I am following on from Monday’s prompt response which you can find here and which ended thus:
The footsteps closed in. Warm breath raising the fine hairs on her neck. Courage. She stopped, turned.
I am here, she told the whispering darkness. Tell me your task.
Death came too early, the warm breath murmured. See, I am not yet cold in the grave. A young woman, dressed in a summer nightgown, thick dark hair falling uncombed to her shoulders. She bore the opaqueness of recent death.
Someone – this young woman – was dead. And she was supposed to do something about it?
She sighed. There would be no sleep tonight. Not until her task was complete.
There is a grave? she asked the spirit, which nodded. She closed her eyes as the image filled her head. She frowned.
This is an old grave, she said. Do you not have your own?
I will not enter my own. The spirit pouted. My own is raw, cold and lonely.
Ha, yes. Most graves tend to be lonely, she pointed out.
I seek solace in this grave, where they are buried. I sit and watch, and wait. They should have risen from their rest by now to welcome me in.
And they haven’t? She understood. The young woman sought a grave where a loving husband and wife shared eternity. The newly dead are attracted to such passion, although it hurts them to understand so fully their own loss.
If they don’t welcome you, she warned the spirit, there is nothing I can do. I can ease you into your own forever–
A lonely forever, I will not have it. The spirit tossed her head, suggesting a person in life who had their own way.
Come, take me to your own grave, she soothed. Perhaps there is another nearby which will be more welcoming.
And there they were, by the grave with its freshly dug earth and layers of still fresh flowers.
Close beside her, the young woman held back … and then came the murmurs …
You will share with me. You will embrace me in the cold dark. We will never suffer the horror of loneliness …
She started back, took a step away. Too late. The flowers parted, the fresh earth fell in on itself and there she was, betrayed by those forces which gifted her with the ability to speak to the dead … there she was, beside the young woman in the narrowness of a dark and dank forever.
PS I may have read too much Leigh Bardugo LOL.
Follow the daily writing prompt on Facebook.
Find Cheryl’s flash fiction and short stories, including audio versions of some, here!
Absolutely horrifying!!!
My contribution:
Someone was dead (she later found out it was her uncle). And she was supposed to do something about it?
Like what, thought Tracy. Other than attend the funeral and pay her last respects – what on earth could be expected of her in relation to her ageing relative?
These thoughts raced through her mind as she climbed the stairs to her uncle’s lawyer’s office premises on the second floor of an old building in Queens, New York.
Silas Montgomery had phoned her with the sad news two days earlier and told her it was imperative she meet with him as soon as possible.
After shaking hands and showing Tracy to his office, Silas informed her of her uncle’s wishes.
“He has left you a very large sum in his will,” he said. “However, he wants you to organise all the funeral arrangements otherwise you won’t see a dime of it.”
“But why me?” she queried. “He has three sons. Surely the can do it.”
“Doesn’t trust any of them to organise a chook raffle,” Silas explained with a humorous smile. “Told me just before he died that he only wanted you to do it.”
“B..B..but what will my cousins say when they find out,” Tracy spluttered.
“Doesn’t matter,” Silas said. “He hasn’t even left them a lump sum inheritance because he knows they will just blow it all gambling. Instead they each get a monthly stipend for the rest of their lives. And if they try and challenge it in court, they get nothing – absolutely zero!”
Tracy inhaled deeply as she processed the information before her.
“But I’ve never organised a funeral before. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“Not hard,” Silas said. “Plenty of professionals to help you – starting with the funeral parlour. All you’ll have to do is pay the expenses from the estate after it is all over.”
Although Tracy had no reason to doubt the lawyer’s words, she knew from long experience how much trouble her cousins could make when things didn’t go their way.
And this spelled trouble with a big T.
“Ok,” she said. “I’ll give it a shot. But don’t be surprised if they make a real ruckus on the day and spoil it for everybody.”
Her uncle had always been one of her favourite people. His sons were altogether another matter.
Lucky Tracy. You do know of course that chook is a uniquely Aussie word which no one in NY would have a clue about! LOL. The things you learn when you leave your motherland …