Lazarus of Bethany, Saint Lazarus, Lazarus of the Four Days, Righteous Lazarus, hated Halloween. It wasn’t that he didn’t like candy or children or costumes. On the contrary, he found all of those things delightful. However, in his long association with the Earth, the celebratory night had only recently taken on any of those characteristics. The Celts, those stubborn and troublesome people, had long ago laid the foundation of All Hallow’s Eve to mark the darkening of the year. In their blasphemous veneration of the dead, they had weakened the veil between the awake and the sleeping. And someone had to clean that mess up.
As someone who had stood in both the land of the living and the dead, it had been decided that Lazarus was the one to do it. As the new order of the Nazarene came to pass, the old traditions were viewed anew, but even the transformation of the pagan holiday into a Christian vigil hadn’t swayed its unearthly powers. In the end, moving around the globe to sweep up old martyrs and spirits back into the rightful place of the dead wasn’t any easier than helping families put grandma back in the ground.
Worst of all, Lazarus couldn’t start work until after midnight. He had always been a morning person.
It always ended where it began, though, and so he took his bare feet and walked the old roads of Eurasia. He headed west, making his usual visit to Lady Catherine and the other caoineag. Their incessant wailing could only be bested by bagpipes, which he picked up from the Glencoa boys long ago. Fortunately, those old soldiers were only too happy to see Lazarus and be put back in the ground. The old Continent certainly had its share of the headless or handless. Countless centuries of butchery had given rise to ghosts that only Lazarus’ lifetime of experience under the Romans had prepared him for.
The First People of the Americas rarely needed any help from him as they had been shouting restless spirits into the Western sky long before Lazarus was born. The rest of the population had stubborn and disjointed ghosts, particularly the East Coasts’ Puritan ancestors. A few recitations from the Book of Common Prayer, though, particular one inscribed by the angel Malak, sent those old killers packing.
Around the Pacific, the qaitu were involved in everyday life, so All Hallow’s Eve wasn’t special for them, but the thinning of the veil meant that sometimes a bygone mother could become a bit overbearing. Sitting down with those old matrons and asking for images of their grandchildren that had passed was usually enough to make them wistful to return to the Legendary Place.
Asia had the most terrible ghosts, at least to Lazarus’ reckoning. Avenging ghosts, drowned ghosts, hopping ghosts, cannibal ghosts, baby ghosts, vampire ghosts, and every ghost with a gaping wound. Fortunately, this meant the land was filled with peoples that had spent generations acquiring knowledge of how to dispel such angry dead, so typically Lazarus only needed to escort the defeated back through the veil.
It was only towards the end when he arrived in the Mohandiseen district that he found the one he venerated. Down narrow Egyptian streets he found an establishment with Japanese lanterns hanging outside. Inside was a well traveled man competent with chopsticks after years of practice. Lazarus only smiled at the old one and said, “How is it that you always get out?”
The old man finished chewing and then raised his eyes to the ceiling. “From deep in the realm of the dead I called for help, and you listened to my cry.”
“You’re a long way from Nineveh.”
“So was the ocean,” the eater replied with a knowing smile. He respectfully set down his chopsticks and wiped his mouth. “But I suppose I should get ready to leave.”
Lazarus smiled, and leaned forward to whisper in the other man’s ear in a conspiratorial tone. “Well, I might need your help.”
“How do you mean?”
“There’s a weird one out on this Allhallowtide. An etemmu on the loose. An old slain god that was left in human flesh, so he thinks he’s human.”
“Hard to banish a ghost who thinks he’s human.”
“Exactly.”
The sushi-eater raised his eyes towards the ceiling again. “What a strange world.”
“Indeed. Can I get your help?”
“Of course. Let me finish my kujira and we can go.”
See the author’s published work here.
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