A man sat underneath the shade of a tree. His clothes were ragged, and it seemed like he hadn’t washed them in over a month. In fact, it seemed like he hadn’t washed himself in over a month either. His hair was mottled and tattered with bits of black grime coating it. He munched on a piece of rotten bread, slowly. His teeth weren’t in the best of shape—the few that remained in his mouth. To his back, the faint bustle of the city could be heard, but around him, there wasn’t much. It was a piece of unprosperous land that no one wanted; thus, all the homeless made it their home. The only outstanding feature was a particularly large rock with an odd shape. It was like the entrance to a tunnel; however, there was no entrance, and the whole thing was covered with moss and vines.

The homeless man exhaled through his nose and leaned back, chewing on the piece of bread. He was lucky it was rotten. It didn’t hurt his teeth as much to chew. A crumbling sound drew his attention, and he stared at the piece of bread in his hand. Cracking sounds echoed throughout the air. The dirty man frowned when he realized it wasn’t coming from his food. He raised his head just in time to see a portion of the mossy rock crumble outward. A bony hand poked through, and the man dropped his bread. He rubbed his eyes with his greasy hands, smearing their corners black. He blinked hard and stared some more. Another part of the rock fell to the ground with a clack. Another bony hand poked through. Out of the darkness, a skull with blue flames in its eye sockets appeared. It paused, the flames freezing in place. Then, the skull grinned at him, the blue flames flickering like torchlights in the wind. The homeless man screamed and ran, but he fell over the moment he got up. A chill ran down his spine, and he felt like thousands upon thousands of hands were holding him back. No matter how hard he tried to move, his muscles were frozen stiff. Tears dripped out of his eyes, and a weak whimper escaped from his lips. He couldn’t turn his head, but he could see the shadows of the skeleton climbing out of the rock, coming closer to him.

Mr. Skelly placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Hey there, friend,” he said and shooed away the ghosts holding onto the man. The man turned his head and met Mr. Skelly’s gaze, a deep whimper echoing out from the depths of his soul. “Have you heard of our lord and savior—”

“Yes! Yes, I have!”

Mr. Skelly froze. What? These people have heard of the mistress before? Did she take a vacation in this world before? That didn’t make any sense. She was always stuck near the Fountain of Youth until recently. When would she have the time to come here especially when Vur was up to his usual shenanigans and she was forcibly recruited to watch after him? Unless, during the time he was underground, she had arrived in this world? Mr. Skelly pressed a finger to his bony temple. Beep, beep. Paging the mistress. Paging the mistress. Are you there?

There was no response.

“Are, are you Jesus Christ?”

Mr. Skelly lowered his finger and stared at the trembling man. “Jesus Christ? Who’s that?”

“You’re not Jesus?” The man’s face paled at a visible rate. His eyes glanced at the horde of skeletons walking out of the mossy rock. They were lining up in a neat formation, and there seemed to be no end to them. “Help! Help! Somebody, help me! Someone—”

Mr. Skelly stuffed the man’s shirt into the man’s mouth. He put a finger to his lipless mouth and shushed the man. “Hey there, friend,” he said again. “There’s no need to shout, right? There happened to be an evil necromancer, or perhaps a member of the church, who was planning a massive ritual involving all these undead. However, fret now, for I have taken care of the threat and taken all the undead under my wing instead. You’re safe now, understand?”

The man didn’t look like he understood at all, but it didn’t seem like he was going to say anything, so Mr. Skelly released his shirt, unclogging the poor man’s mouth. The man stared up at Mr. Skelly with questioning eyes.

Mr. Skelly nodded. “Right, be quiet just like that.” He glanced at the moldy, rotting bread on the ground that the man had left behind. “That’s not food fit for a person. How about this? You can join me, and I’ll make sure you’re fed. Your stomach will never growl again. It’s a good deal, no?”

The man lowered his head, staring at the skeleton’s behind Mr. Skelly. They didn’t have stomachs. “I, am I allowed to decline?”

Mr. Skelly’s eye sockets contorted as he raised an eyebrow. He raised the moldy bread and sniffed it. “You sure you want to eat this instead? I can get you meat.”

“Meat?” The man’s stomach growled, his hunger overpowering his fear.

“Yeah,” Mr. Skelly said and nodded. “Meat. You see, I’m not from around these parts, and I need some help finding some locations and whatnot. Besides, look at how you reacted when you first saw me. There’s a lot of things that can only be done by a fleshy person.”

“I’m … a tramp,” the man said. “People look as kindly upon me as they would to you.” He shook his head. “Are you sure you need my help?”

Mr. Skelly scratched his skull. “Well, can you sing?”

“Sing? Uh….”

Mr. Skelly nodded. “Or just shout in a really loud voice. You don’t have to know how to change your pitch or anything. Can you remember lyrics to shout? That’s basically what I’m asking.”

“I, I think I can do that, yeah.”

“Great!” Mr. Skelly said. “Then I certainly do have a use for you. Welcome aboard!”