Ezekiel Keep

Keeper knocks on the front door as he puts on a fake friendly demeanor. Owen sighs, he imagined it would be hard seeing his parents, but he’s dreading seeing his little sister. Having to see Zoe grieving seemed like a bitch to have to do.

The cold snipped at the boys as the wind picked up. Owen wonders why everything about death is so depressing. You’re always cold, you’re always hungry, and you always have a splitting headache- or is that from Keeper? Owen grumbles as he thinks about it.

“Stop making random noises. You’re distracting.” Keeper quickly whispers to Owen as the door handle starts to turn.

The boys are greeted by a woman. Her eyes are a warm but sad, brown and her dark curls fall against her face. Though sad, she smiles at Keeper.

“Hello, how can I help you?” Owen’s mother speaks. Her voice is warm and friendly.

“Hi…” Owen mumbles as he feels a surge of emotions build up in his throat. He decides to step back and let Keeper handle talking to his mom.

“Hello, Mrs. Creeks! Uhm…” Keeper rubs the back of his neck as he watches Owen out of the corner of his eye move away a little. “I’m… Ezekiel Keep. I was a friend of Owen… would it be possible to come in to talk to you?”

“Oh! I wasn’t aware he had a friend named Ezekiel… but yes! Please, come in!” She moves aside to let Keeper into the home. Owen follows behind him. “You must be very cold! You aren’t dressed in the slightest for the cold!”

“I’m alright. It can get pretty cold where I’m from so this is nothing.” Keeper chuckles and sits on the couch.

“So, Ezekiel-” Owen’s mother starts, but Keeper interrupts.

“Zeke is good.” Keeper smiles.

“Oh! Okay! So, Zeke, how did you know my son?” She smiles and sits by him on the couch.

Owen takes a look around the room. It had been a while since he had been home. The room was scattered with photos of Owen from every stage of his life. Baby photos, birthdays, school photos, and even a few of his graduation. Keeper looks at an album on the coffee table in front of him and chuckles before answering her.

“Oh, we were pen pals. We wrote pretty often.” Keeper picks up one of the photos from Owen’s graduation. “Wow, is this him?”

“Yep! Those were the early stages of his diagnosis, so he still had a lot of life in him.” She smiles. “He changed a lot over the past few years of his life… sometimes I miss when he would sneak out in the middle of the night to go ride his skateboard at the park…”

Owen chuckled under his breath remembering those days too. When his hair was longer, when he didn’t care so much about life, and when he didn’t care so much about death. Keeper glances up at Owen, the smile he’s wearing almost feels real, but Owen knows it’s all just an illusion.

“Uhm… I know this might be strange to ask… but who were Owen’s doctors?” Keeper looks up at Owen’s mom and smiles. “I wanted to send a thank you letter for helping Owen stay alive as long as they did.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart!” Owen’s mom stands up. “I can go grab their information from the kitchen. I still have their contact information somewhere.”

Owen’s mom stands up and goes into the kitchen. Keeper sighs after she leaves the room and sits back against the couch. They listen for a second to see if she’s coming back.

“Nice photos.” Keeper mumbles to Owen.

“Thanks.” Owen rolls his eyes and sits on the chair across from the couch. “It’s uncomfortable watching you pretend to be my friend around my mom.”

“Aren’t we friends?” Keeper smirks and rolls his eyes, almost… playfully?

“Stop talking.” Owen looks away flustered as Keeper lifts a baby photo and shows him.

“Awe…! Look at baby Owen!” Keeper whispers and smirks. He puts the photo back down as they hear Owen’s mother entering the room.

“Sorry about that!” She smiles and gives a folded-up paper to Keeper. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“I know it might be a lot to ask, but I don’t exactly have a place to stay…” Keeper rubs the back of his neck. “Would it be okay if I stayed here? Just until I head home! Shouldn’t be more than a few days!”

“Oh…” She looks away for a moment. “We don’t have any spare rooms… but as Owen’s friend, I suppose he wouldn’t mind you staying in his room… There's a spare bed in there already since his sister recently moved into her new room. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine! Thank you so much Mrs. Creeks!” Keeper smiles.

“You can call me Angie!” Owen’s mom smiles at Keeper and pats his back gently, to which he sits up a little shocked at the sudden touch.

“Thank you so much, Angie!” He gets up and lets her lead the way to Owen’s room.

“Here ya go!” She smiles and lets the boys be in the room.

The boys are left alone in the abandoned but preserved remains of Owen’s past. Dust collects on the shelves, but other than that it’s exactly how Owen left it. Owen plops down onto his bed, but it doesn’t shift under his weight.

“Wow… you liked the color blue, huh?” Keeper mumbles looking around at the blue walls.

“I’ve had the same room since I was born, you can’t blame me.” Owen chuckles and closes his eyes. “It’s the same…”

Keeper stays quiet as he rummages through Owen’s dresser. Keeper pulls out some of the clothes from the bottom of the drawer, assuming they’re the oldest or least worn of Owen’s.

“These are way too big for me.” Keeper mumbles.

“Well, duh.” Owen chuckles and sits up to look at him.

Keeper is standing holding up one of Owen's shirts to his torso. Owen can’t help but laugh as he watches Keeper put the shirt on over his clothes. The sleeves go down to his fingers. Keeper grunts and glares at the sleeves.

