Chapter 3: Skeletons in the Closet

Tired eyes blinked open, blinding spots dappling the surface of his vision. Warm sunlight beamed through the spotless window. Sleep pulled at his brain, and he groaned exasperatedly at the incessant beeping of the alarm clock sitting on his small, short bedside table. He lingered several seconds more in the mysterious state between wakefulness and its opposite. Then Jacob yawned and finally waded out of the surf of slumber, fully stepping onto the beach of consciousness. He punched the off button of his alarm, hard.

The pure tan of his ceiling swam into view. The pleasant and comforting warmth of his blanket surrounded him. A nice, circular breeze, originating from the white ceiling fan in the center of the room, cooled his face. He was back in his bedroom.

With a quick ruffle of bedsheets, Jacob sat up and looked down, touching three different parts of his chest. His hand met smooth skin, dark and firm. Everything looked normal. He saw no blood.

Jacob sighed a relieved little sigh and collapsed back into his bed, his head and its short crew cut sinking into his fluffy pillow.

Last night had been a dream, after all!

Grateful to be alive, he laughed out loud; joy spread through his chest. He spent the next few minutes just chuckling on his bed, loving the feeling of his rising and falling chest. That dream had been terrifying. He’d truly thought that he’d died for a moment there.

Then his dad rapped heavily on his bedroom door, and he immediately stopped laughing.

“Keep it down in there!” his dad’s voice, gruff and annoyed—its default tone—called through the door. “People are trying to actually sleep here! Namely, me!”

Jacob rolled his eyes and slipped out of bed. The light green carpet was soft and warm. Stretching stiff muscles, he groaned, “Yes, sir!”

“And get ready for the day, dimwit! If you stay holed up in your room for one more day this summer, I’ll force feed you cauliflower for a week. A week!”

Jacob shuddered. The prospect of that was even more terrifying than his dream had been. Cauliflower was evil.

“Yes, sir,” he said again. His father, evidently please with his acknowledgement, grunted, and the sound of footsteps retreated from the other side of the bedroom door. Jacob rolled his eyes, pulled his plaid pajama pants past his knees, and then stepped out of them. Then he tossed them on his plain, midnight blue bedsheets with a snort. His father could be such a drama queen sometimes.

A pair of American Eagle underwear followed the pajama pants, and Jacob decided to take a shower. He walked past a bookshelf overflowing with all kinds of books (though most dealt with the occult and paranormal), as well as a desk that was messy with school books, pencils, pens, and paper. Opposite this was a closet, its sliding doors closed. Jacob paid none of these details any mind, however, for his focus was on getting to the bathroom.

One relaxing fifteen-minute shower and three badly sung renditions of Highway to Hell later, Jacob dried himself off and returned to his room. His already dark hair was even darker from wetness, and a white towel draped around his waist. Humming a tune, tapping his foot, Jacob made his way to his closed closet and slid one of the doors open.

He yelped and scrambled backwards so fast, he tripped over the green swivel chair that was rolled up against his desk. Tears automatically formed in his eyes, and he rubbed them away tenderly.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY BEDROOM!?” Jacob exploded, propping himself up with an elbow on the table. He pointed furiously at the grinning, chuckling figure standing in his closet. “AND OF ALL THE PLACES YOU COULD’VE CHOSEN, WHY THERE!?”

The skeleton shrugged, amused at his reaction, and Agent Mann literally came out of the closet. “Because I like a good joke, and this was the perfect opportunity for one. I mean, you try being nothing but bones and not wanting to be in someone’s closet for the hilarity of their expression when they find out?”

“That’s not funny, that’s just creepy!” Jacob groaned, and he slumped against the desk to rub his tired eyes. “Seriously, dude, I nearly had a heart attack just now.”

“Impossible, considering what you are now,” Agent Mann said. All the mirth had left his voice, leaving only the British accent and a sense of seriousness that made the room feel cold and disturbing.

An egg settled in Jacob’s throat. If Mann was real, then…

“What happened to me?” Jacob swallowed, the memory of last night flashing through his head. He’d wanted to believe it had all been a dream, but Agent Mann stood right there before him in the flesh (er… in the bones). And as crazy as he was, his dreams had never overlaid themselves upon reality before.

A sickening feeling rose in his gut as Agent Mann glanced away from him guiltily, the revenant’s finger bones clenching into fists.

“Last night,” the older being announced, like soldiers presenting a fallen friend’s shroud to the corpse’s family at three in the morning, “you died.”

