What Makes the gods Mad?

“Can you keep a secret?”

Thump, thump, thump.

It became painfully obvious that the sound of a beating heart wasn’t my own. And I knew for certain that it wasn’t his.

I nodded carefully, but I didn’t say anything. Partly because my voice had suddenly failed, and partly because we were in the school library, and I didn’t want to attract attention.

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a sack. And I only use the word ‘sack’ because there was no other way to describe it. It wasn’t a bag, exactly. It wasn’t small enough to be a pouch. It was just a fabric sack that looked like it’d been pulled straight out of a Monty Python sketch.

I waited for him to open it and show me what was inside, but some part of me already knew. Or suspected, at least.

Still, I wanted to see it with my own eyes. I wanted proof that he was really here. Not just in my imagination. Not just hypothetically. I wanted to see the wrath of the gods up close.

But he didn’t open the sack. Instead, he just gingerly handed it to me and smiled.

“You’re a good friend,” he said. “Keep this safe for me?”

I felt my muscles tense. I had two more classes left before the end of the day, and I didn’t want to attract any supernatural attention until I was out of school.

But he needed me, and I wasn’t about to let him down. If he wanted me to watch over this stolen piece of junk, then I would do it.

After all, it’s not easy to say no to your dead best friend. Especially when he seemed so hopeful.

I’d known Joshua for three years, and for most of that time, he’d even been alive. We met in 6th grade, when he knocked my books out of my locker in a fit of rage. He wasn’t angry at me specifically, but it was still rude.

In 6th grade, I had recently gotten a semi-regular job as a dog-walker, and I’d since discovered that my own money could be used to buy whatever I wanted. Because of this new excitement, I had about six Candy bars in my locker at the time, all of which fell onto the floor with my books.

Joshua had frozen, eyes fixed on a partly crushed Twix bar that had slid up to his feet. I clumsily started picking up my books and shoving them back into my locker.

And you would think that it was the first time the kid had seen candy. He didn’t say anything. In fact, he was so silent, you never would have guessed that he had just scattered a stranger’s belongings all over the school floor.

I picked up the Twix last, hesitantly holding it in front of his face.

“Low blood sugar?” I asked.

He had just blinked at me curiously, but I took it as a yes and dropped the bar in his hands.

It seemed like a small thing. After all, I had plenty more chocolate to keep for myself. I figured maybe, if I gave him some, he would trash someone else’s locker next time.

But there wasn’t a ‘next time’, because Joshua must have turned into a different person after that. He came to school the next day with a smile so big, you could count his teeth. And I’m pretty sure he had more teeth than a normal person.

And so began our friendship, even if it did get off to a rocky start.

“Do you know what makes the gods mad?” he used to ask.

And I would just respond with a sigh, because A). He asked this question at least once a day, and B). The answer was always different. I didn’t believe in god, necessarily, and I could never be sure which hypothetical gods he was referring to, since so many had existed throughout history.

But one day he had a much shorter answer than usual. Instead of saying something like, “Washing your socks separately,” or “Counting the leaves on a three-year-old tree,” he just said one word: “Secrets”.

And he said it with such confidence that I had to pause for a second.

“Secrets make the gods really angry,” he continued. “Angry because they like to know everything, but they can’t. And if you know something that a god doesn’t know, that makes you powerful.”

It had seemed strange, but that was the way Joshua was. He never did or said anything that was supposed to make sense.

Then, in 8th grade, he started to change. His energy died down. Our teachers were always telling him to pay more attention. He would scribble down notes in class, but they were never the right ones.

One day, we were at lunch, and he hadn’t asked the question yet, so I decided to try.

“Do you know what makes the gods mad?”

His face brightened up slightly, but not the way it used to. Never the way it used to.

“Secrets,” he said.

I blinked. “I think you’ve already used that one.”

He nodded. “Elliot, I have a secret. One that’s really, really big. If the gods find out what it is, they’ll probably kill me.” He seemed so confident in saying this, like being hunted by the gods was a personal accomplishment.

“Okay,” I said slowly.

I wish I’d said more than that. I still feel guilty about what came next. Like, maybe if I’d prompted him to elaborate, I could have saved him.

But when the gods paint a target on your back, you’re already dead.

The next day, I walked into school to find everyone crying. Teachers, classmates, lunchroom staff. Even the principal looked distraught.

“What happened?” I dared to ask.

But I didn’t like the answer. Joshua wasn’t at school. He hadn’t gotten up when his alarm went off, or when his mother called him for breakfast. He hadn’t gotten up to shower. He hadn’t even gotten up in time to catch the bus.

