. These people were dead inside. They didn’t see it, but Calvin did and he knew that wasn’t him. He was determined not to be like these lemmings changing tires, making sub sandwiches, begging for loose change on the corner, selling goods, selling food, selling their souls. They were all slaves.
By the time Calvin got home and opened the security gate to the courtyard of his apartment building, he realized too that Ronnie was no better than the best of them. Even thinking about the cute gash in her neck did nothing for him. All this time he’d misunderstood why she looked that way. His mind had twisted it into a sick fantasy, but now he knew, and that bothered him.
Ronnie had said in one of her messages that she wanted to come over after school, maybe get a bite to eat. Calvin hadn’t been in the mood to see her and felt further distanced from her now that he was putting things together. It was as if Mr. Ghastly had been showing him the secrets of life that were always there but so hard to see when you were just as desperate and greedy as everyone else. It was as if Calvin was seeing with new eyes.
Ascending the stairs, a gust of cigarette smoke billowed into Calvin’s face. He looked up as he took the steps and saw that Celia was standing outside her door, smoking. She seductively took a drag from the cig when Calvin looked up.
“Where’ve you been all day?” she asked, as if it was any of her business.
Calvin pulled a ring of keys from his front pocket. He really wasn’t up to speaking with another common lemming. It wasn’t as if Celia—
He did a double take as he passed her. Only yesterday he’d noticed that she too was unblemished by death. He’d wondered if maybe she was dead, but didn’t show visible signs like everyone else. Now that he was standing right in front of her he could see her breathing, could see color in her face through the makeup. He could see life in her eyes.
“Just been around,” Calvin said. He had no idea what to say to a girl he’d avoided like the plague since the day they met.
He couldn’t imagine that she was like he and Hazel. Certainly not into the morbid stuff. Couldn’t be. Wasn’t that type of girl. But then again, was there any real way to see what type of person anyone was just by looking at them? Plenty of businessmen were fetishists. There have been grammar school teachers who lost their jobs due to acting in porn on the side. Never could tell a person by the way they presented themselves.
Calvin opened his door and went into his apartment. With dusk coming down, the hue cast through his windows was almost blinding, but he could see clear enough that someone was standing in his living room. For a split second he thought it was Ronnie, that she was there waiting for him since he hadn’t returned any of her calls, but the figure was too tall.
“Hello, Calvin.” Mr. Ghastly’s voice boomed like his throat was equipped with tiny explosives.
The way the light came into the room from the open bedroom door behind him, Mr. Ghastly was cloaked in shadow. Only his gleaming eyes could be made out, but Calvin thought he could faintly see a grin on his face. Perhaps he could hear it in his voice too.
“Hi,” Calvin said. His voice was weak next to Ghastly’s
“How have things been?”
“Okay, I guess.”
The intrusion of his apartment sent Calvin on edge. In the presence of this man he felt threatened, as if at any moment he could be turned into one of the many images in a Death’s Door video.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” said Mr. Ghastly. “You’re amongst a friend.”
“I know, it’s just…”
“I frighten you.” Ghastly chuckled. “I have that affect on people. But you don’t have anything to worry about.”
Calvin thought of Hazel. She’d been dealing with Mr. Ghastly too, so why was he so scared?
“I want to join the program,” Calvin blurted.
“The program?”
“Yeah. I want to be a Gorehound.”
“You have a strong will for the living, you know that? Do you love your girlfriend, Calvin?”
“Ronnie? I…” He stopped to think about it. They’d used the word love for a while now, but for Calvin it had been one of those things you do after going out with someone for a long time. It had truly been love once, but not any longer. Hadn’t been love in a while—a few weeks at least.
“No,” said Calvin.
“I think maybe you do, or else you wouldn’t have such a hard time letting go. Maybe it’s your family. Maybe a secret lover. Something is causing you to hold out, and if you hold out too long you’ll miss your opportunity. They say opportunity knocks, but that’s bullshit. Opportunity waits for no one to open the door. If you can recognize it, you can harness it, and then you can truly be free.
“Do you want to be free?”
Calvin nodded.
“To be a Gorehound is to be free. Hazel is well on her way. It has been some time since we’ve had not only a willing participant, but one who shows so much promise. Do you think you have what it takes?”
Calvin wasn’t sure, but he said, “Yes.” What else was he supposed to say?
“Good. That’s what I wanted to hear.”
“How do I start the program?”
Ghastly took a step forward, which brought him out of the strange back lighting he had been standing in. “Why, you have been in the program for three weeks now.”
Calvin’s brow wrinkled. “How’s that?”
Mr. ghastly pulled a piece of paper from a hidden pocket inside his jacket. It was rolled like a scroll and tied with a thin piece of red ribbon. Ghastly pulled a lose string and the bow collapsed. He unfurled the piece of paper and handed it to Calvin.
“Here’s your contract.”
Contract?
Calvin grabbed the paper and read it. It was written in mind-bending legalese, but Calvin ascertained its meaning. Quite simply it was a contract between he and Mr. Ghastly entering him in a rigorous program of mind and body training to prepare him for possible membership in a group of the Darkest Arts called the Gorehounds. Calvin’s signature was at the bottom of the page in what appeared to be dried blood.
“Yes, your own blood,” said Mr. Ghastly as if he could read Calvin’s thoughts. “You don’t remember?”
Calvin shook his head.
“You signed it in your room, right here in this apartment. It’s that strong will of yours, the one that causes you to hesitate, to question what is happening that caused you to forget.”
“So what does this mean?”
“Don’t be foolish. I don’t have time for trifles. It means you are already training to be a Gorehound. The problem is that you have been foiling your own program. You have to let it all go; only then will you be able to finish your training. There are certain tasks you have to complete before the next meeting at the Museum of Death. If you let yourself go, you will understand.”
There was so much running through Calvin’s mind right then that he stammered out a response. He had so many questions, but he didn’t want to ask the wrong ones, didn’t want to waste Ghastly’s time.