Jacob’s throat felt dry. For two seconds, his mouth didn’t work. It opened, but no sound came through. Then he leaned forward, clutching the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles turned white. “No, no, no, that’s impossible!” he denied, shaking his head. “I can’t be dead, I just can’t! I mean, I’m sitting right here, talking to you!”

“You ARE!” Mann exploded regretfully, and his fist slammed so hard into the wall behind him that the whole room felt the tremor. “And I couldn’t do anything to save you! It was all my fault, even the reason why you died—to protect me, when I should’ve been the one protecting you…”

The pain and self-hate in his pitch was real, genuine. But Jacob still couldn’t believe it. He just… couldn’t.

“But I’m still here,” he insisted weakly, and Mann’s right eye glowed blue.

“Check your heartbeat if you’re so sure you’re a living human, then!”

My heartbeat? Gingerly, slowly, the tall teen lifted two fingers to his neck. He pressed them against a spot on the side of it, as his gym teacher had taught him to. A terrible chill raced down his spine. Half a minute passed, but he felt nothing. Jacob gulped. That was okay. That didn’t necessarily mean anything; lots of people had trouble finding their pulse in their neck, and checking it through the wrist was still an option.

Hoping against every hope, he checked the pulse through his wrist.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

“No,” he stammered, clutching his aching head, “no, no, no. I can’t just be dead… I c-can’t just be dead!”

Agent Mann sighed and looked at the floor. This talk was always so hard, and it wasn’t likely to get any easier. “If you still don’t believe me, look at yourself in the mirror.”

After a moment’s pause, Jacob rushed to follow the suggestion. He raced out of his bedroom. His bare feet slid against still-wet tiles, and he stopped right in front of the wall mirror sitting above his marble sink. He looked at his reflection. It was still there, and seemed almost entirely normal… but his right eye glowed blue, just like Agent Mann’s sometimes did.

He had the horrible notion that if he were to cut himself, thick, black ectoplasm would ooze out of the wound.

Agent Mann appeared in the entrance to the bathroom. He leaned sadly against the white door, watching as Jacob, pale as a ghost, touched his reflection’s right eye.

“I’m a revenant, aren’t I?” Jacob’s voice was barely above a hoarse whisper. “I’m just like you now.”

“You catch on quicker than most,” Mann observed. He hated this. This poor kid shouldn’t have had to catch on quicker than most. He shouldn’t have to be going through all this mental agony.

Jacob took a horrified step away from the mirror, both hands on his head now. His whole body trembled, and he desperately blinked away budding tears. He backed up against the wall and flinched before whirling away. The poor guy staggered out of the bathroom and back to his bedroom like a drunkard. Agent Mann followed to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally hurt himself; while it was true that not many earthly objects could hurt the body of a revenant, in this mental state, Jacob might use his Right Hand of God without thinking.

Jacob’s head lolled as he stumbled to his bed, and he gripped his bed cover tightly. For a few seconds, he just stood there, panting. Then, a growl rumbled from his lips, and he ripped the cover off his bed with a loud, pained cry. He blindly tossed it somewhere—anywhere—and kicked the wall as hard as he could. It didn’t even hurt his foot, and this knowledge only added to his anguish. Jacob picked up his chair and slammed it against his cabinet door, creating a heavy thud.

“You better not be wrecking your room up there, young man!” his dad’s voice shouted from elsewhere in the apartment, but Jacob didn’t hear.

He was too busy tearing books of his bookshelf and spilling them all over the surrounding floor. He was like a young child in a temper tantrum. Tears streamed from his eyes, and Jacob tried to grasp at his hair and pull it out. This was very hard to do with a crew cut, though, and the newly-made revenant soon gave up on this endeavor. Instead, he vented his mess of emotions by simply slamming his palms against the surface of his desk.

“DAMMIT!” he shouted, and smacked the desk again. “Dammit, dammit, dammit! Why’d I have to go and do that!? Why couldn’t I have just moved away so you could’ve been unhindered by my presence there!? Why did I have to go and fucking DIE!?”

Agent Mann observed quietly; he knew that only Jacob could get himself over this now. Revenants were well-known for being creatures of vengeance, who only rested until they found their target; but not all were like that. These next few minutes were crucial for Jacob. If the boy couldn’t lift himself out of his grief-induced rage, he’d forever be bent on vengeance. If he quelled his anger, then he’d be able to continue on “living” as normal, with no one having any idea that he was now supernatural.

Dull slaps rang throughout Jacob’s bedroom as his hands repeatedly brutalized his desk. The seventeen-year-old’s sobs made Agent Mann’s heart ache, despite the fact that he didn’t have a heart. A minute passed, and Jacob’s state did not change; he just kept slapping, kept demanding to know why he’d done this. Another minute passed with similar results, and the FBI operative carefully reached under his black fur coat. His fingerbones clasped around the hilt of his holy silver sword, which hung sheathed at his hip bone.

