Page 3 of Any More Questions for the Corpse?

Instead, Mal had fumbled from close call to close call, trying desperately not to bring anything else back to life. Luckily for Mal, there weren’t many opportunities in his day-to-day to bring people back from the dead. There was an exception to this, and it was an exception he now desperately wanted to avoid as he arrived at his parents’ house. Or his home as his parents called it, even though he’d moved into University dorms several years ago.

He went round the side of the house and shimmied open his bedroom window. He had a simple plan: find something smart to wear for tonight without having to deal with his family. Mal was the fourth of five siblings—three older, one younger. They had a complicated relationship, each with their parents and then again with one another. If shit flows downstream, then Mal was the dam that caught it all; he prided himself on not letting it flow any further. He didn’t always succeed, what with him being human, but he at least apologized when he found a leak.

As he crept into his bedroom, he was pleased to find it empty of siblings. Each of them had hijacked a corner or a cupboard of his tiny room and had filled it with their crap. This gave them the impression they could come and go as they pleased; it gave Mal a very different impression altogether. He could hear several of his siblings yelling throughout the house. They were always embroiled in some drama or another. Brode was yelling at Inva for wanting to work abroad next summer. Pelonie was harassing Brode for trying to move away again, and Brode in turn was giving Pelonie grief for moving back in for the third time. It was as if Gladstones could only communicate through argument, and Mal didn’t have the want or will to deal with their brand of communication right now.

Mal slipped out of his cupboard of a room and blitzed up the stairs before he could be spotted. He had no clue where his parents had wandered off to. He knew they’d be in the house, because they never left the house, but you could usually hear one of them pottering about. As he reached the upstairs landing, the floorboards creaked beneath his feet and he fell still as if spotted by a T-Rex. Jocea, the youngest sibling, was coming out of her room and was staring straight at him.

“Is that you kids?” Mal’s mum called from someplace unknown.

Mal turned to Jocea and shook his head, pleading with her not to give him away. She smiled a fiendish smile, then spoke.

“It’s just me, Mum.”

“Ahh good, any idea where your dad is?”

“No clue.”

“I think he’s in the shed,” a voice yelled from downstairs.

Mal put his hands together as if in prayer and mouthed “thank you” at Jocea. She was his favorite sibling by a country mile, though given the competition, it wasn’t a close race. Mal was almost where he needed to be; just one more flight of stairs and he’d find his prize. He heard his mum approach the landing and he bolted, bounding as silently as he could upward and making it to Brode’s old room, which was now storage. He crept in and silently shut the door behind him.

He turned to find a six-foot-four, bone-bleached skeleton walking straight at him.

“Hi, Dad,” Mal said.

“I didn’t know you were home.” Mal’s dad looked down and, upon realizing he was only bones, activated some magic to put flesh and clothes upon himself. A simple illusion, but one Mal was always grateful for.

“I just popped in to see if I could borrow a jacket. I have a, err, networking event tonight and need to look my best.”

“You better iron that shirt, then,” Mal’s dad said, a grin on his face. “I should have something round here. It might be a bit big on you, though. I think Brode has an old suit up here somewhere. One sec, I’ll dig you something out.”

At that moment the door opened and another, smaller skeleton came sauntering in.

“Mal, I didn’t know you were home,” Mal’s mum said, striding forward and giving him a hug. Mal cringed at the sensation of bone touching his flesh. “Is that your dad rummaging around over there?”

“Just getting a jacket for Mal, he’s got a fancy event tonight.”

“Oohh, very nice. Come on, let me iron that shirt for you. Then you’ll look proper.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Mal said.

“Take this on your way down,” Mal’s dad said, hauling a heavy box of assorted rubbish into Mal’s hands. Mal was in for it now; there was no escaping his siblings. At least he’d caught his parents in a good mood. He awkwardly lugged the box down both sets of stairs and arrived in the living room to a familiar audience.

“How’s it going, creep?” Brode said, upon eyeing him. Before Mal could respond, Brode spotted their dad holding his jacket and walked off to protest it “being given to that walking stool sample,” which Mal took to mean himself.

“Give us ya shirt then,” Mal’s mum said, setting up the iron. Mal’s dad had extended his illusion to include his mum now, so everyone at least appeared to be in the land of the living. Mal felt even more exposed as he stood around shirtless, receiving the stink eye from Inva and Pelonie. Brode returned moments later to give Mal a few words of encouragement.

“That jacket better come back in one piece or you’re d—”

A pause came over the room as Brode nearly broke the number one rule of the house. There were many rules, and most of them applied to Mal, but the main one was this: Don’t mention death, or any variation on it.

“—done for,” Brode finished, giving him a brotherly shove.

“There you go love,” Mal’s mum said, handing him back his shirt. It felt warm on his skin as he slipped it on. His dad strolled in a moment later and helped him into the jacket.

“Fits okay. You’ll do great tonight, I’m sure.” Mal’s dad paused. It was an expectant pause; Mal knew what he was expecting, but pretended not to. Mal felt the guilt building inside him as he looked upon the fake flesh of his parents. They had enough juice to get through the week; they didn’t need any more.

“We were thinking,” Mal’s dad started, “we would spend the next few nights gardening, and it would be good if …”