The new tenant was a murderer.

Rayshade had followed him, the Greyleaf visitor. Shadowed his footsteps the night he arrived. He didn’t know what he was expecting to see – perhaps a nasty habit with a nasty crowd of fae like himself. Maybe he had an arcade addiction; in some ways, it was like gambling.

But Greyleaf did not go to the arcade to play video games.

Rayshade had witnessed – with his own two ghostly eyes – Greyleaf plunge a blade into a young man’s side. No remorse. Not even the blink of an eye.

Worse still, Rayshade discovered that a cold-blooded murder was the second most dangerous thing the new occupant was capable of. Greyleaf was a shapeshifter. In all of Rayshade’s experience with Fae, shapeshifters were not to be trusted. They were arguably the most lethal kind of fae.

And there was no way to warn Slyspore. Rayshade was – literally – just a ghost forced to witness a Necromancer and an assassin play turns on the same victim.

Not that any of this had anything to do with him, and his personal interests. He reminded himself that his top priority was the House. His home now inhabited by fungus and a killer and a deeply irritating horned faerie who thought she could fix all the problems in the world.

Soldier, at this exact moment, was barking at Rayshade like a dog in a wild frenzy. “Hraf!”

“You don’t scare me, Soldier,” Rayshade spat at him, as he plucked a handful of stalks violently out of the soil. It didn’t take much effort to destroy a bunch of mushrooms; they were a lot more weak and vulnerable than rose bushes.

There was nothing Soldier could do besides howl and run about hitting his fists on the walls.

“The Slyspore is a disease to our home,” Rayshade uprooted a single stalk, making sure to crush its disgusting milk cap and let its remnants blow away in a breeze.

Soldier’s eyes looked ablaze in anger. It gave Rayshade maniacal pleasure.

“You’ll thank me in a few years,” he told his body. He stomped his feet on whatever was left of the cursed garden. “Slyspore can’t fix us. Insulation is the least of her problems.”

He admired his work, relishing in the beauty of destruction. The garden was no more. Soil scattered out of the pit, tossed about the courtyard and staircase, with fungal matter in the mix. Rayshade was incredibly pleased with himself.

Soldier cried, or rather, made undignified sounds as if he were sobbing. He was on his knees in the middle of the sand pit, trying to cup sand in his hands.

Rayshade felt no regret. “What? You’re gonna bury yourself there?”

It was a joke. But Soldier received it as a prompt. The zombie began throwing the soil over himself amid sobs. “Brargry,” he moaned.

“You can’t do that,” said Rayshade, “I doubt it’s deep enough for a grave. Shall we try somewhere in the forest?”

Light heels knocked from the floor above them. Rayshade looked up to see the Greyleaf murderer’s eyebrows arc in surprise. He leaned against the railing and watched Soldier with what appeared to be increasing interest. Rayshade didn’t like it one bit.

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“You stay away from him,” Rayshade said, in futility. Nobody could hear him. Nobody could see him. But he did allow the anger to radiate off of him in icy waves. He felt a surge of satisfaction at watching Greyleaf shiver.

Just then, the double doors of the House opened. It was Slyspore. “Another unsuccessful, unpaid, under-appreciated resurrection well done,” she was saying. And then her attention fell on the scene: her precious Half-Smile in the centre of her destroyed precious garden. “Half-Smile?”

The zombie moaned in agony, tossing more sand over himself. “Bragary,” he repeated. “Bragary.”

“Did – did you do this?” Soil nudged the tip of her boots as she took a step forward. She bent down to pick up the remains of a little brown mushroom.

Soldier whined.

“Don’t be pathetic,” Rayshade murmured to him.

“Well,” Slyspore said, “this is not good. We don’t have any supper now.”

Rayshade wanted to say that she had much bigger problems than that when Slyspore suddenly caught sight of the other faery watching her from the first floor balcony.

“Oh – er, hi,” she waved the little brown mushroom stalk in her hand. “How’s your day going?”

“Pretty interesting, I’d say.”

“Oh?”

“I just witnessed your zombie shower himself with soil.”

“Yes, err, I’ll have to clean all this up now. And start again from scratch. Did you see what happened, by any chance? I can’t believe Half-Smile would do this. It’s not like him.”

“Didn’t see much more than you did, I’m afraid.”

“Well, that’s fine. I guess we’ll have to get groceries the old-fashioned way now, hey Half-Smile?” The last comment was directed passive aggressively towards the zombie – who seemed to be in enough misery on its own.

Greyleaf descended the stairs, his dress swaying. He stopped before the Slyspore to help her clean up. “Are we going to the supermarket?”

“Hmm?”

“To get groceries the old fashioned way?”

“Err – I actually meant going into the forest to forage for some mushrooms.”

Rayshade couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had just destroyed a fungus faery’s beloved garden to smithereens! Nothing was left of it. Yet she grieved nothing.

Greyleaf looked as surprised as he was – as a result of something else entirely. “Why not just buy normal food? From the supermarket?”

A chuckle. “Many reasons. The insanely high prices for one. The low nutritional value for seconds. Plus, the forest has a much larger variety of mushrooms. Edible and poisonous.”

“Fascinating,” was Greyleaf’s response. “Shall I accompany you?”

“If you’re up for some terrifying trees.”

“I think not,” Rayshade protested. He wedged his ghostly self between the two conversing faeries, to no avail. He waved his arms, directing all his frustration towards them.

They shivered at the same time, hands full with the debris of mushrooms.

“I’m hoping to get that sorted out,” Slyspore said, “tomorrow.” Then, with a small smile to Greyleaf, she disappeared into the kitchen.

Greyleaf lingered in the courtyard, his deep black eyes transfixed on Soldier.

“Stay away from him,” Rayshade waved his arms more, making Greyleaf pull the sleeves of his dress over his fingers. But his eyes never once left Soldier.

“I don’t know what you’re up to,” Rayshade said to his face. “But you’re not going anywhere near Soldier. Not if I have anything to do with it.”

“Are you ready, Mr Greyleaf? Er – Grey?”

Slyspore, with her satchel and dark grey hoodie, stood at the sand pit.

Greyleaf nodded once in acknowledgement.

“Great,” she knelt besides Soldier in the pit to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Half-Smile? You coming for a little walk in the forest?”

“Bragary,” the zombie whined. He tossed a handful of sand in his own eyes.

“Er – look. The garden is not gone. We can grow anything back, you know that?”

Soldier looked up at her hopefully. “Grag?”

“Yes. Grow. The garden is not gone.”

Rayshade watched Soldier’s dead face morph from ashamed to hopeful. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Grag!” Soldier cried. “Grag.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Slyspore said. “I mean, it’s not good that you did this. But I don’t hate you for it. We’ll fix it together, alright? Will you help me fix it?”

“Fraw?”

The hope was back. Rayshade hated to see it on the face that was once his own. Slyspore was truly evil. “Soldier,” Rayshade told the zombie. “If you go with them – if you help her regrow this cursed garden –”

“Hrarg?” Soldier said. What are you gonna do? Give me the silent treatment? You’re tethered to me, remember?

He was right. Rayshade was at a loss for threats. He searched within his fury and pain and feeling of abandonment for anything to hold against Soldier, but he found nothing.

He floated at the entrance of his beloved House, watching his body leave with two people he loathed.