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Novelo Rectangle

The man I buried is back and knocking and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep doing this. I open the door to find the rotting corpse of a man, his face is decayed and there is barely any flesh left on it. His burial clothes, once neat and shiny, now hung in tatters — half from rot, half from bugs nibbling at the fabric as they gnawed on him. I stare at the corpse and sigh; “Mr. Hartman, why did you get up again, you know you are supposed to be resting.” I put on my robe and my boots and take him by the arm and start leading him back to his burial plot. Honestly, I hate this time of year, the corpses always rise as the moon goes away. With no moon in the sky to illuminate the night, the corpses and other dead things always come out to play. Or at least that is how it is in my town. I’m Lenora Blackwood, and at Sunvale Cemetery, it’s my job to keep the corpses from wandering too far — especially this time of year. Mr. Harlow, my boss, would hate to know that there was one running around, especially at this time of night. He thinks there is some curse on the town that makes the dead rise and I’m not sure why he doesn’t move away. It is always hilarious to see him crying and screaming when Mrs. Jenkins, who has only been dead about two years, comes up to his room and starts knocking. Mrs. Jenkins was a large woman and I can remember the first time she rose from her grave, Mr. Harlow shouted so loudly, me and the other workers laughed for days.&nbsp; Ever since then he makes certain we keep a sharp eye on the corpses. At least he doesn’t mind Mr. Whiskers, the tabby who keeled over last month and now curls up purring on his chest every night like nothing ever changed. It’s hard to tell if that comforts or horrifies him — depends on the night.&nbsp;	Walking back with Mr. Hartman always proves to be a challenge because at some point, he will start wandering off or chase after Mr. Whiskers. “No Mr. Hartman you can’t chew on my hair!” I pop the corpse on the head and he groans and moves away. By the time I get him back to his burial plot I hear one of my coworkers, Jonathan, coming down the path.&nbsp; 	“Lenora!” Jonathan shouts as he runs up to me panting. Something must be wrong, as he looks as pale as some of our guests.&nbsp; “What happened?”&nbsp; 	“Mr. Harlow was leading a corpse back to its plot when it pushed him in and walked off.” He gasped out and pointed back to where I could now hear the faint screaming.&nbsp;		“I can’t leave Mr. Hartman here like this. Help me get him back into his grave and then we can go.” I argued. Jonathan and I lowered Mr. Hartman into his grave and closed the lid to his coffin. We covered the dirt as quickly as we could and then ran off to help Mr. Hartman.&nbsp;		Just so you know, it's really bad when a corpse runs off. Everyone in Sunvale knows about the things the corpses do during this time of year, but they never have to see it. Some people still think it’s just a myth — so yeah, a rotting corpse strolling through Main Street? Not ideal. The summer before I started working here, there was an incident where a corpse got loose and terrorized a group of school children at an event. It took weeks of therapy for them to get used to the idea of their dead loved ones walking among them.&nbsp; 	As Jonathan and I rounded the path, we saw the other workers standing over the grave laughing. I too couldn’t help but snicker as I looked down in the grave. Mr. Harlow, dressed in nothing but his robe, boxers, and boots, stared back at us with the scowl of a man who'd just woken up six feet too low. His once white robe was now wet and brown from the dirt and mud. His hair was askew and going in every direction, except for down and his glasses were bent in an awkward direction. I bit back a laugh. The cemetery was cursed, sure — but Mr. Harlow might just be cursed personally.	“Great! The only good worker I have is laughing at my situation,” Mr. Harlow shouted, voice echoing off the tombstones. “But you won’t be so thrilled when I tell you which corpse it was that ran off.” He paused — just long enough for the air to still.“It was your mother. So if you want your dearly departed back, I suggest you stop standing there and get me out of here.”My knees almost gave out. My mother. She was the reason I started this job in the first place. I mean, what kind of person voluntarily signs up to escort the dead around unless they’ve got unfinished business with one of them? At least, that’s what I’ve always told myself, but I think Jonathan is only in it for the stories he gets to tell his sister to scare her.&nbsp; It takes all six of us to get Mr. Harlow out of the grave; after all he is not a small man and I struggle to help him get up. Once we finally do, I start to run off, but he stops me. “Lenora, perhaps one of the others should go after her. I know you struggle with what happened to your mother, so perhaps you should stay.” His tone is soft and comforting, but I don’t want to listen.&nbsp; “No, I have to go, it's my fault she died and so I should be the one who goes to get her.” I shake my head and turn away.&nbsp;I don’t want him to see me cry. I tell the others to come with me and we start running off down where she was last seen. Jonathan is beside me watching me carefully and I hate it. Ever since I started here he always keeps me occupied when my mother gets up and walks around. She hasn’t been dead very long and has only gotten up a few times, but each time it's painful. She died rescuing me from a fire a year ago, I stupidly decided to try an experiment in the garage and the chemicals blew and started a fire. 	