Why? Because his body was lying in bed, still and cold. Because his soul was done with it.

And I only describe it that way because it took me weeks to be able to say the word. To say that he was dead.

And everyone was upset. Everyone was having a hard time with his death. They would talk about what a great person he had been- How he always did his best, how he always looked out for other people- But none of them had known him.

None of them had bothered to see his value until he was dead. Like, maybe, the things that made him special would forever be a secret to the world.

But now I was in the library, squatting behind a bookshelf and talking to him again, because the gods hadn’t been able to take his spirit away.

And I didn’t know what was in the sack, or why it was pulsing like a beating heart. I didn’t know why it was such a big secret that the gods were angry, and I definitely didn’t know why he was giving it to me.

“Find someone to share it with,” he whispered reluctantly. “A shared secret can keep you both alive. Gods don’t have enough energy to smite two people at once. Especially not for the same reason.”

I wanted to ask- for the thousandth time since I’d met him- what he meant. But he just stood up and pulled his backpack over his shoulder.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked casually.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll see you then.”

Then, he did something that I didn’t expect. He grabbed me by the shoulders and hugged me. Tight. If you’ve never been hugged by a ghost before, there’s no way I can possibly explain it to you.

But it didn’t feel cold, like I thought it would. It didn’t feel light, either. It felt like his whole body was there, leaning into mine. Like he was depending on me for support.

And I knew that no one else could see him, so it probably looked like I was hugging the air, but that didn’t matter. I let myself melt into the hug.

The only thing missing was his heartbeat.

And when I pulled away, he was gone. Like he’d never been there in the first place. Like I was a crazy person, standing in the middle of the library, talking to myself, and hugging my hallucinations.

I shook off the sudden feeling of abandonment and started making my way to the next class.

English used to be my favorite class, but now it felt wrong. I felt out of place, sitting in the back of the room, watching the class as if from a distance. We were in the mythology unit, too, which didn’t help. I kept trying to figure out which gods Joshua had been talking about- Which ones I should blame for his loss.

But Zeus was too busy procreating to smite a teenager. Thor wouldn’t have cared about secrets. Neptune was more likely to be enraged by an incident involving a bull.

I could hear the faint pulsing that came from the sack. It grew stronger and more frequent, like it was anxiously waiting to be free. I hoped that no one else could hear it.

The tell tale heart. My least favorite story.

The teacher carelessly handed us our homework, and we got to work immediately. I felt my focus drift off as I answered a question about the Hindu god of love (It’s Kamadeva).

Some would argue that love comes from the heart. Some would argue that it’s a chemical response, and it’s purely psychological. Some would say that it can’t be defined- That it’s different for everybody. I would agree with all of those explanations, but I still wouldn’t be any closer to actually understanding what love is.

As I stood up to go to the next class, I saw a smaller child enter the classroom. He must’ve been in fifth grade at the most, and he skipped into the room lightly. The way a child does when they haven’t yet been weighed down by the pressure of life. The way a child does when there’s still a small part of them that doesn’t fear the world.

He walked up to the teacher’s desk and gave her a hug. Based on the resemblance, I assumed that he was her son.

The main difference was the eyes: Pale blue. Almost white. His hair was black and his skin was almond-colored, but his eyes stood out like ghosts in a dark room.

And he reminded me of Joshua. A lot.

I felt a push against my back. My bag, which wasn’t zipped shut all the way, started to spill its contents onto the floor. My math textbook sprawled open. My pencil case fell to the ground with a plop. And the sack tumbled out almost too suddenly, like it had been waiting for the opportunity to escape.

I fell to my knees and started to collect my things, trying not to make too much of a scene. The boy looked at me curiously, then his eyes fixed on the sack.

And the heart stopped beating. Somehow, I knew not only what was inside, but what I needed to do.

I finished picking up my books, shoving them back into my bag. Then, I reached for the sack. I slowly put my hand inside and felt around. I said a silent prayer that I was right. That I wasn’t about to make contact with a slimy human organ.

To my relief, I just felt the crackle of a plastic wrapper. A Twix bar. Slightly flattened, but still all there. I pulled it out and held it in front of the boy.

As if on cue, the teacher turned away, focusing on her laptop. The boy inched towards me.

I let his fingers wrap around the bar. I knew he wanted it, but I also knew, somehow, that he wasn’t going to eat it.

I looked into his eyes and gave him the most confident smile I could muster. I could practically feel Joshua watching me.

“Can you keep a secret?”