Assisted Living

They called it assisted living, but in truth it was more like postponed dying.

That was the point of places like Shady Pines. It wasn’t about you. It was about whoever put you there not feeling guilty about you dying. They – the amorphous ‘they’, your children, your relatives, the state – didn’t want to have to lay in bed at night feeling bad, so they paid to lengthen your shuffle to the grave. Like how people bought freezers and filled them with leftovers they’d still eventually throw out.

At least, that’s how it felt to Jez.

At 24, he was the youngest person that should’ve been dead in Shady Pines by at least half a century. Not that age mattered – he still required the same amount of care as any of the other walking corpses. Feeding, dressing, the daily changing of the colostomy bag. The break in his spinal cord had come beneath his C4 vertebrae, so thankfully he could still breathe unassisted, but the rest was pretty much out. Still, at least he was alive. If the kind and talented rescuers who’d extracted him from the wreckage had been just a little slower in delivering him to the kind and talented surgeons to operate, maybe things would have gone just a little worse and he would’ve died without ever waking up. Died instantly, like his parents and sister. Imagine how terrible that would’ve been. If he’d just been dead instead of stuck in a motorized chair for the next few decades in the constant process of shitting his pants.

Some might have called Jez bitter, but it’d been six months now and he was past that stage of grief. Besides, how could anyone be unhappy when they had canasta?

“It doesn’t have to be canasta,” Susan said kindly. She indicated a semi-manicured hand at the trolley. “There’s checkers or dominos. How about backgammon? Monopoly?”

“Poo bum fart,” said Dennis.

The common room was the same as it always was. Soft and ugly vomit-coloured carpet; chairs as worn as the residents. The musty, grassy, greasy smell of the aging, as pervading and innocuous as it was unpleasant. Slippered feet shuffled on the carpet. Walkers ached, recliners creaked. The muffled voices of the residents mumbled in the same pitch and cadence as the daytime television playing inoffensively in the background, the lull only occasionally spiked with a nurse’s younger tones.

Thursday afternoons at the nursing home were game days. In reality, you could play those same games any day at any time, but management had long since discovered that giving geriatrics a routine kept them docile. Stopped them thinking too hard about their quasi-imprisonment and the looming spectre of death.

“Whatever it is, make it quick,” snapped Violet. Thinner than almost everyone there, with lines of white hair hanging limp behind her skull, she resembled nothing so much as a heron afflicted with mange. She clutched at her pink woollen shawl and glanced around the common room anxiously, scanning the other residents and their tables. “Thomas is coming to pick me up soon and I can’t be in the middle of something.”

“Cock dick penis,” replied Dennis. He was in his mid-eighties and bald, with only singular wisps of hair circling his skin spots like cobwebs tangled on a broom. There was a chunk the size of a spam steak missing from one side of his neck where a skin cancer used to be. He’d been a war veteran, apparently.

“Oh I’d like to play canasta,” said Ethyl. Plump and rosy-cheeked with bottle-grey curly hair, she beamed up at Susan through tortoise-shell glasses. “That would be just lovely.”

“Fuck dicks mangy cunt.”

Aging, it turned out, affected people in different ways. Dennis had been afflicted quite distinctly – the language centres in his brain rotted to the point where he could only say curse words. Violet on the other hand had been stricken less markedly, but no less severely, with the implacable conviction that her husband were always coming to visit. And then you had Ethyl, upon who age had inflicted no interesting condition but instead just turned into an incredibly basic old person, which was in a way more cruel.

“Well Ethyl,” smiled Susan. Some of the thick foundation she always wore had rubbed off onto the blue collar of her nurse’s uniform. “Unfortunately it’s Jeffrey’s turn to pick a game this week. We all have to take turns. What game would you like to play Jeffrey?”

Jez made no move towards any game, still being paralysed from the neck down.

“I said Jeffrey, it’s your turn to pick a game, which game would you like to-”

“Dungeons and Dragons.”

For a moment, the only sound was the soft indifferent shuffling of the other tables and the distant flemming of Mr Johnson’s hacking cough.

