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If there was one thing that was clear among the large adventuring party, filled with all sorts of beings from different lineages and backgrounds, it was that they stuck together through thick and thin. Despite everyone’s differences, they all somehow melded together into a coherent and admirable group. The Neighborhood, they called themselves. Certainly, they acted like good neighbors would, bound together like a family.
When they entered a town, eyes always swiveled towards the party. Whispers floated around and through them as people wondered about them. Where were they from? How did they meet each other? How many of them, hypothetically, were willing to stay behind for another? Conversations related to the latter topic usually died down when the flash of a metal ring around two of the party’s fingers became visible or when a quick peck on the cheek was exchanged, but they would almost always start up again when eyes became locked onto a voluminous blue pompadour.
There was something about that being with the pompadour. Maybe it was his perpetual half-lidded eyes, covered in eyeshadow that feathered outwards into his skin. Maybe it was his easy-going grin, one that seemed to always be on his face as he walked among his party members. Maybe it was his short stature, making him seem so much more precious. Maybe it was the way he interacted with his neighbors, going along with them as they talked with him, with nothing but a quick yelp as he was dragged along to explore.
This time, the party had walked into town for a quick shopping trip, but had instead gotten dragged into the festivities. After hearing from the citizens that they had to stay over for the big bonfire at the end of the day, The Neighborhood decided to book a few rooms at a local inn, if only to celebrate with the town (and for a moment of relaxation for themselves).
“Wally! Look at this!”
Wally looked up from his spellbook, its pages more so covered in doodles and artistic renditions of how to cast spells rather than written notes like most others might expect. He felt a hand gently place something on his head. His field of vision became smaller as the object atop his head shifted. A giggle rang in his ears as he blinked in confusion.
“D’aww! It suits you!”
Wally closed his spellbook and fixed the wide-brimmed hat so he could properly see. His eyes locked with Julie’s, a big grin painted on the taller horned girl’s face. “Really neighbor?” he asked, his voice soft and monotonous.
Julie rapidly nodded her head and shook her hands in excitement. “Yeah! Doesn’t our wizard need a hat fitting for his profession?” She reached over and adjusted the hat for Wally, balancing it so it wouldn’t fall yet not ruin his pompadour. “Now you look like a real wizard!”
“Oh, I see.” He rolled his eyes upwards as far as they would go in an attempt to look at the hat atop his head, but to no avail. “Was I not a real wizard before this hat?”
“Nooooo,” Julie said in a sing-song tune. “But you look more wizardly now! Oh! I have to find Frank and Eddie now! I found some things for their anniversary!” The sorcerer gave Wally a big hug before she ran off into the crowd, the occasional shriek from others being the only indicator that she was halfway to throwing caution to the wind.
Wally watched her retreat for a minute before removing the hat — Oh! It had a pointy top! And were those silver stars on the dark fabric too? — and placing it back on the stand. He looked around the crowd before slowly walking in a random direction. Maybe he’d run into some of his neighbors like he did with Julie.
He had already seen Howdy haggling the prices down on certain supplies that “were overpriced as hell!” He had almost never heard the quad-armed neighbor sound so irritated, and a soft smile quirked at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t as if Howdy couldn’t just steal the supplies away, but he instead chose to pay fairly. “From one businessman to another, I endorse being civil about it,” he said when Sally asked him one day.
Poppy, on the other hand, easily accepted the prices given to her for healing potions. The easily-frightened avian of The Neighborhood said that after she collected enough healing supplies, she would be in the inn’s kitchen helping out with baking. “If there’s something that helps me relax a little, it’s when my feathers are covered in flour and the smell of freshly baked goods are coming from the oven.” Wally certainly found the baking process delightful to watch, and could feel the anxiety that normally radiated off their cleric fade away as careful measurements turned into a delectable dessert.
