The night air chilled against her skin, cooling her perspiring brows. All too quickly the temperature fell a few more degrees, but Ace was already too frozen in surprise to warm her fists.

She was sure corpses couldn’t growl or struggle. Yet here was one rotting body of a man, with a misshapen skull, darkened skin peeling off its bones, and a stench unmistakable for anything else: the Stench of Death.

Now, Ace was a Necromancer, which meant that it was completely unlike her to be rendered speechless by a dead body. But that was precisely the problem – the dead body was moving. In fact, it growled at this moment, pulling against those powerful strands of rhizomorph.

Hi? She remembered what she had rehearsed. I’m Ace. And you’re … dead?

“Hrog!”

She wasn’t fluent in zombie, but she figured that this one was saying something like I don’t appreciate being tied up, Miss.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, “err – let me just –”

It was an awful ordeal to untangle him in the dark, while at the same time trying her best not to touch his rotting flesh directly. Finally the zombie stood and made as if to run away again before Ace stopped him.

“Wait! I – what were you doing in my house?”

Hesitant steps. He adjusted the collars of his coat. A … soldier’s uniform? Ace noted with confusion that he was indeed wearing a soldier’s uniform. Gold badges gleamed with the starlight. She recognized some of them from the War.

“I promise I don’t mean any harm,” Ace began. “My name is Ace Slyspore. I’m a Necromancer, see? I live in that House back there.”

He tilted his head as if he were having another conversation. Being a zombie and all, Ace couldn’t make out any facial expressions. She could only guess that he was even receptive of anything she was saying.

Then, with a wobbly arm that bent at the most unnatural angles, he pointed at a tree before them. A birch tree. Glowing mushrooms grew around it, scattered across its roots and bark, shedding green light that could have been eerie to some but felt most safe to Ace. With the help of the glow, she could make out words on a plaque hung on the tree.

General Rayshade. 2020-2045.

“This is you?” Ace asked. “I mean – this is where –”

“Harf.”

Something about his tone made Ace swell up with sympathy. A General. Dead for over forty years. Roaming around as a zombie. The work of an amateur Necromancer, perhaps?

“Maybe I can help you,” she suggested. “I could find something in my books, back at the House. Do you want my help?”

Again he took a long time to respond, as if another conversation took priority. Then he jerked his head downwards in what appeared to be a crude nod.

Ace felt that chill once again, this time it almost felt angry. Disagreeable. She took another look at General Rayshade’s plaque before plucking a few glowing mushrooms. These would have to make do for the night.

The neighbourhood was quiet as they walked back to the house. Ace remembered a time when there used to be streets, back when humans used cars. She remembered how noisy it used to be. Not a single moment that wasn’t interrupted by an engine revving, or a car door shutting.

Now the only sound she could hear were the light hums of the teleports up the row of houses. Even those eventually drowned out when she re-entered the House.

The zombie stood there like a statue as she tended to the glowing mushrooms, transplanting their life into her garden. Together with the ambient night sky, the pale green glow lit up the courtyard just enough to work. And what a lot of work did she have with this customer.

“Okay, Mr. Rayshade,” she retrieved a stack of books from her satchel, “let’s see what we can do for you. I’m going to do some tests on your senses, just to see whether your central nervous system is working. Is that alright?”

No response. Ace did not even see him blink. She figured his test results would be negative, but she ran them all the same.

First check: vision. “Mr. Rayshade, I’m just going to –”

A low growl emitted from his throat. Ace didn’t feel like it was threatening, but more as if he disapproved something. “Mr. Rayshade?”

He growled again, deeper.

“My apologies. Do you prefer another name?”

“Graaf.” He tugged a broken index finger at his collar.

“ … your uniform?” Ace mused, trying to decipher his meaning. “Your badges? General? Is that what I should call you? General Rayshade?”

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At this, he shook his head vigorously. He craned his neck upwards. Ace mimicked him. Was he admiring the stars? She could see nothing else of interest. Unless …

“Mr. Rayshade?” She said aloud to the sky.

There was that cold draft in response. Curious indeed.

The zombie now looked at her with a sloppy grin falling off the side of his face. “Hlog.”

“You have a funny smile, do you know that?”

His half-smile grew sloppier. Ace couldn’t help but laugh. Vision – check. Hearing – check. It seemed like most of his senses were intact.

“It seems,” Ace began, thumbing the pages of her Necromancy textbook in thought, “there’s no other magic at play here. I would have thought maybe a curse. Or animation. But somebody tried resurrecting you and failed. Someone inexperienced. They must have missed you a ton, because they’ve violated one of the Laws of Necromancy for you to end up like this.”

Her words seemed to fall on deaf ears and glassy eyes.

She pressed on in the hope that he was understanding. “You’re still a puzzle, though. I saw the dates on your grave, and you’re quite young so I don’t think the second or third laws mattered much. It’s the first law that might have caused your doom, Mr … er, yes – the first law states that the more a being is resurrected from death, the more they return a little less of themselves. Someone rebellious grieved you very much. Or worse – couldn’t grieve for you at all.”

