Among the Phantoms

Hello, And welcome to Sunday Reads (the Thursday edition). We’re starting off the New year with a tale of endings and beginnings.

Photo by Autumn Mott Rodeheaver on Unsplash

Marty was unimpressed.

The tires on the late-model minivan let out a dull squeal as it made its lazy donut in the afternoon sun. The base thumped, shaking the windows and threatening to rattle off the back bumper.

“Really?” Marty took a drag and tossed his cigarette away. “This is a funeral parlor, Chris.”

“Nobody’s around…” Chris reached over to the dashboard, flipping the hand-made sign: “Emergency Funeral Home Pick-Up Vehicle.” This did not help Marty’s mood.

“Did you get it? I can’t have it banged up like last time. And did you have to go lookin’ like that?” The younger man took exception to the last question. Almost instantly, the septum ring was tucked, hair smoothed, and tie knot snugged. Even Marty had to admit that the kid looked good. Just as quickly, the nose ring was back out and the tie loose.

“Can you get the door for me, Marty?”

The older man pulled out his key and opened the building. The lights came on as they wheeled in the stretcher carrying the former Mrs. Castellano into the lower level. Marty had been working on the lock. Chris looked on, his tongue rubbing up against the half-tab he’d kept tucked in between his cheek and gum. He felt it finally melt and tasted the sour aspirin-wash over his taste buds. On the street, it was known as Annie Oakley. A full dose gets you the happy vibe of E with some not-unpleasant hallucinations. A half-dose, Chris found, helped to settle his nerves. He’d learned to keep track of who was in the room and ignore anything that didn’t match. No one noticed when he was on it, and he was fine to keep it that way.

Marty adjusted his gloves. “Let’s take a look.” The two men moved the form from the stretcher to the table. Chris unzipped the bag while Marty looked at the paperwork. “Where’s her dentures? Does she have a pacemaker? If they’re going to cremate…”

“It’ll be fine…” The voice came from behind Marty. It was calm, but firm. Marty didn’t seem to hear it, and it was all Chris could do to hide his surprise.

“Ah, it’ll be OK, I guess.” Marty put down the papers and pulled off his gloves and rubber apron. “The family will be here pretty soon. I’ll talk to them. Get her cleaned up. I’ll need help after I’m done with the family.” The older man carefully put on his coat and tie, turned, and made his way upstairs. Chris hated this part. It’s not that he didn’t care, it was … well. He was in the wrong business. She was getting stiff in the cool air. He’d have to hurry with her things.

He wasn’t hard to this like Marty seemed to be. They all hurt his heart. The one in front of him reminded him of his Grams, even though this one was much whiter. He was little when Grams passed. He shook his head, “Focus,” he said out loud. Marty would want everything ready when he came back down. He cut off her bed clothes, neatly folding and placing them on the side table. He straightened out her arms and legs, propping her head up. He covered her up to her shoulders with a sheet. He couldn’t hear Marty’s footsteps above him, and he started to pull his gloves off so he could get outside. He was tugging the apron over his head when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Wha!?!” Chris jumped back, his hands up and ready. “Who?”

“Did I surprise you?” It was the same voice as before. “That was not my intention, I assure you.” Chris looked around, but didn’t see anyone. He could hear Marty upstairs, faintly, greeting the family of Mrs. Castellano. A figure strode out of the shadows. He was only slightly taller than Chris but was much broader in the shoulders. He looked about Marty’s age, but much healthier, more robust. His hair was salt and pepper, matching his neatly trimmed beard. “Did I surprise you?” The stranger repeated his question as he stepped into the room. He seemed to grow … bigger, as if he were unfurling, even though he stayed the same size.

“Look, mister. I'm sorry, but family members aren't…” The stranger smiled and shook his head. “Listen, I don't know who you are, but I'm gonna have to call the cops unless you leave.” Chris started to go upstairs to Marty.

“That won't be necessary.” The stranger said. “I’ll be taking my leave shortly. Unfortunately, your time here among the living has come to an end.”

“You mean…”

“Yes. Good day.”

Chris stood, shaking. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. This was supposed to be a summer job. He’d save up some money and head to school in the fall. Pick up and drop off. Nothing else. “What do you mean I’m dead? I’m standing here talking to you. I don’t need no…” Chris lunged at the man in black, going right through his chest. “No. My mamma ... “

“I am sorry. Your employer will find you here. It seems that your friend Pony was less than truthful about the condition of his goods for sale.

“How do you … That has nothing to do with this. Where do you get off telling me I’m dead? I’m OK. I’m just fine.”

“Are you now? Good. Go home then.” The stranger stood aside, the door wide open.

“Yes, Dear. I’ll be fine.” Mrs. Castellano sat up, gathering the sheet around her. Chris pushed himself up against the wall, edged himself to the exit. He made his way to the door and … nothing. He could see through it, but it was as if he was trying to through a brick wall.

“What are you doing? I’m telling you, if this is some sort of stunt ... “ Chris started looking up and down, knocking over books and papers. “If this is a stunt for the ‘Stream, I’m telling you now, I ain’t laughing. If Pony…”

“There’s really no need …”

“Lady, I just cut your drawers off you, if this is a joke, all y'all just twisted. Now let me out.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because the only one who’s keeping you here is you.”