If he remembered correctly, Sally was also in the inn. The goal of the little star of a performer was to write out the script for her next big play, which was the party’s free pass to staying in the inn if it was well-received. She had wanted to share the story of their latest adventure, as fully embellished as she possibly could; laying out the characters and the setting, bringing it to life first on paper, then with her neighbors the next morning. She was originally conflicted about it, as she wished to explore the bustling market with the others. However, the promise of licking the mixing spoons and getting first dibs on the baked goods seemed to convince her to stay. At how quickly her quill flew over parchment at that agreement, Wally couldn’t help but think that she was probably already done by now and keeping Poppy company.
Frank and Eddie were most likely browsing the market together. It was a bit of a surprise when outsiders first laid eyes upon the married couple. Frank with his perpetual frown, furrowed unibrow, and almost endless knowledge on Lepidoptera, was happily married to Eddie? Eddie, who always seemed to have a polite smile on his face and had trouble remembering certain things? It could be hard to believe at first. But the soft looks, gentle kisses, and quiet understanding between the couple was undeniable. Eddie had all the power in his body to easily down a fully armored person, but also had the gentleness of a butterfly as he folded spare parchment into complex shapes for his neighbors. Frank’s exterior could be described as spiky as the thorns he could conjure from the ground, yet out of everyone, Julie was the one who first romped freely through it without a care in the world.
“Hey buddy!” a deep voice lazily called out.
Wally shook himself out of his thoughts and craned his neck upward. His grin widened and his pace quickened. After a few bumps into others, he was considered close enough for his bestest friend Barnaby to reach out, slip his large hands under his armpits, and gently throw the wizard into the air before wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug.
“Barnaby! Hello my friend,” Wally said as he rested his cheek against the other’s shoulder. It was damp, and a familiar wet dog scent entered Wally’s nose. “Oh, neighbor. What happened to you?”
Barnaby chuckled and shrugged with minimum movement so as not to disturb the party’s wizard so much. “Oh, just got caught in the butt end of a joke. ‘M not hurt Walls, promise.” He pressed his short snout against Wally’s shoulder and let out a throaty rumble of content.
Wally nuzzled into Barnaby’s shoulder at this show of affection. His grin softened when he saw how fast Barnaby's tail was wagging. It took everything in him to not drop his spellbook on the ground. He willed his fingers to stay curled tight around the spine, willed his grip to not go limp like the rest of him every time he was embraced in a hug.
“How have you been? Did you find anything nice?”
“Oh, not really.” Wally’s tone might’ve reflected discontent over this situation from how monotonous it sounded, but the pair had been friends for long enough that Barnaby could read his friend easily. The combination of a sigh and the willing lean into the hug (however that may be like for the smallest being) led to there being no need to worry.
“Ahh, it’s alright buddy.” Barnaby released Wally from his tight hug and set him back on his feet. “I found a joke book written by an up-and-coming comedian here. Some of the jokes are pretty funny.” A grin slid onto his face and an eyebrow quirked upwards as he asked, “Do you wanna hear a few?”
Wally nodded. “I always love hearing your jokes Barnaby. They’re the most.” He slowly started to make his way back to the inn, the setting sun causing their shadows to elongate on the cobblestone ground. The canine neighbor walked alongside him and started to share some of the jokes he’s picked up, with the shorter of the pair giving a faltered laugh after each of them. His eyes showed more of what he shouldn't fully express though. They furrowed slightly as he processed the punchlines, then lit up as understanding hit. He made sure his shoulders shook to show that his laughter was genuine, and for the funnier jokes, he added the action of closing his eyes.
Wally was at home with each and every one of his neighbors. He loved how each of them came together and formed not just an adventuring party, but a family. He watched each interaction made with each other with close eye contact, his dark eyes following them carefully. He would give up the world if it meant that they could all stay like this. Happy. Together. A family.
------
A gasp. Air got sucked into his lungs. Out. In. Out. Breathing was so hard. Shouldn’t it be natural? It certainly felt natural if Wally thought about it. But the more he thought about how natural breathing should come to him, the more difficult it became. It was as if his lungs were stuffed with cotton.