She paused to throw an observing glance at the poor man. A General in the army. Not even thirty years old. Reduced to this semi-existence. “So they resurrected you many times, it seems. Err – more than the recommended number, see? Much more.” Her eyes fell on his broken cranium. “Dangerously more.”

“But,” she continued, “there’s still the fifth law: resurrection does not grant immortality. You have – err, many injuries, yes? Injuries that should have killed you again … but here you are. You can see how this is puzzling for me?”

“Prag,” said the zombie, as a matter of fact. But the lazy smile didn’t leave his rotting face. He bent down to the fungus garden, waving a broken finger or two at the glowing mushrooms.

Ace closed the textbook with a thud. It was late. She wanted to sleep. She doubted that Ray – the zombie slept at all. What do I do with you?

“You – err, do you have a home? Or do you just hang around your own grave a bit?”

He stood, the half-smile still capturing his handsome features. “Harf.” A heavy foot on the floorboards, resembling a solider ready for battle. Then he turned around and ascended the staircase.

“Err – where are you going?” Ace called out. “I’m afraid the exit is –”

But he was already gone, disappeared into the room above her own. Ace was left standing there in the dim courtyard with one realization: she was the intruder here.

The next morning, Ace was fastening breakfast for herself when the walking dead strolled in nonchalantly and took a seat at the dining table. He looked at her with that half-smile again, his crooked teeth and assortment of injuries all incredibly visible in the morning light.

She couldn’t help but admire the scene: a creature of horror stories bathing in serene golden light. “Err – breakfast?”

He tilted his head sharply, not even breaking his gaze to blink. If Ace didn’t know any better, she could have guessed that he was amused at her. She saw him glance briefly at the tablet screen lying on the table – the advert for the Bone Tablet glaring at them with large red words.

“Water, tea?” Ace asked. She set her meal on the table with slight unease. She wasn’t very used to having company. She figured neither did this zombie.

He did not turn away as she began eating.

“So,” she said, “I think we have to talk about our living arrangements, yes? You plan on staying here long?”

“Harg.” The sound of joints cracking finished his sentence. He gestured around the kitchen.

This is my home, Ace translated. “Right. Well. Err. I suppose I have nothing much to complain about. I mean – you’re dead quiet so I don’t have to worry about getting disturbed. You don’t eat or drink, so you won’t be costing me any bills. I suppose – err – we could be house mates.”

House-mates with a zombie.

“To be completely honest,” Ace continued, “there are worse things to worry about right now. Like getting power for this place. My business is struggling. I can’t pay to maintain this House for another two months, I think.”

His stare was statue-like. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he pointed to himself. “Tlag grr,” he fumbled for words, “drr gruff …”

“I – I will still look for a way to help you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Ace said. “I’ll admit I haven’t properly studied the fallacies of the Fifth Law, maybe I could –”

“Traarg,” he pressed. He stood and hit his torso on the edge of the table in a way that would have sent somebody alive clutching their body in pain. He pointed at the air in front of him. At nothing.

“I don’t understand.” And Ace was trying her best to do so. “The kitchen? Is there something wrong with the House?”

He growled in frustration, his knees bending in awkward angles as he walked out the kitchen door. He gestured for Ace to follow.

“Is it the House?” Ace asked as they entered the courtyard. She looked around for anything he might be trying to show her. “The first door upstairs is locked, but I might have the key –”

“Rarrg!” Frantic steps. He pushed open the nearest room door – with a bang it swung forward, causing hordes of dust to spiral into the air.

They watched the dust settle to the floor.

“Err – yes, I mean – I know it’s dirty. Well it’s more of a work in progress, you see? With time, we could fix the place up, I’m sure.” Ace felt obliged to add: “With time and … money. Which is the biggest problem right now.”

That wasn’t it. He didn’t look satisfied at her reply. Then again, Ace asked herself, was he capable of looking satisfied? Or was she making up expressions for him this entire time?

His eyes widened if that were possible, since he barely had any eyelids left. “Mrarg!” He growled. “Mrarg! Mrarg!”

“Money? Is that what you’re saying? Do you have money?”

He ran into the room with loud footsteps, pointing up at the ceiling, at the walls. Pointing at everything in the room.

The dust caught at Ace’s nostrils, threatening to make her sneeze. But something did dawn on her, some meaning, as she took in the state of the place. The furniture toppled over and rusted, the wallpaper peeling off, the frames fallen, leaving metal hooks buried in the yellowing walls. The sun streamed in, illuminating particles of dust.

It was dirty alright; but it was not unlivable. With some effort and a change of décor, Ace could rent out these rooms. She could make enough money to sustain the House for years. She could make ten times more than that.

She could get any Bone Tablet she desired. Finally.

“Mr. Zombie,” she said, a little breathless with ideas, “you may not have a brain, or a soul, but you are actually an asset, you know that?”

His frustrated expression cleared, replaced by his floppy grin.

Ace laughed. “And you have a contagious smile. I’m glad I found you.”

He showcased his teeth for added effect; Ace had never seen such a vulgar case of scurvy before. “It’s part of your charm, I think. You and your half-smile.”

As soon as she said it, she wondered how much it suited him. “Half-Smile? Is that what I can call you?”

He beat his foot on the floor in approval.