“Lenora. Lenora this way.” Jonathan shouted. I snapped my head and turned in the direction he was headed. There were screams coming from a group of guys just up ahead of us. Jonathan and the others talked to them while I scanned around trying to think of where she would go. I mean after all, where does a corpse go to get away for a while. Hah! It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. Jonathan keeps staring at me. I can see he is getting frustrated.&nbsp; 	“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I ask and he repeats himself.&nbsp; 	“They saw a burnt corpse going down to Walsh Street; are you sure you want to go?” Jonathan asks.&nbsp; 	Walsh Street.&nbsp; 	Our old street. I shudder as I realize where she is heading; our house. I nod and quickly wipe the tears away and we race off alone. The other four decided to stay behind and take care of the guys who saw her. I can’t help, even in my haze of guilt and sadness, to laugh at the scared look on their faces. As we ran down and got closer to my house I stopped. 	“I can’t do it. I… can’t; she shouldn’t be dead.” I cry out and my knees falter. I hit the ground and Jonathan ran up to me.&nbsp; 	“It was my fault! I can still see her coming out of the house and the way her skin was burnt and blistered. She….. she was so pretty. She had beautiful auburn hair and green eyes that looked like they were seeing into your soul.”&nbsp; 	“Lenora stop, You need to stop blaming yourself for what happened. Your mother would have wanted you to go on living. Not rethinking every mistake, please we have to get her.”&nbsp; 	He held out his hand to me and I stared at it with my tear-stained eyes looking back at him. I hesitated, my hand shaking. But he didn’t pull away — just kept holding it out, steady as always. Jonathan’s been here since the beginning. I don’t think he signed up for graveyard duty expecting to babysit a grieving daughter every time the earth trembled. But he never complains. He’s quiet when I need him to be. Talks when I can't. And sometimes, I think he understands more than he lets on — like maybe he’s lost someone too, someone he’s still waiting to see rise again. &nbsp;When we arrived at the burnt out plot of land where our house once was I saw her. Her corpse hadn’t had time to rot as badly as some of the others, so you could still make out her facial features, only they were burnt. Her skin was sickly looking and had the skin fading away on her arms. Her hair was still there in patches and her face was badly damaged. Some of it from the burns she got that night, others from having been buried for so long.&nbsp; 	Jonathan nudged me along and I walked slowly up to my mother. “Mom.”&nbsp; 	“Mom, it's me Lenora. You have to come back with me now. You shouldn’t be here. It's time to rest now.” I went to grab her hand but stopped halfway. I let my arm fall down and I teared up again.&nbsp; 	It's funny, when someone you love dies you end up telling them everything you feel about them. I guess it's easier to tell them when they can’t say anything back. “Mom I love you and I’m sorry for that night. I should’ve been paying better attention to what I was doing. I wish you were still here with me, but in a way I guess you are.” I trailed off and had to wipe my eyes.&nbsp; 	Jonathan took her hand and I took the other, it was the first time I had touched her since the fire. I hadn’t been able to go to the funeral because I was in the hospital so this, here, was my final goodbye to her.&nbsp; 	We led her back to the cemetery slowly, the others had already been there for a while, soothing a still frightened Mr. Harlow. “Come on mom, let’s get you home.” We led her back to her plot and laid her in gently. I took great care in closing the lid and covering her up with dirt. The others left me alone for a while so I could finish saying goodbye.&nbsp; 	“Goodbye mom, I know I will see you again sometime. I love you.” I whispered. I stayed there, staring at the dirt until my knees went to sleep. Maybe people think I do this job out of obligation. That I’m broken, or obsessed.&nbsp; But the truth is…I stay because some part of me still hopes for moments like this. One last chance to say goodbye. To make it right. Some people run from their ghosts. I walk them home. 	Mr. Harlow is waiting for me at the top of the steps leading to my room. “I know that was tough Lenora, but I’m glad you faced it, now perhaps when she rises you won’t shy away from leading her back.” He hugged me and started to walk away.&nbsp; 	“Mr. Harlow?” 	“Yes my dear?” He stopped and turned to face me. 	“Why do you stay if you are always afraid of the corpses coming alive.?” I couldn’t help but smile as I said it.&nbsp; 	“My dear, corpses, as scary as they are, are still more pleasant sometimes than the ones who are living.” He shook his head. 	“After all, I’m not necessarily scared, just a bit wary. Do you know how disturbing it is to have a corpse standing over you dripping mud at three in the morning.” He grinned and walked away.&nbsp; 	I laughed as I heard him scream and shouting to Jonathan to take Mrs. Jenkins back to her grave. He will never change. I grinned at the thought and removed my robe and my shoes. I laid on the bed and closed my eyes, hoping that it would be morning soon, but the dead had other plans.&nbsp; 	As I laid there, I heard a knock on my door and when I opened it, there stood Mr. Hartman. Well here we go again. Sometimes, I wish the dead would just do as they are told. But then again, I guess that would just make my job too easy.&nbsp;

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Mom's Dead...Sort Of?

AlianaVex32

Kimberly Lanier

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Mom's Dead...Sort Of?

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