This smell was different. I couldn't quite place it at first.
"Skunk! Hwuck, hwulck." Desmond threw up.
I turned around to witness the offending party. Instead all I saw was the Dalai Lama or some hare krishna holding an empty bucket. "Excuse me, your holiness. What did you just do?"
"Look out the window."
"Well you see, that's not an answer. That's a demand. Why do we smell like skunk?"
"Look out the window." I finally took the time to turn around and look out the window. At first I saw nothing. And then, I realized that was a good thing. A moment ago, we were being chased by several dead things and now I didn't see them anymore. "Uh, okay. I've looked out the window. Now it's your turn. Why did you dump this skunk stink on us?"
"Fear."
"Fear? What, you're afraid of us? And what, now you're not? Why, cuz we smell like skunks?"
"They know you by the smell of fear."
"They who? They, the dead things? Fear, what? What the hell does fear smell like? I don't smell fear. Do you smell fear?" I looked around the room at my friends. Mbu shook his head. Desmond retched.
"Most people do not have their senses acute enough to notice it, but they do."
"Wha, what are you their public relations rep?"
"Come. Let's have tea. I have much to tell you."
"Look, your holiness. I don't care if you have a dolly or a llama. I'm not in the mood for tea. I wanna know what the hell is going on!"
"Come, come." The mysterious monk lay down his bucket and beckoned us into the kitchen. There was a table and the four of us sat at it. Once the monk had poured some tea, he offered it again to us. Only Desmond took some, perhaps to wash the taste of vomit out of his mouth. The monk blew on his mug, took a sip, then turned to me. "This has been going on for a few days now. It seems the dead have been returning to life. I don't know how, but I've learned a few things over the last three days."
"You got anything to eat?" I asked. The monk went to the cupboard and brought a loaf of bread. He got some butter from the refrigerator and sat it down before us. Mbu and I hastily partook, but Desmond had lost his appetite.
"I was a part of the Tibetan temple in town for seven years. Alas, I began to realize that I didn't dream in their language. I left the temple and started a home here for the emotionally challenged. That was my dream. No more endless days of scrubbing floors. I was a glorified janitor, without the glorified part. Not that there's anything wrong with janitors, but I wanted to help people more directly."
"Great, so you're Mother Theresa. What's the point?"
"Oh, I'm getting to that. You see, I sleep in a room upstairs. The man who sleeps in the room under mine will sometimes bang on his ceiling if I'm being too loud. Well, anyway, one day I had my headphones on and I was listening to some rock music."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Major hole in your story. You were listening to rock music?"
"I'm a monk, not a priest."
I failed to see the difference, but I silently chewed on my bread and allowed him to continue his story, hoping that in all of it there was some sort of a point he was leading to.
"I was listening to my music and I must have dozed off. Suddenly I awakened to the sound of my downstairs neighbor banging on his ceiling. There is no way he could have heard my music. I figured I must have been snoring too loudly. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move. When I turned I saw what looked like a walking corpse. It paid no attention to me, but seemed to be looking for something. I was trying to think of what to do about it when, suddenly there was a scream from downstairs."
At the moment the monk mentioned the scream, Desmond let out a scream of his own. We all turned to look in the direction he was facing.
"Skunk! Hwuck, hwulck." Desmond threw up.
I turned around to witness the offending party. Instead all I saw was the Dalai Lama or some hare krishna holding an empty bucket. "Excuse me, your holiness. What did you just do?"
"Look out the window."
"Well you see, that's not an answer. That's a demand. Why do we smell like skunk?"
"Look out the window." I finally took the time to turn around and look out the window. At first I saw nothing. And then, I realized that was a good thing. A moment ago, we were being chased by several dead things and now I didn't see them anymore. "Uh, okay. I've looked out the window. Now it's your turn. Why did you dump this skunk stink on us?"
"Fear."
"Fear? What, you're afraid of us? And what, now you're not? Why, cuz we smell like skunks?"
"They know you by the smell of fear."
"They who? They, the dead things? Fear, what? What the hell does fear smell like? I don't smell fear. Do you smell fear?" I looked around the room at my friends. Mbu shook his head. Desmond retched.
"Most people do not have their senses acute enough to notice it, but they do."
"Wha, what are you their public relations rep?"
"Come. Let's have tea. I have much to tell you."
"Look, your holiness. I don't care if you have a dolly or a llama. I'm not in the mood for tea. I wanna know what the hell is going on!"
"Come, come." The mysterious monk lay down his bucket and beckoned us into the kitchen. There was a table and the four of us sat at it. Once the monk had poured some tea, he offered it again to us. Only Desmond took some, perhaps to wash the taste of vomit out of his mouth. The monk blew on his mug, took a sip, then turned to me. "This has been going on for a few days now. It seems the dead have been returning to life. I don't know how, but I've learned a few things over the last three days."
"You got anything to eat?" I asked. The monk went to the cupboard and brought a loaf of bread. He got some butter from the refrigerator and sat it down before us. Mbu and I hastily partook, but Desmond had lost his appetite.
"I was a part of the Tibetan temple in town for seven years. Alas, I began to realize that I didn't dream in their language. I left the temple and started a home here for the emotionally challenged. That was my dream. No more endless days of scrubbing floors. I was a glorified janitor, without the glorified part. Not that there's anything wrong with janitors, but I wanted to help people more directly."
"Great, so you're Mother Theresa. What's the point?"
"Oh, I'm getting to that. You see, I sleep in a room upstairs. The man who sleeps in the room under mine will sometimes bang on his ceiling if I'm being too loud. Well, anyway, one day I had my headphones on and I was listening to some rock music."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Major hole in your story. You were listening to rock music?"
"I'm a monk, not a priest."
I failed to see the difference, but I silently chewed on my bread and allowed him to continue his story, hoping that in all of it there was some sort of a point he was leading to.
"I was listening to my music and I must have dozed off. Suddenly I awakened to the sound of my downstairs neighbor banging on his ceiling. There is no way he could have heard my music. I figured I must have been snoring too loudly. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move. When I turned I saw what looked like a walking corpse. It paid no attention to me, but seemed to be looking for something. I was trying to think of what to do about it when, suddenly there was a scream from downstairs."
At the moment the monk mentioned the scream, Desmond let out a scream of his own. We all turned to look in the direction he was facing.
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