Rudolph Wraps's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Rudolph Wraps had three thousand years behind him and one week to invent a solo act. He stood alone in the cracked bowl of the Haunted Amphitheater, horn in one hand, guitar strapped across his bandaged chest. Next Friday he would audition for the Monsters' Battle of the Bands. Win, and he claimed the Sarcophagus Stage at last. But Rudolph had only ever played inside a band. He had never built a set of his own. He plucked an upstroke, blew a horn line over it, and the two died in the empty stone seats. A guitar without a horn. A horn without a guitar. He could not hold both and still feel like a show. Someone clapped slow from the top tier. "That's the sound of a man trying to be two people." Rudolph knew the voice. Spikey Popapple, the shirtless punk who had conquered a room full of ghouls with a single honest song. The last time Rudolph saw him, Spikey had been chasing his own spot at the Opera House, preaching that only true songs move the dead. Now he came down the cracked stairs barefoot, spiky hair catching the torchlight. "Your set's split in half," Spikey said. "You keep switching. Pick a spine." "I need both," Rudolph said. "Horn and guitar. That's ska." "Then stop playing them like strangers." Spikey jabbed a finger at the strange purple guitar leaning near the stage edge, its runes glowing orange, green vines curling off its body. Beside it sat a saxophone, its keys lit with the same runic fire. "Those aren't ordinary instruments. Try them together." Rudolph lifted the glowing guitar. His bandages wrapped the neck and gripped it tight. He strummed one chord. The runes flared, and the chord hung in the air, ringing long after his hand stopped. He grabbed the glowing sax, set it to his wrapped lips, and blew. The guitar's dying chord answered the horn note, holding it, braiding the two sounds into one. The amphitheater swallowed both and kept them alive. Rudolph did not have to choose. The enchanted strings sustained his rhythm while he played the horn over the top. For the first time his solo act sounded whole. He ran a tight four-song set end to end, no stopping, horn and guitar feeding each other. Sweat soaked through his bandages. When he finished, Spikey nodded once. "That'll pass the judges," Spikey said. "But those instruments belong to someone. The drums too." He pointed to the shadows, where a rune-carved drum kit crouched, skulls hanging from its shells. "I didn't carry them here. They were waiting." Rudolph lowered the sax. The runes still pulsed warm against his wraps. He had his set. He had a sound no mummy had ever made. But the instruments that built it were not his, and something in the dark had left them for him to find.