“Jeffrey, I don’t think-”

“I know you have it.” Jez kept his gaze level, which was easy to do when you didn’t have to worry about your body moving. “I know the game shop donated a set last year.”

“Jeffrey…” Susan sighed. She looked at him with the expression of an exasperated mother. “I think it’s really important to think about those around you. I know you’re bored. But we all need to try really hard to be considerate of other people.”

“Faggot vagina,” said Dennis.

Jez was resolute. “I’d like to try it.”

“I think it would be difficult for-”

“Why are we still talking?” Violent barked, “Why isn’t the game happening? I told you, Thomas is coming to pick me up and if I’m not ready-”

“Are we playing canasta?” asked Ethyl, looking confused.

“No Ethyl,” said Jez, rotating his neck to look at her, “We’re trying something new.”

“Oh dear. I hope it isn’t too difficult.”

“Piss.”

“It’s not,” he replied, turning back to Susan pointedly, “It’s just playing make believe.”

Susan’s forehead crinkled, but ultimately it was difficult to refuse a quadriplegic.

“Give me a moment,” she sighed and walked towards the office.

*

“So you have to pick your class,” said Jez. He double-flicked his eyes at the A4 sheets with pre-made characters on them, which was the cue for Susan, who was acting as his hands, to pass them around. “You choose who you want to pretend to be.”

“Thomas and I were class of ’52,” Violet said, glancing around the table with the smug air of a particularly well-fed cat, “Head boy and girl. He can tell you about it when he gets here.”

“You can be an elven wizard,” Jez said, rolling his eyes, which counted as his exercise for the day.

“I’m not a wizard, I’m a woman.”

“Elven wizard woman.”

“Hmpf.” Violet turned away disdainfully. “Thomas hates magic tricks.”

“Shitting penis asshole.”

“You’re going to be a paladin,” Jez said, turning to Dennis, “A noble knight cursed by a witch to never speak a single word. Is that alright with you?”

Dennis considered for a moment. “Testicle.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Oh dear Jeffrey, I don’t know,” said Ethyl. Her liver-spotted hands trembled as they shuffled through the character sheets. “This looks very difficult.”

“You’ll be fine Ethyl.”

“I don’t know what half these words mean.”

“Just choose what you want to be and I’ll help you.”

“Oh dear, I don’t know, there’re so many choices.” She squinted through her reading glasses. “Con-sti-tu-ti-”

“Just pick. Warrior, cleric, barbarian-”

“Oh, I could be a barber,” Ethyl said suddenly, perking up, “I used to love cutting my sister’s hair.”

“Barbarian it is,” said Jez. He turned back to Susan. “Set us up.”

The young nurse hesitated for a second, then gave a small shrug as if to say ‘it’s your funeral.’

*

“As you approach the bodies of the dead horses with black-feathered arrows sticking out of them, four goblins leap from the thickets on either side.” Jez paused and looked around the table. “What do you do?”

The group was silent. In front of them, a plastic chessboard Susan had drawn on with whiteboard marker stood as a silent representation of Violet, Ethyl and Dennis’s characters and the made-up place they were pretending to be. In college the guys Jez had played with had used model terrain and painted miniatures to fuel their imaginations. Here their wizard, paladin and barbarian were a pepper shaker, a white chess bishop, and the little dog from Monopoly.

At his word, Susan laid out four red checkers to represent the four goblins, then returned to sitting silently beside him, her chin resting glumly on one hand. Violet was glancing around at other tables to see if Thomas was at one of them by mistake. Ethyl was gazing at him with the blissfully sunny expression of someone who hadn’t heard a single word he’d said. Only Dennis, situated at the opposite end of the table, was peering down at the chessboard, his eyes narrowed and his fingers pursed in front of his lips like a grandmaster calculating his next move.

“Fuck,” he said with grave finality. Jez and Susan just looked at him. After a couple of seconds, Dennis reached out a wrinkly hand and moved his bishop next to a checker-goblin. “Cock.”

