Chapter I
“There’s been another attack south of us, in a hamlet called Morningside.” Eidra’s erudite and scholarly voice came floating from behind me. I turned, almost exasperated.
“When will this end?” I snapped impatiently. “This is the sixth town that this has happened to! We need to get back to the group!”
“The group will endure whilst we figure out what is plaguing the land,” Eidra said calmly.
“Your evenness both in tone and thought pattern is noted as being notoriously, simply, you,” I retorted. He simply gazed at me for a bit, unfazed by my sarcasm. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s been 2 months since we have been on the trail of…whatever this is, and all we’re doing is cleaning up its messes.” I bent down to pick up my staff and noticed my beard touching the ground. I snatched my staff and turned back to Eidra, whose already impressive beard was reaching an extraordinary length. I stretched and stood there in silence, thinking. There are many moments of silence with Eidra like this; both of us thinking about the best way to approach a situation. I rather enjoy them now. It wasn’t always that way, but it’s almost like we are able to read each other’s thoughts. The wind rustled around us and blew brown and orange maple leaves past the dirt path that we stood on. They flew into the darkened woods, tiny cyclones that picked up more intensity as they continued on.
“Graveyards,” Eidra muttered, mostly to himself. I knew better than to interrupt his process, so I sighed theatrically and plopped down on the ground, cross-legged with my staff across my lap. I absentmindedly stroked the purple crystals on the end of my staff while I watched his mind work. His eyes were focused on something that I could not see, making invisible connections to and fro. The elf was a genius, obsessive in his desire to understand everything he came in contact with. His eyes suddenly widened, and he practically shouted at me. “All of these towns have had the largest cemeteries in the area, even if they weren’t the largest towns! We haven’t checked the graveyards because all of the murders are happening in the towns proper!” He grabbed me by the shoulders, excited to have just one lead after an incredibly disappointing investigation. He grabbed his gear and started down the path, presumably towards Morningside.
“Oh, by all means,” I muttered. “Let us go into another dangerous situation while our friends need us.”
“I heard that, and my statement before stands,” Eidra said cheerily. “Now hurry, lest you get left behind!” I smiled in spite of myself and gathered my pack. It is so easy to forget that Eidra and I have created our own special bond through all of these trials and tribulations. He has become my brother, steadfast not only in his resolve to complete his ultimate goal, but steadfast in his friendship. Steadfast in his loyalty. I smiled again, watching his long white hair blowing in the autumn wind.
Chapter II
“So let’s go through what we know while set up camp,” I said, running my fingers through my beard. “One: all victims are completely drained of blood when found. Two: all victims also have a brand on their chest of a dagger going through a hand, which family members always maintain that they did not have before their demise. This is how we know that this isn’t just a pack of wild stirges that are running amuck; someone had to brand these poor folks. Three: the victims have all been well-known leaders of the community.” I finished setting up the tent and looked over at Eidra, who had just finished gathering kindling and a few logs. I muttered a low incantation and produced a flame in my hand. I casually tossed it into the wood and it flared up, the orange and light casting sinister shadows in the woods around us. “Could it be some archaic cult coming back out of the woodwork?”
“Cults mostly enjoy making large symbolic statements with their violence,” Eidra demurred, lighting his ornate pipe. He puffed thoughtfully, expending the unmistakable scent of Elven kush into the night air. “These are small towns, and it just doesn’t seem like it makes sense for a cult of any kind to flex muscles on innocent, small places like this. I fear that this may be a monstrous creature that is just coming out of hiding, or perhaps has just awakened. It would not want to arouse much suspicion, and would instead prefer to feed on folks in smaller venues that would arouse less fanfare and mass hysteria.” I considered what he said, lighting my own cigarette and inhaling. I closed my eyes, simply listening. I could hear the crackle of the fire, the gentle intake on my cigarette, and somehow I could hear Eidra’s mind.