Where was he? The ground was cold and hard. He willed his limbs to move, slowly awakening as if they had come out of a deep slumber. They were numb, and moving them felt foreign, as if he didn’t have full control over them. Wally slowly got up, checking his belongings as he did. He still had his spellbook, as well as his traveling backpack. Catching his appearance in a mirror, he felt his heart skip a few beats at the state of his appearance. His perfectly styled pompadour was halfway to falling over, his hair already leaning over and threatening to cover half his face. His eyeshadow was smudged and were those dark circles under his eyes? He inwardly grimaced, his smile not faltering just yet, save for the corners turning downwards.
He fixed his red ascot as an attempt to ground himself as he muttered, “Where are your neighbors? Find them first. They’ve seen you like this, even worse than this.”
He turned his head around to fully take in his surroundings. He seemed to be inside someone’s house. The walls were painted bright red, black and white accents protruding through the almost garish color choice. A large, almost equally red plush chair sat in the middle of the room Wally was in. Next to the chair was a table that reached up to the armrests, and on the table was a red contraption that he never seen before. It was roughly trapezoidal in shape, with a round dial on the front. Atop it, a curved shape lay in a cradle with a coiled cord that connected it with the base.
The wizard looked around him. Where was the exit? He glanced at the window with yellow panes in the shape of a cross. Outside it was pitch black. Oh. It was probably nighttime then. Was this a special room the inn gave them in exchange for Sally’s performance? He could still remember the little star’s flushed face as the crowd gave a standing ovation.
But, wait. That didn’t make sense now, did it? The performance was in the morning, so why give a luxurious yet tacky-colored room before that fact?
As Wally slowly made his way to the window to try to take a closer peek outside, he felt his shoe catch on a loose floorboard. He yelped as he tried to regain his balance. He ended up taking a few feeble, panicked steps towards the plush chair, to which he felt the floorboards shift beneath his feet and confirmed his destination was in fact, the chair.
He fell onto the chair, his back hitting the backrest roughly and one of his hands knocking onto the side table. Not a moment had passed before —
Ring! Ring!
The contraption was ringing.
Ring! Ring!
Wally didn’t know what to do. He reached for the ringing device, then paused in midair. What would happen if he touched it, much less picked it up? He’s had his fair share of magical items end up being cursed or otherwise having unwanted side-effects. What if this was another one of those?
Ring! Ring!
It kept ringing.
Ring! Ring!
It wouldn’t stop until he did something about it, wouldn’t it?
Ring! Ring!
His throat felt dry. A heavy pit started to form in his stomach. Why was he hesitating so badly?
Ring! Ring!
A sharp, unseen object pierced through his hand. He cried out in surprise, then hissed in pain as he felt something like string wrap around his wrist. It forced his hand down, forced his fingers to curl around the curved part of the contraption, forced him to pick it up and bring it close to his ear and mouth.
The ringing stopped.
His breathing still felt heavy.
“Hel – ” He paused. Swallowed. Then, he tried again. “Hello?”
A pause.
Then, a voice on the other end. “Hello.”
The voice was smooth and deep, with creaks and thumps throughout the room almost accentuating it. Wally unconsciously curled inwards as the hairs on the back of his neck rose. The pit in his stomach grew heavier. It felt as if someone was watching him. If only some of his neighbors were here! While he wasn’t as much of a glass cannon as someone might make him out to be, it was undeniable that it was easier to land a hit on him if he didn’t give his full attention to a fight.
“Where am I?” he asked. He hoped that whoever was potentially watching didn’t see how his smile wavered, nor hear how his voice wavered.
“You died on my land.”
Wally’s heart nearly stopped right there. His hand gripped the talking device tighter, and his other hand curled into a tight fist. His eyes darted around the room, looking for any indication that this was a dream. He didn’t dream very often, for sleeping was a tough thing for him. He still remembered the first time he had to explain to the other neighbors that him murmuring “I’m sleeping, I’m sleeping” was to help him achieve sleep. Insomnia was never a good thing, especially when it would last for what felt like forever.
“Oh. Ha ha ha. That’s a funny joke.” It had to be a joke, right?