“Um,” frowned Jez. He gazed directly into the old man’s grey eyes, which were surprisingly sharp. “Attack? Do you want to attack?”

This was how the game worked. One person said what they were pretending was happening, and then everyone pretended what their particular character would do. Then you rolled dice to see what happened.

“Ballsack,” Dennis confirmed with a nod.

“Right.” Jez had Susan roll a normal square dice and a bigger, twenty-sided one. “You hit the goblin. 6 damage. Well done.”

“Cunt,” smiled Dennis.

“This is ridiculous,” Violet hissed. She wriggled in her seat, her agitated fingers unknitting threads from her shawl. “Where is he? He should be here by now.”

“Violet,” Susan chided kindly, “Look here please. We’re playing a game now.”

Violet kept looking behind her. Jez followed her eyes.

“He won’t come until we finish the game,” he assured her. Violet’s white-haired head spun around, and she fixed him with a piercing gaze. “Don’t worry. Nobody’s coming until we’re finished.”

Violet hesitated. Then she twisted back to face the table, straightening up. “Well why didn’t you say so?” she snapped, “Let’s finish then. Quickly, get it over with. I want to see my husband.”

“It’s your turn.”

“Well I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said haughtily, gesturing at the board. “I don’t understand this silly game.”

“You have to defeat the goblins.”

“What goblins?”

“The red checkers.”

“And how do I do that quickly?”

“You use spells on them.”

“Fine,” she scowled, “I want to use the quickest, most powerful spell and kill them all until they’re dead.”

There was a moment’s silence. If Jez’s shoulders had worked he would’ve shrugged.

“You cast Magic Missile,” he said, “Three glowing darts of magical force hit the goblins.” He had Susan roll more dice. “The goblin closest to Dennis is dead.”

“Oh dear,” said Ethyl, looking gravely concerned, “I hope he’s okay.”

“No Ethyl, he’s dead. It’s your turn.”

“Oh dear.” She looked down at her monopoly dog. “What should I do?”

“Well you’re a barbarian. I’d suggest you Rage.”

“What does that mean?”

“You can get angry. Your character is a very big man and he gets stronger when he’s angry.”

Ethyl shook her head, aghast. “Oh no, I couldn’t do that. I’m not an angry person.”

“Ethyl, it’s just make-believe.”

“Oh no,” she said, still shaking her head, quite adamant. “You shouldn’t get angry. Do unto others as you would like them to do unto you. I would like to check if that gobbin fellow is alright.”

Jez sighed. Technically, the mark of a good dungeon master – the person who ran the game – was allowing their players the freedom to do what they wanted.

“You walk over to the goblin,” he said, “And you check how it’s doing.”

“Is he okay?”

“The goblin is still dead.”

“Oh dear,” Ethyl lamented, “Can we call an ambulance?”

“Fart dick fuck.”

Susan’s head sunk lower into her hands.

*

The afternoon ended with the battle complete and Ethyl’s placid barbarian having checked each dead goblin individually and given them a blanket. Susan wiped the whiteboard marker off the chessboard, and Jez was wheeled back into his room to be fed and watered and put into bed to stare at the ceiling for another night. Morning came around like it always did and Jez got his half an hour in the garden to photosynthesise with the other plants. Lunch was spaghetti, the Friday afternoon movie was Casablanca, and by the time Humphrey Bogart thought he spied the beginning of a beautiful friendship the memory of the game had already diminished into a small blip of abnormality in Jez’s mind. An off-coloured bauble, hung on the sad branches of his life to mark the passage of time.

Until Violet sought him out.

He was positioned to sit alone and stare out the common-room window when she stormed, as furiously as any 85-year-old woman could storm, to stand, hands on her hips, in front of his chair.

“Now listen here,” she demanded and Jez, unable to really go anywhere, did indeed listen from that very spot. “That ridiculous game we were playing. Did we finish it?”

The question took Jez somewhat by surprise, but he nevertheless tried to answer honestly. “Well no, not really. We finished one battle. But the whole game can go on much longer.”

