Chapter 6: Ch. 5 – One Person’s Trash is Another Person’s Undead Cat

She should have known that success, especially for a Momo, would always be fleeting.

“You! Smelly one!” an unfortunately familiar voice interrupted her momentary happiness. It was John, smack dab in the center of the market. All around him, onlookers watched in silence as he ground his foot into what looked like a bear pelt, “do you know something about this bag o’ bones?”

Oh no. Momo gasped, dread washing over her. Phil!

An overwhelming sorrow crushed her good mood into dust. Phil didn’t deserve this fate—to be crushed under the fat, stubby toes of John the Meatman. Phil had been a good bear. He didn’t particularly like listening to instructions, or going where he was meant to go, but he licked her hand once or twice, and he had a good heart.

Okay, he didn’t have that either. But still.

Momo remained still and silent, the ocean of eyes upon her heightening her anxiety to a peak. She began to sweat, and she hurriedly shoved her bag of gold coins into her back pocket..

“Our watchmen tell us ye came from the south, and nothing good ever comes from those woods,” John shook his head, approaching her. He clenched the bear’s skull in his hand, his fingers holding it by the eye sockets, “and they saw a bear following close behind ye.”

“We’re a tight-knit village, this one,” he said, gesturing to all the people behind him. Most of them were country peasants, sellers of meat, dairy, and beer, and they were looking at her like she might as well be the next witch they hang, “and we have a real explicit attitude towards necros: slay ‘em.”

The urge to not be slain once again overpowering her urge to be silent and curl up into the fetal position, she stuttered “I–I’m not a necro, and I’ve never seen that bear in my life.”

“We saw ya!” a beanstalk of a man piped up, holding an accusatory finger towards Momo, “me and my lass Johanna. We were watching the woods with a mighty intensity, as we do everyday, when we saw a little lass and a bear walk on by. We thought she might have passed our village, but then we saw this undead bear walking on in…”

“A bear made a’ bones!” Johanna chimed in.

Momo cowered under the allegations. This was bad. But of course it was—why did she expect it to go any different? She couldn’t remember the last time something had just “worked out” for her. When things just “worked out” for people, they turned into social media influencers, and made their money selling magical weight loss powder on the internet.

A beautiful, enviable lifestyle. But not the one she had ever led.

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With no other options, Momo did what she did best—she stood still, absolutely paralyzed by fear.

“Hello?” John barked, shouting at her again, “you can’t even dignify us with a’ response, ya' necro?”

Embarrassingly, her eyes began to well up with tears. Not this again, she thought helplessly, once again at the mercy of her very low emotional ceiling. No matter who raised their voice at her—her mom, her dad, her brother, a professor, the Bendy Burger’s cashier when her credit card got declined—it only took a few moments before she was a babbling, crying mess, rivaling only nature’s greatest waterfalls.

She sniffed. How could she ever dream of becoming someone who inspired fear in others, like Valerica so badly wanted for her, when this was how she reacted to a threat?

“Oh,” John paused, suddenly unsure of himself, “uh, er—don’t cry.”

“It’s a necromancer trick!” Johanna cried out, but the rest of the town looked at her skeptically.

“Is this who we are now?” Bertha said, shaking her head. She walked in front of Momo, shielding her from the pitchfork wielding citizens, “blaming a smelly, unhoused girl for our own issues?”

Wonderful, Momo bowed her head down. If this was how she was going to win this encounter, she would much rather lose.

But it worked—everyone fell silent, thoroughly chastised.

Even John, with all his indignance, looked a bit regretful.

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