The Dead Scout's Handbook of Afterlife Survival

Chapter 31: The Tattoo

The water still ran warm, so perhaps no longer than an hour passed by the time Cayden awoke. Reluctance spread to paralysis at the thought of leaving the tub, for he enjoyed the pattering droplets along the ceramic tub, the gurgling drain, and the hiss from the nozzle. His arm draped out of the bath and brushed against one of the brass clawed legs. Expelling a sigh into the surrounding steam, Cayden forced himself to his feet, switched the water off and stepped into the house. The lights were out. Only the bathroom lamp's glow crept outside so Cayden flicked a switch, highlighting the shadows of the peeling paint on the paneled walls.

Hanging a right, Cayden's wet feet slopped down a separate short hall into a large bedroom. A chandelier made of presumably artificial, elk antlers hung above a dark, wood-legged bed, complete with olive and navy plaid comforter. On the navy feature wall, read a freshly carved message.

Cayden, went to visit ladies at gir women's place. Staying here for night. Rest up!

Best w Regar Cheers!

Charlie

Cayden hopped on the bed and glanced to the closer nightstand where a broad kitchen knife rested disheveled with flecks of paint matching the thousands peppering the comforter and pillows. One of the rectangular, oak bureaus across from him contained ample, casual clothes. Cayden picked out a fresh pair of underwear, blue track pants, with a white stripe on each leg, and a bleached, maroon, baggy tee-shirt. The bureau also served as a fine place to stack his laundry and he tossed the towel to the farthest corner. Footsteps approached.

Cayden rushed for the towel again but the door burst open and Martha breezed by him. Inadequately shielding himself with the only article of clothing within reach, he stared at Martha, struggling to determine how best a man should cover his body with a gym sock. She ripped apart the bureau and sifted through the drawers. "There we are." She pulled out a bra, presumably her size.

"We elderly ladies can't freebag it," she peered back and giggled at Cayden, frozen in place, somehow expecting a contorted, hunched position to appear more dignified. "Believe me, it's nothing I haven't seen," she reassured, strolling out. She stopped. "We're hoping Charlie relocates here sooner rather than later. I pray he isn't as loud sleeping as he is awake, but I have a feeling...well, if he's that bad, a brick to the head does better than scowls and less than subtle hints." She turned out again and Cayden heard the front door slam.

Cayden released a sigh and donned his underwear. Brushing paint chips off the bed, he spread across the sheets and rotated to a blank notepad and pen on the nightstand. "Dang it, Charlie," he chuckled. Throwing his head against the pillow, Cayden stared for a moment at the ceiling. Or perhaps it was an hour.

#

Cayden awoke to smoke streaming into his nostrils. His eyes shot open. From outside, the wall blushed with an orange flicker as crackling and snapping emanated from the hallway. A rumble shifted the boards beneath Cayden as dry wood tumbled. Without a consideration of decency, Cayden rushed from the bed in fresh, white skivvies and tried to crack the door. It wouldn't budge so he lowered his shoulder, then reconsidered, and ignited it instead, reducing the thick oak to ashes in mere seconds. Rushing into the living space, he guarded his head with his hand, shielding himself from the dry inferno of collapsed two by fours and drywall burning like a photograph over a match. Turning left, he dashed out the hall and into Greybull.

Across the street, the girls' house was somehow in worse shape. Its roof was a solid flame, its innards embers and coal. Cayden scrambled to the entrance, the door hanging by one last screw. Inside, Rebecca's chair crumbled to nothingness in the main hall. One large and one scrawny corpse lay crumpled though still distinguishable from the smoldering furniture and few remaining pylons holding the roof aloft. With a leap, Cayden jumped inside.