Violet glanced to her left, her eyes narrowing. “I knew it,” she hissed, “That explains it. Thomas said he’d pick me up after the game was over, and he hasn’t arrived. He must be waiting for me you know. Blasted man. Too polite by half.”

“I don’t think-” began Jez, but Violet interrupted him with a snap of her fingers.

“Come on then. Let’s go. I haven’t got all day. My husband is a very patient man, but I won’t keep him waiting. We need to keep playing. Chop chop.”

It took Jez’s brain a few seconds to process what was going on, but he didn’t resist when he got there. That was another thing about being quadriplegic – you got used to going where people took you. 

“Well, see if you can find the others,” he suggested, “We’ll need more than just you.”

“Others?” frowned Violet.

“Dennis and Ethyl. And probably a nurse.”

“Obviously,” Violet said with a snark, and strode off – as determinedly as any 85-year-old woman could stride – to gather up their party.

*

“The town consists of about forty or fifty simple log buildings, some built on old fieldstone foundations. More old ruins – crumbling stone walls covered in ivy and briars – surround the newer houses and shops, showing that this was once a much larger town.” Jez paused. “As you approach, you see children playing on the street and townsfolk doing chores or running errands at shops.”

“Oh, I do love children,” said Ethyl. She smiled a heartfelt smile at Jez and the needles in her lap clicked in a steady rhythm. “They’re simply marvellous, absolutely grand. What are they playing?”

“Thomas and I never had children,” sniffed Violet, “For the best really. Oh, we considered it. But he had his career to think about, and I-” She stopped abruptly and her face hardened. “I… never mind.”

“Shit-breath cocksucker.”

“I beg your pardon dear?” frowned Ethyl, craning to hear.

“Asshole.”

“As you enter the town you’re approached by four human ruffians in grimy scarlet cloaks,” Jez continued, “They look at you menacingly and draw their weapons. ‘Listen up strangers’, they say, ‘Give us everything you’ve got and get out of here’.” He paused and looked between the three seniors. “What do you do?”

There was silence at the table as Violet fretted in her seat, Dennis silently studied the layout of the town Susan had drawn on the chessboard, and Ethyl peered shrewdly at Jez.

“Do they look very nice?” she asked slowly, as though the question was both profound and of incredible importance.

“No Ethyl, they look like thieves.”

“Oh dear,” Ethyl said sadly, looking back down at the board, “Well, better do as they say. Oh my, this is unfortunate.” She turned to Dennis. “I don’t think this is a very safe neighbourhood.”

“Fuck bum shit.” Dennis reached over and moved his bishop next to the closest ‘bandit’, staring gravely at Jez, then raised his hand and made a firm motion of hitting someone over the head.

“Roll to attack,” said Jez.

“Rolling to attack,” sighed Susan, scooping up the appropriate dice.

“Are we fighting?” barked Violet. She gripped either side of the table and glared down at the board. “Vermin. Vagabonds. Vile cutthroats. Kill them all, get this over with. I’m sick of waiting Thomas.”

“Gonna take that as another Magic Missile.”

“I would like to know,” said Ethyl, placing her knitting down cautiously and folding her hands in front of her, “If it would be possible to ask, very politely, if we could resolve this all without violence.”

Jez frowned at her. “Ethyl, again, your character is a barbarian. You’re a big tall muscly man who likes fighting things.”

“Oh no, I don’t think so dear. That would be most terribly rude.”

“Fucking fucking cock fuck.”

“Well you can always ask,” sighed Jez.

“Do I have to roll something to see if she convinces them?” asked Susan.

“Yep,” replied Jez, flicking his eyes twice to point. “The twenty-sided one.”

“Hurry up,” snapped Violet – though she made no movement to leave. “Hurry up.”

*

“You step into the evil wizard’s room.”

They’d been playing for almost four hours. After every battle and encounter Jez expected it to end, that the group of seniors would become tired or distracted or wander off – but they never did. With only a quick break for afternoon tea and biscuits, the three geriatrics continued to move their little pieces around the made-up world that Susan drew and re-drew, growing, if anything, ever more animated as they did. They defeated the bandits and some skeletons, an ugly monster with one eye, and then some hairy things called ‘Bugbears’ which, Jez explained, kind of looked like very hairy people or maybe brown abominable snowmen.