Clearly the being on the other end didn’t find this to be a laughing situation, as the strings around his wrist tightened. He cried out in surprise, but bit his tongue to prevent himself from crying out further. He mustn’t show weakness, even when the invisible strings around his wrist dug deep into his skin, drawing blood. As he felt the crimson liquid start to run down his arm, soaking into his clothes, he exclaimed, “Okay, okay! So, what if I’m dead? What about my neighbors?”
The strings stopped digging into his skin, but he could still feel them there. Waiting for him to misbehave again. A pause on the other end. “You all died on my land. Fifty years ago, you all died on my land.”
“That’s…not true, right?” Wally nervously chuckled. “We always make it out alive. Injured, cranky, tired. But alive.”
“Delusional fool,” the being on the other end spat. “How confused are you to believe your own lies? Must I show you undeniable proof?”
It didn’t wait for Wally’s answer. Before him, the floorboards flipped onto each other, parting and making way for a hole to appear. A putrid stench rose from the hole. Wally was deeply familiar with it, being a necromancer. Something was dead and rotting in there. Normally, it wouldn’t bother him. But the ominous way that the being spoke made his stomach churn, a cold sweat breaking out across his body.
Something — no, someone — rose from the hole in the room. It was humanoid, large. Wearing clothes fit for a jokester who could easily pummel someone with their bare fists. Light blue, slightly curly fur.
Their head detached from their neck, rising alongside the body.
Wally’s smile dropped.
“BARNABY!”
Wally leapt out of the chair to reach towards his best friend, ignoring the way the strings dug into his skin. This was a bad dream, was it? It was only a bad dream, right?
His fingers brushed against Barnaby’s arm. It was cold.
His head spun. He felt nauseous. His knees buckled under the revelation setting in. Another sharp piercing through his other hand, more strings around his wrist. Wally felt himself being lifted up by the strings around his wrists, yet he had no energy in him to fight back. His mouth was contorted into a deep, forlorn frown. The ground blurred, but he rapidly blinked it away. No. He mustn’t show weakness here. Not now.
He was alive. Somehow. He was talking to someone. He was The Neighborhood’s necromancer! He could revive them all! That thought wormed its way into his mind and burrowed itself deep. It grew roots so ingrained within him that if someone were to try to remove it from his mind, one might as well be removing his entire brain.
“I can bring them back,” he whispered. The idea slipped past his lips and into the air. It sounded viable now. “I can bring my neighbors back. I can bring them back!” He thrashed against the strings, ignoring the pain and the blood. “I can bring them back!” He stared at Barnaby’s cloudy eyes, his own wide eyes with feverish energy. A smile wormed its way back onto his face. “I can bring you back, Barns. I can bring you all back.”
The room shook. The floorboards rattled and the walls creaked. Windows and doors opened and slammed shut. The voice from the end of the device laughed loudly, echoing through the room. It sounded closer, not restrained to the device. It sounded like it came from everything, everywhere, all at once.
“AH HA HA! What a delusion you live under!” the voice sneered. “This could be an illusion I’m showing you! Didn’t you hear me? You’ve been dead for 50 years!”
“Then why am I awake, talking to you?” Wally asked back. His voice was strangely calm. Gone was his initial panic, instead replaced with resolve for his goal. He tilted his head. “I would be dead too.”
The voice paused, as if contemplating what to share with the wizard. “The combination of your party’s magic, combined with the natural enhancer of my land, prevented your bodies from rotting normally. It prevented you from being found. It prevented your souls from departing. It prevented me from contacting what was left of you. It took fifty damn years before the magic had faded enough for me to contact any of you.” A slam of a door enunciated the being’s frustration.
Wally mused this over, then looked around the room. “So, my friend’s bodies are still relatively well preserved, correct?”
A creak. Wally hummed and asked, “So I could revive them. Then we would move off your land, and we won’t bother you again. How does that sound?”
“Your bodies and magic have already infected my lands. There’s no point in your offer.”
