It was nice.
It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized Mrs. Williams was dead. When I went downstairs to find my dad in the preparation room putting some final touches on the remains for the funeral my family was conducting that day, I froze.
There she was, lying in the casket, dead as dead can be. When I told my dad that she had come to see me in my room the night before, he told me I wasn’t allowed in the preparation room anymore. I heard him talking to my mother later that night, telling her he was worried that raising me around so much death was negatively affecting my grasp on reality.
My mother had brushed him off, claiming that I was just‘sensitive’to the paranormal… which, if you knew my mother, wouldn’t surprise you.
God love her… she walks to the beat of her own drum, that woman. I supposed you would have to be at leastsomewhatquirky to marry a mortician.
After that, I stopped telling people about the ghosts I saw despite the fact that I began to see them more and more frequently. Especially as my sister, Theo, and I got older. We learned pretty quickly that kids were cruel, and the only thing people feared more than those they perceived to be different than themselves was.. well…death.
Being the children of Fairview Funerals, Theo and I werenotpopular in school.
The Frankenstein kidswas one of the nicer names they used to call us. We also got a lot of Addams family jokes. The less polite kids straight-up called us freaks.
Theo, being a few years older than me, took on the role of protector at a young age. She’s a lot…angrierthan I am.
She took up boxing at age twelve, and let’s just say… kids stopped jumping us on the way home after Theo sent one of the school bullies to the hospital with a broken nose and three missing teeth.
Shortly after that, she made me take up boxing, claiming that she wouldn’t be around to protect me once she graduated. It didn’t take much convincing, as the bullies just used the fact that I needed agirlto fight my battles for me as more ammunition.
As much as violence wouldn’t be my first choice in any altercation, I did enjoy boxing. It was a great way to let off steam, and I would be lying if I said I hadn’t needed to use it for self-defense a few times.
I still practice with Theo a lot. She built a gym in our basement next to the preparation room, and we spar frequently. For me, it’s a way to stay in shape, but for Theo, it keeps her on top of her game. She doesn’t talk about it much, but she’s involved in an underground street fighting ring. I wish she would join something more legitimate. It’s hard for me to bite my tongue whenever she comes home with her face split open and needing stitches, but every time I hassle her about it, she brushes me off, telling me to mind my damn business.
She’s a stubborn asshole, but she’s my sister, so I put up with her shit no matter how pigheaded she is.
Anyway… I digress. Where was I? Oh yeah. The whole‘I see dead people thing’…
Well, considering I had already been labeled a freak just for being born into a family that ran a funeral home, I felt it would be safe to assume that my frequent interactions with people’s deceased loved ones wouldn’t be well received. So, I became very secretive about my…specialability. However, sometimes, it was exceptionally difficult to keep my encounters with the dead to myself. Not all the ghosts I met were kind and harmless like Mrs. Williams.
You see, we accepted all types here at Fairview Funeral Services, and most of them came to visit me before they passed on. Whether I liked it or not.
I was seventeen when Mr. Holt staggered into the bathroom while I was showering. His brains had been leaking out of his cranium, and his one remaining eye had been dilated with a manic sort of fury.
‘You’re a dirty whore! I’m going to fucking kill you, you dirty little slut!”he had screamed at me, his dead, clammy hands passing right through me as he reached for my throat. I bolted out of the showerso fucking fast,running down the hall naked and screaming.
Mr. Holt had chased me, and it took my mother discovering me huddled under the blanket with my head between my knees to get rid of him.
She had lit a bushel of sage and salted the shit out of my room, which seemed to do the trick. My mom’s witchy nature was another thing the kids at school often picked on us for, but after she had saved me from that angry spirit, I refused to allow myself to feel ashamed of her for it. Say what you would about my mother, but she knew what the fuck she was doing when it came to the occult.
After I had recovered from the gruesome encounter, I stormed down into the preparation room to find my father listening to his usual classical soundtrack and reconstructing Mr. Holt’s skull.
I did a Google search for the nameHoltand was bombarded with news articles detailing this man’s murder-suicide. Apparently, he had raped and killed a young girl before blowing his own brains out.
Jesus.
I wasfuriousthat my father would accept the procession of such a monstrous human being. I told my father that we should be more selective about who we accepted in the future. He had given me a sad smile and shook his head, diligently continuing his work on the dead man’s skull.
My father never made it his business to question the moral fiber of the people we entombed.
‘Funerals are not for the dead, son.’My father had always said.‘They’re for the living. What we do is important. We help people get closure and say goodbye. Without us, people would have a much harder time moving on.’
At the ripe young age of seventeen, I had accepted this at face value and resolved to endure the nasty souls that haunted me for the sake of the families that mourned them. This piece of truth he had imparted rang especially true when he died a few short years later.
I was twenty-three and just wrapping up mortuary school when the renowned George Fairview, beloved husband of Iris Fairview and father of Theodora and Ryan Fairview, suffered a massive heart attack.
He passed away on a Thursday, and he was the first body I ever embalmed by myself.