And now they’d reached the bad guy.

“Cock,” said Dennis.

“Not wrong,” said Jez, then continued. “The walls of his bedchamber are draped in scarlet cloth. A dark-bearded man in robes sits at the desk, a beautiful glass staff leaning against his chair.”

“Oh I love glasswork,” sighed Ethyl, leaning back in contentment. So far she’d declined to actually participate in any of the fighting, but seemed to be having fun nonetheless. “I would like to check-” she paused and smiled knowingly at Jez, having now learnt that an important part of the game was asking to check things, “-if he made it himself.”

“Magic Missile,” Violet interjected through gritted teeth. “Absolutely absurd. Sorcery. Games for children. I cannot believe Thomas is forcing me to finish this nonsense.”

“Violet,” Susan began kindly, placing a hand on her arm, “If you don’t want to play, you-”

“Hush up. Don’t you talk about my husband. Magic Missile. Let’s get this over with.”

“You’re out of Magic Missiles,” said Jez, “You’ve done that one too many times. You need to use something else.”

Without prompting Dennis passed her the Player’s Handbook.

“Fucking cock fart.”

“Absolutely outrageous,” complained Violet, but nevertheless began reading through the pages on additional spells.

While they were all momentarily distracted Jez continued his description.

“The man sees you and rises to his feet. Before you can do anything he steps back and levels the staff at you with one hand and with the other drags out a hostage, a little girl. He holds her in front of himself as a human shield. ‘Stay back!’ he snarls, ‘Foolish do-gooders! One step closer and this snivelling brat gets it! Her soul is mine!’”

“Cocksucker,” growled Dennis.

“I don’t understand what he’s doing with their souls,” complained Susan, “Is he like eating them or something?”

“He’s evil,” explained Jez, “He’s an evil wizard. He’s doing evil.”

“Wizards and magic. Ridiculous.”

“Motherfucking cock ass.”

“He’s… he’s got a girl?”

The chatter stopped. Everyone, with the exception of Violet, looked across the table at Ethyl, who was sitting, silent, her knitting seemingly forgotten, staring at the little makeshift objects on the little made-up board. The words had slipped out of her mouth like sewing pins, small and sharp and pricked with pain.

“He’s got a little girl,” she whispered. Her hands trembled in her lap. Susan shot a panicked glance at Jez before turning back to the old lady.

“Ethyl it’s fine,” the nurse reassured her, “It’s just a game. You don’t-”

“No!” cried Ethyl. The word cracked her voice. She rose unsteadily to her feet, her shaking hands clutching the table. “You leave her alone!” For a wild moment Jez thought she was talking to him, but then he followed her gaze as it burned into the solitary figure of the black King, standing in the centre of the board.

“You vile, evil man.” Her finger quivered as it pointed, as the accusation fell. “You do not touch her! You listen to me. You do not touch little girls!”

“Ethyl-” Jez began, stunned, but before he could think of what to say the old woman gave a soft wail and collapsed back into her chair, hunched over, her chest heaving. Her thin hands grasped at her shoulders, clutching herself as if cold.

Nobody spoke. After a few moments, Violet reached across and without looking took Ethyl’s hand. The old woman sniffed. The table was silent.

“It’s not real,” Jez said softly. But Ethyl shook her head.

“It’s not right,” she whimpered. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “He shouldn’t do that. He can’t get away with it. He can’t- he can’t hurt little girls.”

She turned to Jez, pleading. “She needs to run away.”

Jez could only shake his head. “She can’t.”

“Someone needs to help her.”

“They can’t Ethyl. There’s no one here but you.”

Silence. Ethyl’s gazed up at him, her eyes swimming and red. Words seemed to choke in her throat – but eventually, they crawled free.

“Can I stop him?” she whispered.