Chris looked at him. The stranger offered his hand to Mrs. Castellano. She took it, eased off the table, arranged her sheet and let him lead her from the room.

“Remember, my boy. The only one keeping you here is you.”

They left, and Chris was alone. He slumped into a chair, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. He came up empty, and he realized that he’d left it in the van with his wallet. “Crap.”

There was a phone on the wall. It hadn’t worked in years, and Marty refused to have a webcam, or even an intercom system, put in. “Walk,” he’d say. “It’ll do you good.” It was quiet upstairs, as far as he could tell. Chris hadn’t been at the job long, but he knew Marty’s rap: Express condolences, listen, nod and throw in a “yes, I see” as needed, show the coffins, tell them the package options, get them to sign, reassure the family, and done. Depending on who he was talking to, it could take anywhere from one to four hours, but he’d gotten them in and out in under a half hour. Marty never missed a sale. What option did you have if your mom’s body was already in the fridge?

“If he only knew…” Chris chuckled to himself. He grabbed a broom and tried to knock out a ceiling tile. He could move out the soft ones but couldn’t get past it to the vent. It was like a force field was keeping him there.

“I swear, please don’t let me be dead. Get me out of here, and I’ll never trip again. Please…” He walked around the room, tapping the floor and the walls with the broom handle, looking for something, anything that would get him out. “Sit,” he told himself. “Think.” He dropped himself back into the chair. “Think.” He tried to clear his mind, work through the fog. Maybe none of this was real. Maybe he’d wake up to Marty standing over him, the room a mess, and the old lady still on the table. He knew he’d lose his job. Yesterday, that would have been a problem. Today, well. Things were different today.

“Think. Figure out a way or stay here.” Staying wasn’t an option. The place gave him the creeps. He wouldn’t work after dark, even after Marty offered him double for wakes. He wouldn’t have taken the job at all if it wasn’t the only place in town hiring. Nothing could change any of that. He’d just have to figure it out.

He walked around the room. Slower and more carefully this time. It was the only parlor in town. He tried not to think about it, but this was the place they laid out his Grams. He was with her when she passed. He was small then. He held her hand and cried. He begged her not to leave him, but she did.

It was the middle of summer, but he remembered her smelling of autumn leaves when they pulled him away to take her in the old van to the parlor. He shook his head, trying to clear the thought.

“Focus.” He half-heartedly tried the phone, replacing the handset when he got no reply. He’d stop periodically, trying to call for Marty through the doorway, but his voice echoed back as if he were talking next to a wall. He was about to head back to his seat when he saw her. “Grams? Is that …”

She looked at him. A broad smile spread across her face. She nodded, and her tight iron-grey curls moved in the light.

“Boy.” She motioned to him to sit. She started to get up.

“No, Grams. Stay there. I’m fine.” He knelt down next to her and held her hand. It was warm to the touch. He could feel the knobbiness of her arthritic fingers and the old callouses from a childhood spent on the farm. She gently touched him on his cheek.

“What’s this on your nose?” He touched his septum ring and for the first time, was ashamed of it. He went to fold it up, but she stopped him. “Never you mind. If you like it, that’s enough for me. Reminds me of our old bull, though. Don’t let your Grampy catch you. He’d put the tongs on it…” They both laughed, and it was the happiest Chris had been for a long time. “I missed you, Boy.”

“I missed you, too.” They sat in the silence.

“What’s on your mind, Boy? You can tell your Grams any old thing.” He looked down. Started to talk, then thought better of it. She patted his hand. He swallowed hard, then began.

“Grams, I’ve … I’ve done some things I’m not too proud of, and well.” She waited for him to continue. “Grams am … am I in hell? The old woman burst out laughing, wiping her eyes and clapping her hands.

“Child, if you could hear yourself. Hell? Am I in hell, too? Oh no. Not hell. You’re just stuck, Boy. Just stuck.” She rooted through her purse and fished out a red and white striped peppermint. She handed it to him. “Here, Boy. Have this. Better than the trash you put in your mouth. You don’t need that.” He took the candy.

“Thank you, Ma'am.” He popped the it in his mouth and let it melt. The sweet and bright flavor was very different from the sourness he was used to. He put his head in her lap and she ran her fingers through his hair.

“You’re my good boy,” she said. “It don’t have to be this way.” He didn’t say anything to this. He felt her hands and her lap, tasted the sweet and the salt as he quietly cried. “What is it, Boy?” He looked up.

“I just missed you, Grams. I don’t want you to go again.” She shook her head. Cupping his cheeks in her hands, she kissed his forehead.

“My baby boy, I never left you.” He was about to answer, but she was gone. Still on the floor, he threw the chair, then crumpled in a heap, sobbing. His chest hurt. He ached all over. Pulling himself up, he looked for a scalpel. He was going to end it one way or another. He started pulling drawers open, overturning boxes. He remembered Marty putting in an order. Chris picked up the chair, sat down, and leaned onto the side of the table. The cool of the stainless steel felt good against his head. He tried to calm down, to breathe. Slowly, he felt himself drift off.

He was a child again, in his sweater and tie. He was holding his Grams’ hand as they walked down the street. “Come along, Boy,” she told him. They smiled as the sun set and they walked under the lamplight and the autumn leaves fell on them like snow.

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