Home Improvement: Undead Edition

Bob said that. When he was alive.

He said, “It ain’t the being dead, it’s the dying.”

Louise thumbed the blue flame to life and fired up the last inch of the joint. Felt the house sigh.

Like, odds are, there’ll be more months of sunshine on its wood.

You could be not dead here for a long time.

All you need to do is let go of every imperative except existing.

Louise sucked in a caustic cloud of smoke.

Held it as the house trembled its floor to shake her balance.

Like a movie queen, Louise flicked her lit joint onto the pile of yesterday’s newspapers and birthed a flickering blue flame.

Dust and debris fell from the ceiling like smothering rain.

She grabbed the red plastic jug for the portable heater and splashed fuel oil through the room.

A ball of fire whumped up in front of her.

Fire consumed all the house’s thoughts as flames licked its walls.

Louise grabbed her coat, gloves. Fought open the front door that, unlike her, had no feet to flee.

And as she stood outside in the snowy night next to the inferno where a house once lived, unzipping her coat to heat from the blaze whose coals might glow long past dawn when rescue would or would not come, Louise hoped she was right about the worth of the imperative that to survive as who you are sometimes requires fixing your house with flames.

The Strength Inside MELISSA MARR

When Chastity bought the only house on the cul-de-sac with several acres between her and the nearest neighbor, it wasn’t an accident. Privacy was a priority. At the time, her plan seemed sound. At the time, she hadn’t yet met the Homeowners’ Association or their subcommittee, the Architectural Review Board.

“Well?” Alison prompted when Chastity walked into the kitchen with the mail. Unlike Chastity, her sister was in comfortable jeans and a longsleeved shirt. The dirt on her cheek—and the muddy footprints on the floor—told Chastity that her sister had been gardening again.

“Another form.” Chastity clutched the latest ARB letter in her hand. By now she could recite the first paragraph: The River Glades Community prides itself on high community standards. As such any and all exterior architectural alterations must receive approval of the Architectural Review Board. Please submit the attached form to JUSTINE sixty days prior to the date upon which you would like to begin any alteration, addition, removal, or other visible change.

Chastity forced herself to release her grip. She laid the paper on the kitchen counter and smoothed it out. “Every damn form includes the same paragraph. It’s like it’s their letterhead.”

“What do they want this time?” Alison unbraided her hair, finger-combed it, and twisted it up into a loose ponytail while Chastity read—and then reread.

Chastity made a growling noise before saying, “Sufficient neighbor signatures from . . . any house with direct line of sight with or without foliage.”

“Umm.” Alison walked to the door, opened it, and pointedly glanced to the left and right. “They do know we are the last house, right?”

“I’m sure they do.” Chastity kicked off the ridiculous low heels that she wore to work. Her skills were more about focus, so office work made sense. If it didn’t include such uncomfortable clothes, she’d be far happier. Alison floated from job to job when Chastity said they needed more money, but she couldn’t hold a job that involved too much time indoors. Chastity, for better or worse, was content in closer spaces.

Which is why we need both a house and a big yard.

For a moment, the sisters stood face-to-face in their kitchen. It was a lovely space. Beautiful granite countertops, sleek stainless steel appliances, and black tile with black grout. Greenery hung from the ceiling, lined windowsills, and clustered along all of the walls. Like much of the house, the kitchen was as close to an exterior space as possible—but without too many wild creatures or insects. Through the open door, Chastity could see the yard that was Alison’s passion. It was well on its way to resembling a formal garden that had been allowed to grow wild. Alison had the admirable ability to persuade most every plant, shrub, or tree to thrive even when they weren’t native. The result was a fabulous space filled with wildlife and ample places to hide.

“It’s worth fighting for,” Alison reminded her. “I could persuade the woman if you say the word.”

Chastity pushed away the mental image of the conversation her sister would have—or she herself would like to have—with the ARB chair; the process was made easier by the fact that she’d not yet met Justine. She shook her head. “I can do this.” She paused for a moment, scanned the form again, and looked at her sister. “How many signatures are ‘sufficient’? How do I know that?”

“You could always go to the committee meeting and ask.” Alison widened her eyes in faux innocence. “Take a covered dish, perhaps?”

Chastity flipped her little sister off. “We’re trying to get along here, Ali, not encourage the neighbors to show up with pitchforks and torches.”

Alison shrugged and stepped away from the still-open door. Given her way, she wouldn’t ever close the doors. “So, go fill out your paperwork. I’m going to read.”

“Don’t let the littles con you into treats because of fake hunger pains while I’m out,” Chastity reminded Alison. “They need to learn to schedule their meals.”

After a derisive snort, Alison wandered farther into the house. Somewhere in the plant-filled rooms, their siblings hid in dark shadows, but she pretended—for their amusement and hers—that she was unaware that they stalked her. In human years, and to the casual observer, the children appeared to be young teens, but as Bori they were the equivalent of toddlers—precocious toddlers, lethal toddlers, but toddlers all the same.

Like some mammals, a Bori’s physical growth meant they had strength far beyond their emotional growth. If the littles were left in the wild, they’d be mistaken for feral children—such nestless young were the source of the human stories about children raised by wild animals—but Chastity and Alison weren’t going to let such a fate befall their siblings. A very long time ago, the sisters had struggled as parentless Bori; they’d lived in the old ways.

Which is exactly why we won’t fail the littles now.

Despite their considerable longevity, few Bori were left in the world. Too often over the centuries humans declared them demons and murdered them, caged them as freaks in carnival sideshows, or destroyed their habitats. Protecting young Bori from such horrible fates was daunting. Chastity whispered a silent Thank you to whichever deity had granted her Alison as a sister. She could’ve handled the littles without extra help, but having Alison there made it far more manageable. Alison was maternal in a way that made her playmate as much as authority. Chastity, on the other hand, wasn’t fun. It simply wasn’t part of her skill set. There were plenty of things that Chastity considered as skills she possessed: she was a hard worker, kept her promises, killed easily, and generally could get along with just about anyone. She might not genuinely like seven out of ten of the people she smiled at, but now that blending was important for survival, faking friendly was essential.

Faux smile in place, Chastity took the papers in hand and went out to start knocking on doors.

“CAN I HELP you?” The older woman stood in the open doorway, not inviting Chastity in but not refusing to answer the door like the people at the first house.

“I’m Chastity. My sister and I bought the house at the end of Eden Street.” Alison held up the paper. “I’m trying to get approval for a fence for my younger siblings.”

“And Miss High and Mighty said no, did she?” The old woman lifted the glasses from her chest, where they dangled like a necklace. “You know, she tried to tell me I couldn’t have azaleas up front. Azaleas! Who ever heard