“This is so stupid. Why are your clothes so big?” He crosses his arms and glares at the floor.

“I think you’re just short. C’mon, I’ll help you find something that fits.”

Owen stands up and watches as Keeper rummages around the dresser some more. He stops Keeper when they get to one of his sister's shirts. He’s not entirely sure why it’s in there, his mom probably thought it was his for some reason.

“That should fit.”

“Thanks.” Keeper grabs a pair of pants and the shirt and goes into the closet to change.

Owen lays back on the bed and watches the ceiling. It’s so strange to be back… he had planned to come back home to live out the rest of the days, but he took a sudden turn for the worse and didn’t get to go back home. Owen was okay with that, as long as he got to say goodbye to his family. He can vaguely remember the letter he wrote to his sister when he found out how bad it was getting.

Owen’s thoughts get interrupted as Keeper emerges from the closet. Keeper sits on the bed on the other side of the room and yawns.

“Everything fits alright?” Owen asks, sitting up against the bed.

“I had to roll up the pants, but other than that it fits.” Keeper stretches and lays down.

“So… Ezekiel?” Owen asks, hoping to start a conversation. At this point neither Owen or the Keeper could figure out why either of them kept trying to make small talk when all it did was start fights.

“That’s not my real name, so don’t even start with that bullshit.” Keeper sighs as he takes the folded paper out of his pockets and examines it. “One step closer to getting to go back home…”

“Why are you so secretive?” Owen chuckles and watches his ceiling fan spin.

“There’s no point in trying to get to know people. They’ll either die or leave for the afterlife. No one stays because no one can stay.” Keeper grumbles as he writes something down on the paper.

“So it’s a defense mechanism?” Owen looks over at Keeper feeling a little puzzled.

“It’s not a defense mechanism, I just don’t like getting close to people. They’re all stupid.” Keeper grumbles. “They spend their lives in a delusional state thinking they’re invincible, that the only thing that can hurt them is time. Then when they find out they’re not, they spend the rest of the time they have in denial, running from their fate…”

“Well, that's a very negative way of thinking… have you tried therapy?” Owen mumbles.

“Who’s going to give me a therapy session?” Keeper puts the paper down to glare at Owen. “Cause these humans are definitely going to believe me when I tell them that I am a supernatural, immortal being whose only purpose for existence is to live in the middle of a purple desert and try to be a guidance counselor to some very angry ghosts.”

“Fair enough.” Owen sighs and looks back at the ceiling fan. “Okay, try me. I’ll pretend to be a therapist. I’ve had enough therapy over the years that I can definitely try.”

“No.” Keeper goes back to staring at the paper.

“You aren’t even reading that! You’re just using it as an excuse to not have to face your problems.” Owen points into the air as he talks.

“Right now, you’re my biggest problem.”

“See! I’m right!” Owen chuckles. “C’mon, what’s the worst that could happen if you open up?”

“Your brain would explode and blood would gush from your eyes and ears if I told you my secrets.” Keeper says as he looks up from the paper to Owen.

‘Seriously?” Owen pauses to look at him, concern dripping from his words.

“No.” Keeper goes back to reading.

“Then tell me something!” Owen throws his hands into the air.

“Then answer me this… why do you want to know me?” Keeper puts the paper down as he stares at Owen.

“Because…” Owen stops and wonders for a moment. Why does he want to know Keeper? “I… am trusting you with my life, and I know nothing about you. You held a spear to my throat, have threatened to kill me, and you’re literally sitting in my bedroom … yet I know nothing about you.”

The boys sit in silence as Owen waits for a response. Keeper scans the page he’s been reading over and over once more, before crumbling it up and shoving it back into his pocket. Keeper rolls over to lie on his stomach, looking away from Owen.

“What do you want to know?” Keeper sighs.

“Just… tell me about your past. What are you, who are you, literally anything? You’re a complete stranger to me, and that scares me.” Owen mumbles and watches Keeper as he talks.

“I am originally from Tabborant, like you. However, I came from a much different time.” Keeper answers quietly, almost like he's trying to make it so quiet that Owen can’t hear.

“So you’re human?”

“Yes, I am an immortal human soul. I died when I was 22. Obviously, souls don’t age, so I guess I’ve been 22 for 621 years.” Keeper chuckles.

“How did you die?” Owen sits up a little more, feeling a little more curious now that he’s getting Keeper to open up.

“Uh…” Keeper chuckles once again, this time more nervously, and rubs his eyes. “I was hanged for witchcraft.”

“Jesus Christ-” Owen nearly falls off the bed. He was expecting something like the plague, or literally anything other than to hear Keeper had been executed. “Are you okay- I mean you died but-”

“My death… is obviously not a pleasant memory, nor are the ones leading up to it…” Keeper sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I fought as hard as I could to live… all the way up to the moment of my death…”

The boys sit in silence for a little longer. Owen wishes he could say something, but loses his words. Even though Owen knows death, and has felt it, imagining Keeper being dragged up to a stand with a noose tied around his neck, just made him feel so scared. Not for himself, but for the small man. No one should have to go through that, Owen thought.

“I’m so sorry…” Owen blinks as he sits there. “I don’t know what to say… I’m just… sorry…”

“It is what it is.” Keeper chuckles with his back turned to Owen.