The chest Jez couldn’t feel felt tight.

“Yes,” he said simply, “You can.”

“You are Ragnar the Mighty. You are proud and you are brave. You are stronger than a lion and fiercer than a storm. You are not afraid of bad guys. Bad guys are afraid of you.”

Ethyl’s chest heaved. She bowed her head and her lips quavered. For the longest time, she said nothing.

Then finally, in a hoarse whisper –

“I attack.”

*

The next day it rained, and Jez’s time outside was cancelled. He resigned himself to being inside and being warm and hating every minute of it. He took lunch in his room and tried his hardest to move his mouth the right way so to not drip any on the nurse. He spent hours tracing raindrops down the window with his eyes and wondering what it would be like to fall.

And then, to his surprise, he had a guest.

Violet was both unapologetic and impatient, citing a conversation they’d never had and the absolute necessity of her husband’s arrival. Hunched over her walker, her heated tirade about the game and its subject carried nothing but scorn, but when she wheeled him from the room the other two were already waiting.

*

And so it went, on and on, like Jez had never expected. Every afternoon the group met, and every afternoon he guided them. Through caves and castles, across mountains and seas – fighting demons and dragons and genies and giants and a hundred other creatures living only in his words.

They had their impediments, but they adapted. Ethyl knitted a small scarlet beret and put it on whenever her character needed to be angry. Dennis bought himself a deck of spell cards off the newfangled computer, and by holding them up and pointing could fairly indicate what he wished his righteous knight to do. Often Susan acted as Jez’s hands, but if neither she nor another nurse were available Violet took charge – muttering the whole time about how Thomas hated “incompetent layabouts” but nevertheless doing Jez’s bidding without missing a beat.

The days rolled into weeks. Jez’s voice grew stronger. And the party journeyed ever onwards.

*

“As the smoke clears the necromancer stands aghast. His hands clutch to his chest, his power draining out of him in thick, silky waves. All around him, his undead minions fall to the ground. Behind you, the great dragon roars, and the dark shackles of magic binding it crumble to dust. He spreads his golden wings and lets loose a mighty bellow, then turns to offer thanks.”

“Oh see,” smiled Ethyl, “I knew he was nice.”

“Shit cock anus,” agreed Dennis.

Jez tried not to grin. “The magnificent beast lowers his head and affixes you with eyes the size of cellar doors. ‘You have freed me,’ it rumbles, in a voice that shakes the air, ‘I am forever in your debt. Name one thing you each desire, and if within my power, it shall be.’”

A lull descended over the table as the three players considered their options.

“I think…” Ethyl said slowly, “I’d like… a cup of tea.” She smiled warmly at everyone and got to her feet. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Fucking cunt shit dog,” said Dennis. He mimed hitting someone over the head, then a lengthening. Jez frowned.

“Big sword?” he asked. Dennis made a face. Jez tried again. “Better sword?” This time Dennis’s face split into a toothy grin. Jez smiled. “You got it boss.”

“Excuse me,” sniffed Violet. Jez rotated his head towards her as Susan rubbed clear the chessboard. She cleared her throat and sat a little straighter. “I know what I want.”

“Sure,” said Jez, “What is it?”

“I’d like to speak to Thomas.”

“Alright,” he sighed, “We know that. But what would-”

“I’D LIKE TO SPEAK TO THOMAS!”

Everybody froze. Around the common room, a dozen heads with hearing aids turned towards them.

Jez blinked. “Violet, you-”

But the old woman cut him off. “No,” she snarled. Underneath her knitted shawl her thin frame trembled with anger. “I’ve had about enough of this. Every day I play this absurd game, and every day he leaves me waiting. No more. I will not be stood up like a… like a common…” Her weathered face crinkled into lines of rage. “I WANT TO SPEAK TO THOMAS!”

For a moment the room was silent.

“Violet.” Susan reached over to take the old woman’s hand, her voice honey and placation. “You need to calm down, okay? Why don’t you come for a little lay down and-”

“Quiet wench,” Violet snapped, and the nurse physically recoiled at the acid in her words, “I don’t need your idiotic dithering. I am not a child. You!” She pointed directly at Jez. “You seem to be in charge here. Where is my husband? Why won’t he come to see me?”

