A Morbidly Short Tale For You

Only 16 days until Halloween!

For the last few years, almost every October I’ve added a little short story for my newsletter subscribers. I’m no horror writer, but it’s always been fun to lean a little more into the spooky side of fantasy and dabble in a different sub-genre than I usually write.

This year’s short story comes from a prompt I was given a few months ago while I was trying to get out of some writers block. I started to write the first thing that came to mind with the prompt “the back of a hearse” and as I wrote it felt like something a little more special than a simple way to exercise my writing muscle.

I wouldn’t call it scary by any means. But I hope you enjoy this little morbid and spooky(ish) story. You can read it below, or if you prefer, you can download it here.

The Back of the Hearse

Well… that didn’t end how I thought it would. Who knew replacing the outlet in my condo’s kitchen would end so… how do I say it? Morbidly?

Pity though. I rather liked this place. I planned to stay much longer, but I had to go and be an idiot and didn’t survive something I should have. Simple household tasks. Something I’d done hundreds of times over the years. 

I must be getting weaker with each rising.

With little effort I popped open the top of the casket and sat upright almost hitting my head on the ceiling. This wasn’t terrible as far as hearses went. They were all fairly standard unless you had something fancy with open windows so passersby could see the coffin inside. Those were always tricky to escape unseen. Although one time I did wave at a child on the sidewalk and their face was priceless.

This particular hearse wasn’t one of those, so naturally it was dark and after having my eyes closed for so long, it took a moment to gain my bearings. The casket was quite nice though. I liked the pure white silk and soft pillow. After all this time, I never understood why they were so fancy on the inside. Most dead people didn’t need these things - they couldn’t feel it after all and had no need for comfort - but at least I appreciated it. I had a feeling a vampire would too. It added fuel for my “vampires run the funeral business” theory. 

I released a heavy sigh and rolled my head, my neck letting out a few glorious creaks and pops. Lying there still and quiet through the service and wake leading up to now is always the most annoying part. It’s not hard, considering that I technically am dead. However, when you can hear people talking about you as though you’re not right there in front of them and you can’t say a word is unbearable. 

Such a shame to go so young. Odd though. Always talking about past lives. 

What? Did they think I was lying? For being in the 21st century people were so closed minded. You’d think the human race would have changed and grown as time went on, but they didn’t.

I wonder where the family is. 

Over in the St. Louis cemetery in New Orleans. If hurricane waters haven’t swept their caskets away at some point over the last two hundred forty years. If they’re still there, they’re probably rolling in their graves wondering why I ever messed with that witch outside of town in the bayou. Not that I’d blame them.

Did you hear about the apartment? It was practically empty! You’d think no one lived there at all. Always so strange.

What can I say? It’s easy to be minimal when you know you really can’t take it with you.

Ah, good riddance. Those people were all part of my old life now anyway. One of the many old lives. Wherever I died I had to find a way to escape and leave for another place and start over. There would be talk if someone saw me wandering about town the day after my funeral. No need for such complications and annoyances. 

I lifted each leg out of the coffin, my old bones creaking with each step. They would be fine in a few days, but all of that lying still revealed my age. There wasn’t much room in the hearse, so I slid out of the casket and pushed my way between it and the hearse wall towards the back hatch. Once we arrived at the cemetery it would only be a few minutes between when the driver unlocked the doors and when they came to fetch my casket. 

I pushed the lid closed and it shut with a soft thud. Quiet and unremarkable. Just like my funeral. 

Within a few minutes the vehicle slowed then halted to a stop. On all fours I crept to the back door as quietly as possible to listen for the people outside and the most opportune moment. When it seemed safe, I raised myself up a tad to look through the opening of the small curtains on the back window. I had to be sure the people in the car behind the hearse didn’t see me either. Their doors opened and figures in black stepped out and headed to the cemetery. I paused, letting them go by. My fingers itched to open the door and follow, but I resisted. This is how it had to be.

Besides, the front door to my own vehicle opened, which meant it was now or never. I seized my opportunity and pushed the back open, rolled out, shut it again, and whisked away into the trees of the cemetery. 

Usually, I run as fast as possible until I know I’m well out of the way and know no one will see me. But today, as I watched people gather around the gravesite, something made me pause. 

The rest of the small funeral party pulled up and I made myself hidden behind a tree. They all went out of their cars and gathered around the open grave.

My grave.

I slid to the ground and allowed myself to peer around the tree. This was my last chance. 

A single woman stood out from the crowd. She wore one of those classic black pillbox hats with a small cage in front and carried a delicate umbrella over her head even though it wasn’t raining. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought she was a lady from the 60s or even earlier who still dressed up to go to the airport. 

She did like to dress up for the airport, but wasn’t born during that time.

She looked like a perfect lady in her a-line dress and stared at the grave while the minister rattled off some verses from the scriptures. It’s because she was perfect. When I talked about death and preparing for it she didn’t blink an eye or ask why I wanted everything planned right down to what I would wear even when we were young and death should have been ages away. She’d said it was smart and felt more people should be prepared.

It should have been further away. I’d planned and hoped for a little more time. 

My hand gripped the rough bark of the tree and I turned to go. I’ve witnessed my own funerals before and once you’ve been to one, you’ve been to them all. The enchanting morbidity of it died away centuries ago. Yet…

I took a small step out in front of my hiding spot and looked at the woman. As if she knew or heard, she looked up and met my eyes. There were no tears or smiles or cries of joy or terror. Only a single nod. A silent acknowledgement that she knew I was there. 

I gave her one back, then turned on my heel and ran as far and as fast as I could. There was no looking back, only forward, to the next death.

This Week’s Flynn Moment

Nothing like trying to get some words in and your puppy is snuggling by the laptop!

Happy Halloween!