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songs.
    Composed of ingredients and materials I couldn’t even begin to recognize or understand, I would quickly grab one, run over to my victim before he slept, and begin singing. Already drugged, they never had the strength to fight back.
    I had no clue what damage each song would eventually cause to the listener. There weren’t any books or instruction manuals to guide me. There were only the lyrics, what they did…and why they were essential to my survival.
    I had to sing…or die.
    “How many of us are out there?” he asked suddenly.
    “Henry,” I said, taking a deep breath and ignoring his question. “You were never supposed to be down here.”
    “No,” he growled. “No I wasn’t. Never. But I was, and I became this…this thing. But you know what? It’s okay. It’s okay.”
    “Only murderers repeat themselves,” Elliot muttered.
    “And how did you get rich?” Henry spat back. I stepped forward and put a hand to Henry’s chest. It was a dirty trick, but one that never failed. Touch was without question, Henry’s weakness.
    “Let’s go upstairs,” I whispered to him. He gulped and studied my face. My lips, my hair, my eyes, my lips again…
    “I could be persuaded,” he said flatly.
    “Ugh,” Elliot replied. “ He’s the dog.”
    Henry snapped back to attention and pushed me backwards.
    “Just tell me!” he shouted. “Tell me how many of us are out there!”
    “There are eight,” I said slowly. “All of you are different.”
    “Then why am I zombie with this pompous mama’s boy?”
    “That insult didn’t even make sense,” Elliot said.
    “Alex!” Henry shouted, shaking me out of my stupor.
    “You are both zombies,” I confirmed, “but different in make-up. I don’t have a book to tell me the details…it’s kind of hard to explain but…each of those songs in there – I have no clue what any of them do. But when I sing one, it’s like I’m instantly given the knowledge of their purpose. Not the specifics of what the lyrics are saying, but what they do to the user. I guess it’s to help me make an informed decision in the end. I don’t know.”
    “So answer my question,” Henry said. “How are we zombies, but different?”
    “Elliot has issues with decomposition,” I declared truthfully. “Trouble keeping himself whole. That is his curse. While you - you have the hunger. I didn’t want to believe that was true for either of you but it’s what my mind keeps telling me.”
    “What your mind keeps telling you,” Henry scoffed as he shrugged his shoulders and began walking past me. “I’m leaving.”
    “What? No! Wait!”
    “Don’t worry,” he called back as he began climbing the steps. “I didn’t take anything.”
    “No! I need you for –“
    The door slammed shut and I was left alone in silence. Elliot broke the stillness after a minute, clearing his throat and raising his hands to stare at them.
    “It makes sense,” he said. “And I can understand Henry’s passionate exit despite my reluctance to say it…the more we learn about what made us…the mo re everything seems so hopeless.”
    “It’s not,” I said assuredly. “We’ll find a nother cure, I swear. I’ll unravel the mystery.”
    “Sure,” he stated before reaching back and unhooking his straps. Elliot fell to the floor in a slump and then he immediately rose to his elbows and began crawling away from me.
    “Where are you going?” I asked as he awkwardly climbed the stairs.
    “To think,” he said. “If you don’t mind, I need some time alone.”
    “No, it’s okay,” I said, standing perfectly still. “I understand.”
    It was only when he made it to the top of the stairs that he realized that the door was fastene d shut. I didn’t even speak to him. I just walked up, opened the door for him and closed it behind me. I decided to stay in the basement for a little while. I owed it to them to give them their space. And besides, I did need to get moving on figuring out a cure.