A heaviness settled around Jez’s heart.

“Violet-” began Susan, but Jez spoke over her.

“Thomas is dead,” he said simply.

The silence scrapped around them like a knife. Violet glared at him, her eyes narrowed to points.

“Dead?” Her voice was cold. Jez quietly met her gaze.

“Yes,” he replied, “For some time now.”

Silence.

Across the table, something flickered in Violet’s eyes. Her thin knuckles twisted on either side of her shawl and her lips pursed as though sucking on something sour. For a moment, her shoulders hunched – then she took a long breath, as deep as her small form could carry, and straightened up, fixing Jez with an imperious gaze. She gave a single, curt nod.

“Be that as it may,” she said stiffly, “I’d still like to speak to him.”

Jez’s face was blank. “How?”

“What do you mean how?” Violet replied irritably. She waved a bony hand towards the board. “Magic, that’s how. Clean out your ears boy, that man was commanding the dead. If he can do it, why can’t I? I have spells, don’t I? Well what’s the point of all this magic nonsense if I can’t use it to speak to Thomas?”

She lifted her chin and stared at him straight on. Jez said nothing. To his right, he could feel Susan looking at him, but he ignored her. It was his game. It was his choice.

“Ok,” he said softly. He took a deep breath – his mouth was dry. “The dragon hears your request. It draws upon the magic deep inside it, and with a rush of power casts Speak With Dead.” Jez closed his eyes, and the world around him disappeared. “The connection is made. Thomas can hear you.”

For a few moments there was no sound, no light – only the swirling darkness beneath his eyelids. Jez waited and waited, though he wasn’t entirely sure for what. Then finally, tentatively, Violet’s voice extended from beyond the black.

“Thomas…?” she whispered. A second later he heard her click her tongue. “No, don’t answer. You were never one for talking. I’ll just- you just listen dear one.”

Violet let out a long, heavy sigh. “It’s so nice to talk to you again. It’s been so long, I… I hear you’re dead.” She drew a deep, shuddering breath, and her words wavered. “I’m so… sorry that I missed that Thomas. I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there. I should’ve been there. I’m sorry, I…” She gave a weak, hiccupping laugh. “I suppose I’m sorry for a lot of things.”

“I’m sorry for being such a miserable cow. I’m sorry for making you put up with me. I’m sorry for Peter. And I’m sorry for the baby.” Thick tears leaked into her voice. “I’m so, so sorry about the baby.”

The table was silent. Behind them, the low mumble of the common room shuffled on, oblivious. Rain pattered on the windows. Jez blinked back tears – then drew his voice as deep as he could.

“There is nothing to forgive.” He opened his eyes and looked at her.

Violet blinked quickly, looking away. “Good,” she murmured. She sniffed, and in that single breath pulled away any semblance of trembling in her speaking. “Of course not.” Her back straightened. “Now get out of here you daft man,” she commanded, “Leave me be. I won’t have you moping about. This place is dull as dishwater and not worth your time.” Her voice wavered, just a crack. “I’ll see you when I’m good and ready.”

The group fell silent. Beside him, Susan gave a wet sniff. Dennis bowed his head. Ethyl was still off getting tea. After a moment or two, Violet glanced between them.

“Well,” she said impatiently, “What’re we sitting around for? Get on with the game. I haven’t got all day.”

*

“The demon rises.”

Violet sat at attention. Dennis anxiously thumbed his spell cards. Ethyl had her red beanie on. In front of them, Susan adjusted the porcelain hummel figurine – a whistling boy with an umbrella – which represented the towering infernal beast of twisting horn and flame.

“Its footsteps shake the cavern. Cracks zig-zag through the roof and lava seeps from the floor. Its burning eyes turn upon you and the rescued captives. It roars.”

“I think now would be a good time to leave,” Ethyl suggested mildly. There was a general murmuring of agreement. The party moved their characters towards the door.