“What if there is something special about these places?” I wondered aloud, not bothering to open my eyes yet. “We should look around the graveyard to see if there is anything magical about the area. Perhaps they are taking something from each of these places that has since been unnoticed?” I finally opened my eyes and jerked in surprise. Eidra was inches away from my face, pipe in his mouth. I shoved him away, rolling my eyes.
“You shouldn’t close your eyes like that in an unfamiliar territory, even in the presence of a friend,” he said with the slightest hint of a smirk on his face. “But yes, that is a good idea. We should certainly look into that when we get there tomorrow.” I settled into my tent and asked one last question.
“So what is the cemetery called?”
“Barren Field Crypts.”
I came to terms with my sense of humor awhile ago; my father unfortunately instilled in me a penchant for running stupid jokes into the ground. I can’t stop laughing at puns any more than I’m able to stop wearing my offensive metal and hardcore t-shirts from ten years ago. I suppose I finally got the point where I took a good, hard look at myself and realized that I was tired of putting up a facade. I didn’t want to fear being caught reading Garfield comics or marathon-ing Tales From the Crypt anymore. Now, I never consciously thought there was anything wrong in liking those things. I just wanted to avoid the judgmental stares of the people who always roll their eyes and ask, “Do you really collect toys?”. The answer to that should be, “Yes, asshole. I work hard and have hobbies. Is that a problem?”. But most people experience the all too-familiar feeling of shame. It may be a little pang of it, sure, but it still ends up making good people confused and frustrated. We almost feel compelled to acknowledge the ridiculousness of our interests before someone else points it out, and it’s all because of the too-cool-for-school mentality that pervades our culture. Even if we pay bills on time, take care of children (or in mine and my girlfriend’s case, a particular cat that suffers some sort of extreme teenage angst), and communicate effectively in relationships, we are still somehow expected to have only mature interests because we’re older.
For instance, I feel much more comfortable being a music nerd than exclaiming to the world that I love Mario Bros. now more than I did when I was growing up. One shouldn’t really be more groan-inducing than the other, but we are just conditioned to think that we are supposed to outgrow the “childish” interests. The fact that nostalgia is one of most powerful emotions doesn’t seem to register to the critics in your life, nor does the fact that most people have something like this in their own lives. However, I have found the mysterious formula to solve this issue, and I am about to make you privy to it. It doesn’t matter one bit what your neighbors, parents, significant others, or classmates think of your interests. What you choose to spend your (precious) free time on is your own business and no one else’s. Who gives a flying shit if you choose to sport a Supernatural hoodie to the grocery store because you emotionally relate to Sam? Who cares if you have three Star Wars-inspired tattoos?
We only have one life left to live (if you believe in that sort of thing), and after I really thought about how quickly it can be taken away, what others thought of my interest in Funko toys seemed to be small fries in comparison to leading a boring, inhibited life. These days, I bore some friends with my hobbies, and have incredibly nerdy conversations with others. I don’t stop myself from that ever-present silly joke, and I laugh now more than I ever did before. And if there are people in your life that can’t accept that aspect of you, drop them like a bad habit. They don’t deserve your awesomeness.
n social media as opposed to “real life”. We can (gleefully, sometimes) hide our feelings and be there for others without having to put clothes on or draw the shades. The crazy thing is that even at my worst, I am acutely aware when I am disappointing the people I care about. Cancelling hang-outs, taking a mental health day, and hiding in pillow forts are just a few things that I’ve done in my life that I’m not quite proud of. It’s perfectly normal for someone to shrink away from a helping hand, especially because the resounding thought in my mind when someone tries to help me is, “I’m too much of mess to ask this of someone”. And boy, does depression linger sometimes. It can be standing on my door with an overnight bag and stick around for months. It can keep you up at night, making you abrasive and irritable to anyone that gets in your way at work the next day. It can cause your best friend to seem like your worst enemy. And even though you’re experiencing for the fifty-millionth time, it can surprise you and knock you on your ass.
thelastsignal 