Zachary Weisend
19 November 2006
(Untitled)
A lone man stood in the funeral parlor staring at a closed casket decorated with a few generic flower arrangements and little else. A dim eerie light enlightened the room which was filled with 10 rows of empty folding chairs. A sinister feeling fell over the stranger. The funeral director entered and approached the man from behind. The funeral director paused a moment then spoke to the man. "It is a sad sight to see an empty room when it matters most."
To which the stranger replied, "Sad, yes, but this man didn't have many friends."
"Were you his friend?" the director moved to the side of the man.
"Me? No, I wasn't his friend," The stranger answered solemnly.
"How did you know the deceased?" the director prodded
"I, didn't really know him. I," he waited, "I was the one who killed him. I just wanted to pay some respect and make sure he was dead and spending eternity six feet under," the stranger answered turning his head slowly toward the director.
The director felt a little chilled, and a look of fright flashed across his face, "Yes well, Ahem, you will have to excuse me. I have to take care of transportation, the hearse is waiting outside."
The director nervously walked out of the room. The strangers gaze turned back towards the casket. He walked towards it, lifted the lid, and peered in. The man he had killed lay there motionless, with a fresh bullet still lodged in his forehead. The stranger then closed the lid and walked back to the rows of chairs and took a seat. The stranger waited, his stare never leaving the casket but for a few moments when he was looking around for a clock. After a few moments a man in a long black trench coat entered from the back. The stranger felt the trench coated man’s eyes looking into him as he heard the footsteps getting closer and closer to him. The stranger turned to look at the man in black. His coat was long and he was wearing a gangster hat and sunglasses. He was wearing gloves and had a cane which he didn’t apparently use like it should have been. He was older than the stranger and his face had felt time wrinkling it with a gradual softness that old people seldom feel. The man sat down a few seats from the stranger, “He was one of my finest men.”
When the stranger heard this he peered at the old man who was now taking off his gloves. His hands were somewhat eroded away, and apparent signs of arthritis had taken effect. The stranger never let his eyes off the gentlemen who never took his eyes off the casket in front of them. “He worked for you?” the stranger queried.
“Yes, he did. And it is to my understanding that you killed him.”
“What’s it to you,” the stranger retorted.
The old man pulled out a gun and placed it on his lap, “Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything to me.”
The stranger squirmed a little when he saw the sight of the pistol. “Easy,” the gentleman said, “I am not going to hurt you. I just didn’t want you to do the same to me. I, I have already spent too much time sitting here. I must be going, and I hope you are sorry for my loss,” the gentleman stood up.
He strained to get his gloves on and walked toward the casket. He opened the lid, and reached inside. He pulled something from the casket. It was something small, something that glinted, something that the stranger did not see because the gentleman’s trench coat concealed his actions. It also would not be a lie to say that the gentleman had placed something into the coffin. But the stranger failed to notice that the gentleman had not placed his pistol back into his trench coat, and did not have it with him when he left. The stranger wondered, was he putting something in, or taking something out. He thought he had heard the old man whisper something, but it may have been the madness that the old man was fiddling with the corpse, and had no apparent reason for doing so. After about a half a minute, the gentleman turned and walked out, mumbling, “Good match, well met. ‘Til we meet again,” knowing that he had gotten away with something.
When the old man had exited, the stranger felt some urge, some drive, to follow the gentleman, but he couldn’t; He had to see through, that the casket was buried and forgotten. He had to make sure this evil was put into the earth never to be revealed to the world again. It would not be something strange or out of the ordinary that this horror would be brought back to life to go on and do evil in the world, for there have been eccentric and outlandish things that have happened in association with the group that the deceased man was a part of - things that are too horrible, wicked and too full of vice, to even speak of. The stranger would not fault. He wanted to follow through to insure the fate of the casket was to rest in an eternal burial place. Upon thinking of following the old man to further his cause in ending the evil that the group seemed to be associated with, the funeral director again entered the room with five other somber gentlemen, with serious looks on their faces. One of such gentleman was the hearse driver. The other four were men designated to carry the casket to the hearse and then from the hearse to the grave site. The stranger stood up. The director approached him, “I expect that you will be attending the burial Mr. …err, I do not believe I have yet learned your name.”
The stranger complied with the inquisition, “I’m James Black.”
“ Well, Mr. Black, you can follow the hearse if you like. It has been arranged that the deceased is to be buried in Shady Knolls Cemetery if you would rather meet there.”
“ I will follow the hearse. I want to make sure nothing happens.”
Last updated: 27 November 2006