Malcolm - Post Chapter One (Patreon)

Malcolm was tired. Far more tired than he wanted to let on. Coming back from the dead wasn’t supposed to be easy. It wasn’t like he had ever encountered anyone that found it invigorating. But this was different. Like he couldn’t get enough sleep. At any given moment, his entire body still wanted to sink beneath the ground and rest. Wandering aimlessly inside the grey space of the market, without a single reference to who he was, didn’t actually provide the reprieve that he always imaged death to be.

Sighing, he took the tea kettle off the stove. There really wasn’t much of a choice he had but to just keep going. One foot in front of the other. One day at a time.

The knock came to the door, stopping him in his tracks.  Not many people knew where Malcolm lived, and it wasn’t as if there were visitors lining up for him. He wondered if it was Hazel. While his sister had helped him over, she still was not keen with traveling across the market on her own. The few times Malcolm had thought about going and getting her, something else always got in his way.

But when he opened the door, it was not Hazel on the other side. Instead, it was Herald Frankenstein. The man from the graveyard with the stitched face and the uneven gait. He had a coffin slung onto his back and was looking at Malcolm with a fierce intensity.

“Well, I would greet you, but I’m a little worried you’re here because it’s my time or something.”

Herald shook his head. “No, sir. I’m not a reaper. I only collect the already dead.”

Malcolm nodded. “Right then. What can I help you with today, Herald Frankenstein.”

“I was sent to fetch you,” he said. “I was told to tell you that Lamplight has returned.”

The mug fell from Malcolm’s grip. “What?”

“Yes, sir. Don’t know how yet. I didn’t take them from their grave. But it is the one that's buried out there that I see you visiting often.”

“Where are they?” he asked, ready to race out the door.

“Artisan Alley. They have been wandering for a bit, but today they seemed to be able to materialize. At least there. Can’t leave otherwise.”

Malcolm could barely hear any of it as he felt the rush of blood flow through his ears. He had to get there. To see them. To know that they were truly alive.

“They also asked me if you could track down a Milo Next?”

Malcolm froze, his expression going bitter. Milo hadn’t even crossed his mind. Not for this. So much of his time had been left cleaning up that man's mess, trying to track him down and understand what had happened that night. And yet he had been blown off. Milo hadn’t given him the time of day in ten years. Malcolm didn’t really feel like telling him that Lamplight was home. He could figure it out himself. He was the Gatekeeper, after all.

But of course Malcolm would go and do this. Find him. For Lamplight.

“I’ll be there soon,” he told Herald.

“They’re probably at Miss Kimber’s. So, head on there.”

Grabbing his coat, Malcolm nodded. “Thanks, Herald.”

He didn’t follow Herald back into the market. Instead, he walked down the long tunnel that lay outside his door, walking through the dark. It was a familiar path for him and one that he had taken more times than he could count. If he continued forward, he’d wind up near the docks. If he veered right halfway down, he’d slope down into the lower portion of the market, where messages could still be sent.

Malcolm hurried through, walking with quick movements down towards the messaging center, where the heat from the underground sulfur pools still heated the cavern. Flickering scrolls blinked in and out of existence, while the buzzing of wings filled the room with a hum.

“What can I do for you today?” A small pixie flitted up to him with a pen and paper.

“I need to get a message out to Milo Next.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir.” The bubblegum pink pixies said, bobbing up and down. “We are not allowed to send any messages to a one Milo Next.”

Malcolm sighed. Fucker figured out how to block his mail. Because of course he did. “Why?” he said with a strained tone.

“I am not privy to say, sir. If you would like to file a complaint, we can get back to you in twenty-seven moon cycles.”

Malcolm shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” His shoulders slumped as he began walking away. He could at least say that he tried.

“Uh, sir?” he turned back around.  The pixie flitted forward, hovering right at the tip of his nose. She smelled sweet and the dust trickling from her wings coated his lashes. “While I cannot deliver messages to him, I can tell you that I may have just delivered a promotional poster. There is a fight going on in the lower section of the market. His name is on the docket.”

A fight club. The fight club. The one they used to hang out at. Drinking until all hours of the morning. Laughing with their friends. Malcolm thought the place had gone to ruin. It must have been rebuilt after he died.

“Thank you,” he told the pixie immediately. Her wings shook with joy over doing such a good deed. A fact that Malcolm found highly amusing, given that he knew for a fact that these pixies had the ability to make or break the entire communications of the market. “I don’t have anything now, but I’ll bring you some spun sugar tonight.”

The pixie giggled as she flew away, flying up towards the other pixies and whispering excitedly. It caused Malcolm to smile. He’d bring them the biggest pouch of spun sugar he could find.

Exiting the cavern, Malcolm took a moment, feeling another wave of exhaustion pull at him. “Just a little bit longer,” he muttered. He wanted to go see his Lamplight. To look at them. Make sure they were okay. Help them in some way.  And, if they truly wanted to see Milo, he’d bring them to him. But he wasn’t leaving. Milo lost the privilege to be alone with them. Lamplight was far more important than a lost boy's insecurities.

Letting his eyes close for a moment, Malcolm felt himself float away, his mind wandering as sleep beckoned him. His mind and body wanted to go to where lanterns would sway. Towards a dream where soft hands would reach out for him, not because they needed something from him, but because he was simply enough.

But just like that, his eyes snapped open again because it was just a dream. Reality was dark.

But maybe it wouldn’t be dark for long.