Wally’s smile dropped at the edges before rising back up. He wasn’t going to lose his second chance at life, at seeing his friends’ wishes come true. They died all too soon for that. They were all still so young. “Then you join us in our adventure. You become part of our neighborhood. You become our neighbor. You are welcomed here, you are home.” If he had inadvertently given this being a name, no one had to know but himself. He widened his hands as if offering a handshake. He widened his smile, put on as much charm that he had in his disheveled appearance.
One minute of silence lapsed into five. Five turned into ten. Wally’s smile started to drop, and his fingers slowly curled inwards. “Please. I’m begging you.”
Another minute of silence passed before he felt his feet touch the floor, then the strings around his wrists relaxed until he didn’t feel them anymore. He rubbed the thin cuts and wished that Poppy were here to heal them.
“I’ll allow it. However, you must hold up your end of the deal. I’ll join your little party, until you die again. And you won’t die again in the same way you died before, oh no.” This time, a more visible string formed and wrapped around Wally’s neck. It tightened, yet didn’t raise him off the floor. Just a threat. “Your magic will be supplemented by my own, but there’s a time limit on how long it’ll last. Slowly, your friends will rot again. It’ll be your job to make sure they’re unaware of that, for only you will be aware that you’ve died for 50 years.”
To be burned by such knowledge made Wally’s head hurt, or maybe he was getting tired. After all, he had woken up from a 50-year slumber.
But for his friends, he agreed. “Deal.”
The string around his neck disappeared, and Barnaby’s body was lowered back into the floor, the floorboards flipping over the hole. “Deal. Never forget this,” the being said.
Wally felt his stomach drop, his head spun. He dropped to the ground and struggled to keep his eyes open. Between heavy blinks, he saw the room disappear, black fading over the red. The floor became colder and foreign. The last thing he remembered was staring at the window as a large black eye shook and stared at him, red running down its lower pane.
------
When Wally awoke, it took everything in him to not immediately throw up. Everything around him smelled like death and rot. He untied his ascot from around his neck, cleaned it with a quick spell, then cast another spell to make it smell like Poppy’s apple pie as he tied it around his nose and mouth. Cinnamon, apples, and warm pie crust filled his nose as he took deep breaths to calm himself down.
Fifty years.
He and his neighbors were dead for fifty years.
And only he should know of it.
He steeled his nerves and slowly got up. He had his spellbook, he had the help of the being. He just needed to trust in his magic. It was dark outside. Perfect. If he did this quickly enough, he should have enough time to revive them before the sun rose. It wasn’t as if he needed sleep anyways, his mind was too loud right now.
Julie. She needed to find her sisters again and see how they were all doing. She had three of them, right?
Sally. She still needed to have a play fit to perform for the galaxy. Something only fitting for a star like her.
Howdy. He needed to have enough funds to replace his destroyed shop. Then, he needed to send extras back to his very large family.
Poppy. She was looking for her cousin, right? She had mentioned him a few times as she baked, a sad smile etched on her face.
Eddie. He wanted to remember where he was from. He knew his mother was waiting for him, but where?
Frank. His greatest dream was to document a rare butterfly he’d heard about as a myth since he was a child. To prove it was real.
Barnaby. Ever since his mother died, it was as if his jokes were an attempt to connect to her again. He said she’d always loved and laughed at his jokes. So, his wish was to make the best joke ever, enough to make her spirit laugh from the afterlife.
And Wally’s wish? He just wanted more time with his neighbors. The time he already had didn’t feel like enough. He loved them all too much for their adventures to end so suddenly. He didn’t even have enough time to blow them all goodbye kisses.
He gently pulled his friends closer together, every one of them cold beneath his hands. Every one of them preserved unnaturally by magic, but nonetheless putrid-smelling. He occasionally retouched on his ascot when his mind couldn’t numb the sensation or when the smell of happiness started to fade away. His mouth tasted like metal, so somewhere in the process of preparing for his biggest spell he had bitten his cheek or tongue.
He took out his paintbrush, opened his book, and channeled his magic through it. It flowed from the bristles like paint, and he painted the magic circle exactly like in his notes. The complex insignia was next. The spell listed several rare and expensive materials for a singular resurrection spell for a singular being, but would it work with all of them?