He needed to be prepared for the worst. Agent Mann hated killing other revenants, but if they became uncontrollable and dangerous to everyone around them, then it had to be done.

The next few seconds passed crushingly slowly.

Then, with barely a minute left, Jacob’s breathing returned to normal. His hands hovered mid-slap, and then he straightened up, allowing his arms to fall back stiffly at his sides. He looked at Skul Mann with a depressingly sad gaze. His right eye no longer glowed blue; rather, it had returned to its usual brown.

Jacob’s right hand lifted up, shaking terribly, and he pointed at his eye.

“How do I fix this?” he rasped, the words weak from all his sobbing and shouting.

Agent Mann’s hand released the grip of his sheathed weapon, and he relaxed. “You already have,” he said proudly. “You’re still a revenant, and you’re still dead, but you can return to your normal daily ‘life’ from now on.”

Relief spread over the dark contours of Jacob’s face, and he wiped the tears from his eyes and cheeks. The two revenants were silent for a couple moments, both simply glad for Jacob’s return to somewhat normalcy. Then Jacob glanced down and seemed to realize that he was still only in his towel, which by now remained hanging on his waist by luck alone.

“I’m, uh, going to get some clothes on,” Jacob told his fellow revenant, who nodded and turned around in an offer of privacy. The teen selected a pair of underwear from his wardrobe, then dropped the towel to his floor and pulled the underwear on instead. He then turned and walked over to his still-open closet, examining its contents. As he did so, a thought entered his head and he decided to say it aloud. “Hey, why are you still here, anyway? And how’d I even get back home?”

“After I killed the demon in the mansion and you became a revenant, you passed out. You’d already told me your name, though, so it was a simple matter of getting my colleagues in the FBI to check for any Jacob Davidsons living in Normal or nearby towns. They found your address and emailed it back to me, and from there I just teleported us both around the town several times until I found your family’s apartment. I broke in and put you back in your bed, and the rest is history.”

“…Okay, makes sense,” Jacob said as he shrugged on a yellow shirt with the words Golden State stenciled on it. “That doesn’t answer why, though.”

Agent Mann paused, then rubbed the side of his skull and explained. “After you saved me from a second, more permanent death, I couldn’t just leave you alone. You had the chance to become the type of revenant focused solely on killing anything and everything near you, and I figured that if you woke up in the same place you died in, that chance would be far greater. Most importantly, though, if you did happen to refuse to give into your anger and grief—as is the case—I wanted to offer you some options.”

Jacob, halfway through tugging on some jeans, blinked and turned to the FBI operative. “Options?”

“Yes. Three.” A brief beat of thought followed before Mann spoke again. “First, I can stay here and train you in your new revenant powers, and then go on my way. Second, I can do the above, but instead of going on my way, get you hired with the FBI’s Supernatural Relations department as my assistant. They’re not too picky about the age of the supernatural creature as long as the skill is there and said creature won’t go rogue. Third, I can simply leave you be.”

Jacob blinked. He hadn’t even thought about the fact that he might have new powers and skills now.

He frowned, and returned to tugging on his jeans. After several moments of thinking, he said, “Can you give me a day or two to consider this?”

Agent Mann nodded. “Of course. I’ll leave you with my business card, and when you reach your decision, please call.”

Jacob smiled as he zipped up his fly. “Definitely. Now can you get out of my room, please? It really is weird.”

“I’m a walking skeleton creature; weird is in the job description,” Agent Mann joked, and, still facing away from Jacob, gave him a cheerful salute. He dug out a small card from his fur coat and set it on Jacob’s messy desk. “But sure thing. Just open the window and I’ll leave you to decide.”

Now fully clothed, the teen nodded and made his way to the single window in the room. He unlatched it and pushed it open, the warm sunlight dancing on his black skin. He turned to the other revenant with a warm smile. It was weird, but he already kind of liked Agent Mann. Maybe fighting demons (that definitely weren’t actual demons, because those didn’t exist) together just did that to people; made them more open to liking each other.

“Well, then, I’ll see ya around,” Jacob said, saluting Agent Mann back, and the revenant turned to him with a grin.

“You’re a good kid, Jacob Davidson. No bones about it. I look forward to your call.”

Then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Jacob stared out the window at the cloudless morning sky. He might not be alive anymore, but he had a lot to think about. He only hoped that whatever decision he eventually made would be the right one.