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Church of Bones	By : LuciferDragon Category: +M through R > Rise of the Guardians Views: 1334 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own nothing in the Rise of the Guardians world, and I make no profit at all from this fiction. All in good fun.

Chapter List
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3
A week went by with very little progress. I even sent Hessian, Onyx, and Bellini out to find more information, but they came back with nothing. It was starting to give me a lot of stress that I didn't need on top of Halloween fast approaching.
Surprisingly enough, it was putting stress on Pitch as well. The first few days I saw him hunched over a few books at the table meant to be temporary. Now he was surrounded by used books, becoming more and more frustrated with every turn of the page. He even snapped at Drago, and I had to explain to the boy that his father was just not to be bothered for the time being.
Once I sent him on his way, I approached Pitch myself, keeping my slight raspy voice soft. "Oogie, take a break, please. You've been at this for days."
"I can't, Hana. You wouldn't understand."
I did, though. The death of that boy was bothering him more than it should have. The entire time he had gone from Kozmotis Pitchiner to Pitch Black, he had done very horrible things, especially to children. Seeing other creatures of the night do what he did would strike a nerve in him. He did care, in his own twisted way. Without beings to scare, we would slowly fade away, like many other icons had throughout the years. The only reason he had lasted so long was the fact fear never dies.
I didn't say a word as I stood behind his chair. I tilted his chin up to look at me, allowing me to see just how tired he really was. His eyes were more sunken than usual. "Oogie, you need to sleep."
"I can't." He tugged out of my grasp, returning his attention to the book.
I suppressed an urge to growl. "I'm ahead of schedule today. Leave your notes and I'll take over."
"Just leave me be, Hana."
He only sent me away when he was really angry. "You're only one man. Don't do this alone."
I backed away as shadow tendrils escaped from his body, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "I said, leave me be!"
I hadn't seen his shape slip in a very long time. This went far beyond stress, and I needed to get away from him. "As you wish, Pitch." I sank into the shadows, emerging in my own workstation. I found Drago there, helping the Skels with Jack-'O-Lanterns. He had a knack for carving very terrifying faces into the fruit. "What are you working on?" I asked, leaning over the other side of his table. I couldn't see his current work.
He put the tools down, frowning at the pumpkin. "Mommy, does Daddy hate me?"
My heart fell at the question. "Oh, no honey. He's just under a lot of pressure right now to help that young man who was here last week."
"But isn't Dad a bad guy? Aren't we all bad?"
I bit my lip. "Well, in a way, yes. The children need people like us, Drago. They cannot survive off of happiness alone. They need to be scared. They need to be reminded of their mortality. That is what your father does every night. It's what I do every year. And it's what you'll do when you're old enough to be out on your own."
"He has things he's scared of."
"We all do."
"The fears include you."
I wasn't sure what he meant. I watched him pick up the carving knife again. "His greatest fear is being forgotten. That doesn't include me."
Drago shook his head, picking at a pile of salted baked pumpkin seeds. "There's something else he fears. Something he's scared to tell you."
Now I was curious. We had agreed marriage was not for us, and so remained together in a mutual companionship. We had no labels, it was what is was. To us, it was enough. Or so I thought. Was that it?
I wouldn't get to find out as a set of hands rested on my shoulders. "We need to talk."
I didn't look at him. "Drago, go upstairs please. You can finish your pumpkin later."
The boy left the table without a complaint, taking his seeds with him. Pitch sat next to me on the bench, looking genuinely apologetic. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."
"I know you're stressed. I expect no less from you. I should have backed off."
He looked around the workshop, seeing the Skels and Shadowbats still hard at work. "I still haven't found anything. I didn't think it would be this difficult."
"It's not something you should kill yourself over. Give your eyes a break." I pressed my lips together, still troubled by what Drago had told me. "What is it you fear?"
His eyes narrowed in confusion. "What?"
"Your greatest fear. What is it?"
"Being forgotten, you know this."
I shook my head. "It's apparently something you're too scared to tell me."
His expression went neutral. "Drago's been using his abilities again, hasn't he?"
"He said you have a greater fear. One you can't tell me."
"He's wrong."
He had answered so suddenly, I had trouble believing him. However, I nodded, trying to brush it off as nonsense. "Have you narrowed it down?"
"Every time I get closer to figuring it out, a detail pops up that doesn't fit in." He leaned over the table, rubbing at his eyes in exhaustion.
"I didn't think it would be easy with just you doing the research this time." I got up from the bench and stood behind him. I pulled his coat down a bit to have better access to his neck and shoulders so I could rid him of the knots that had built up over the past few days. "But at least you have it narrowed down more."
"But not figured out."
"It takes time, Oogie. It can't be rushed." I felt him loosen up a bit. "Go rest for awhile. I'll take over. Really, I am ahead of schedule."
He wouldn't have to. The horses returned at that moment, reappearing through the shadows. Hessian came forward first, nickering softly.
"What have you found?"
"Stories, but they may hold true."
Pitch looked up. "They found something?"
I nodded, knowing he couldn't hear Hessian, just as I couldn't hear Onyx. "Yeah. Give us a moment. What did you three find?"
"About thirty-four years ago, there was a serial killer in Frankford. He became known as the Frankford Slasher. His first victim was killed in 1985, and the last woman killed in the same way, associated with the killer, was done in 1990. A suspect was convicted of one murder, but the rest are unsolved still." He snorted. "With how long it's been since the last death, I wouldn't be surprised if the actual murderer had died of old age."
My eyes widened. "Of course."
"What?"
"I think I've got it." I slipped into the shadows and emerged into the main room. I sat at the table and pulled a specific book towards me. I felt his presence behind me as I frantically flipped through the pages. My heart leapt in my chest as I found the entry I was looking for. "This is it." I handed him the book.
He frowned. "A revenant?"
I nodded. "It has to be. It fits everything."
"You seem to forget I can't hear your horse."
I took the book back. "He said there was a story floating around about a killer that ran rampant in the Frankford area of Pittsburg, thirty-four years ago. That was when the last of the killings happened. The killer could be dead, and now completing his work."
His frown deepened. "I've heard of that one. The Frankford Slasher. He killed only women though. Why change now?"
"Wouldn't you change your M.O. if you were back from the grave?"
"I suppose. But there hasn't been a documented case of a revenant since the 12th century. I've seen them. They're violent messes of creatures."
"Which is perfect for a killer." I closed the book, setting it aside from the others. "As a revenant, he can move silently, never be seen. He can do as he pleases as he couldn't in the physical realm once he kills enough."
He sat next to me, taking the book again. "From what I remember, the things smell foul from the decay of their bodies. That's not what brimstone smells like."
"They smell like decay when they first emerge. After a few killings, absorbing their victims' souls, they would heal. The decay would fade. But, since they're still dead, they would still smell of brimstone."
He put a finger to his lips as he read the page. "So it's killed already."
"Probably quite a few right under our noses." I looked to the side as the horses were approaching. "He's no longer in Frankford, we know this for a fact. Due to that, a few murders could have happened in the past month or so that no one's put together yet."
"Says here they can shapeshift. Into a hound."
I nodded. "So there's the answer. Our problem is a revenant."
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Church of Bones