“Suddenly you are overwhelmed by the smell of sulphur. Nimble, spiny demons materialise nearby, their ravenous fangs gleaming in the lava-light. They swarm towards you, inhumanly fast.” Wordlessly, Susan scattered a bunch of red checkers. “The captives are too slow. The creatures are gaining.”

“Leave them to die,” said Violet.

“Oh don’t be so horrible,” chided Ethyl, “These are people, just like us. We have to rescue them.”

“We can’t rescue them if we’re dead.”

The descent to the demon’s lair had been treacherous. The party were bloodied and weary. The odds seemed grim.

“We are supposed to do the right thing.”

“We’re supposed to win.”

The old ladies argued as the demons advanced. Jez looked between Ethyl and Violet seated either side of him, and then at Dennis, alone at the other end.

“Dennis?” he asked, “What would you like to do?”

But the old man said nothing. He simply rocked, back and forth in his chair, his hands twisting over and over in his lap. His lips twitched soundlessly, his eyes staring unblinking, burning into the board.

“Dennis?” asked Jez.

There was a moment of silence. And then, to his amazement, the old man spoke.

“Go.”

A single word. A whisper, strained and malformed through jerking lips.

“Go.”

Dennis rose to his feet, and as his whole body trembled he reached out and moved his lonely white bishop between the demons and the door.

“Go.”

He bent his head, and to Jez’s shock fat tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. He reached out his gnarled hands to either side of him and wordlessly, Violet and Ethyl took one each. Violet’s face remained stony. Ethyl smiled and gently patted his wrist.

“You face the demons alone,” said Jez, “As the world around you crumbles and burns. The people you swore to protect go behind you. Everyone is safe.”

In a world that did not exist a lone, silent knight raised his sword and stood firm, a proud soldier in shining armour, against the tide of evil, and died valiantly for his friends.

*

Ethyl died in her sleep eleven months after Jez moved in.

It was unexpected, the nurses said, or as unexpected as it could be at 92. She went to bed one night feeling unusually tired, and in the morning didn’t wake. The doctor pronounced it natural causes and the family visited to mourn. A service was arranged – the shuttle bus would take any resident who would like to attend. Few did. A death in a nursing home was like a disaster far away, too expected to stir empathy, only a tragedy in the technical sense.

Jez, Violet, Dennis and Susan all made the trip.

It was a nice church and a calm, cloudy day. Ethyl’s daughters said kind things about her, and the priest lead them all in peaceful song. The family said their goodbyes. Dennis held on to her knitted red hat. Violet placed the little monopoly dog on her coffin. The four of them sat there, quietly, and didn’t say a single word the whole way home.

*

“Alright,” said Susan. She sounded nervous. “Why don’t- why don’t we go around and introduce ourselves?”

It was two weeks later. The four of them sat in their usual positions, along with three newcomers who blinked like owls at the whole situation. From her seat at the head of her table, Susan cleared her throat. It was her first time as dungeon master.

“Kindergarten nonsense,” huffed Violet, clutching tightly at her shawl. “Bah. I’m Violet. My room is 13C. I am pretending to be a magician. Her name is Elyndari the Elder. She is an elf from the forest. She had a husband and she lost him. But she is okay.” The old woman raised her chin. “She loved him dearly, and will join him in time.”

“Cock bum shit fuck asshole,” said Dennis, which took some of the new residents around the table slightly aback. Susan, however, smiled and read out a character sheet filled with messy, painstakingly drawn words.

“Flynn the Bard. The most charismatic speaker the kingdom has ever known. Famed throughout the land for his charming songs and his silver tongue. You cheeky bastard,” she sighed, looking up. Dennis grinned. Then they all turned to Jez.

The young man cleared his throat. “My name is Jeremy. I’ve been here almost a year. I’m going to be Valerian, a dragon-born cleric. He looks like a giant golden lizard, who walks upright like a man. He’s got wings. He can fly wherever he wants.”

Jez paused and looked around the room.

“He is a cleric of life.”