He had to try.
Wally stepped into the middle of the magic circle, surrounded by his neighbors, his friends, his family. As he continued to paint his magic into reality, he started to chant the spell. It was long, and a singular mistake could result in tragedy. A few minutes into the casting process, his magic circle suddenly surged with extra power. His eyes widened but he didn’t falter.
More magic, more chants. Something felt as if it gripped his heart and squeezed it like a stress ball. He gasped in shock but he had to recover quickly. His throat was becoming dry, but he couldn’t stop now. Magic continued to flow from his brush, the strokes becoming wider and sharper.
His friends’ bodies were reverting back to their normal selves. Gone were their grave wounds, their limbs were being stitched back together. He could even see a bit of color in their cheeks. His grin widened. It was working!
Almost as if the being that was lending him its power sensed his excitement, his heart clenched again. Something dark was crawling up his body. Cold, thick, liquid. It edged around his eyes before digging itself behind his eyelids, behind his eyes.
It hurt. It hurt so badly. It was like lemon juice was being poured in. He wanted to stop and cry and tear whatever this was out. But to lose concentration of the spell?
Never.
At the crescendo of the spell, his friends’ bodies started to rise. He rose as well. He was reviving all of them. He would do it.
Then, it was over. He painted the last symbol, said the last word. Their bodies slowly floated down, the insignia and magic circle disappeared, and the second his feet touched the ground, all the extra magic that had flowed through him temporarily left him. His body, starved for energy, started to shut down.
Perhaps he should do this more often. It would certainly cure his insomnia. “Ha ha ha,” he whispered. Before his eyes closed, he remembered his neighbors stirring, a hand pressed against his forehead, and a cry of “He’s burning up!”
------
According to Poppy, he had used so much magic that he contracted a magic-induced fever for a week. Magic-induced fevers were a tricky thing, as the use of healing spells only seemed to aggravate them, especially in the beginning days. So each neighbor had to wait for their wizard to naturally break the fever.
“Oh honey,” she murmured between his waking moments, “it’s okay. I don’t know what you did, but shhh. Focus on healing up, okay?” A handkerchief dabbed at his eyes and cheeks. Was he crying? He couldn’t remember the last time he did.
When his fever finally broke, and he could handle walking around without looking as if he would tip over if he took one too many steps, The Neighborhood packed their things and set up to travel to their next big town.
Wally was quiet on their first few days of traveling. He smiled and nodded and laughed when his neighbors talked with him, but speaking actual words was difficult for a bit. It was as if the excess of magic he had to use had chased away his voice. Or maybe it was the shock of seeing, hearing, feeling, his neighbors around him again. Alive. Happy.
Unaware.
He couldn’t let them know. He could never let them know.
When he started to speak again, Barnaby was the first one to give him one of his bone-crushing hugs. Wally remained as limp as ever in them, but he nuzzled into them harder than before.
“Missed hearing you buddy,” Barnaby whispered to him.
Another thing that bothered Wally was that his eyes hurt. They starved for things. In private, he found that if he stared at something for long enough with the intent to consume it, almost comical bite marks appeared in the object and that craving was reduced. He could also blink to initiate the eating process, but blinking scared him. In the dark of the night, if he widened his eyes enough, yellow crosses appeared in them.
“Hello Home,” he whispered, when his neighbors were fast asleep and snoring. “We’re forgotten Home. It’s as if we never existed for 50 years. I don’t think they remember that either.” He picked up an apple that he had bought earlier that day. He stared at it, and bite marks appeared in the flesh. “Do you see our adventures? I hope that you enjoy what we do Home.”
In his head, he heard a creak, like a door swinging on its hinges.
“That’s good, I think.”
Wally placed the apple core down and curled up to sleep. He closed his eyes, and murmured “I’m sleeping, I’m sleeping, I’m sleeping” until his consciousness faded away.
He had his neighbors back. He had a new neighbor. And he would cherish them for as long as he could.
Until death did them apart.