The Funeral Home: Part 4- Our Very Own Slimer
I expected hell fire. Or spirits of witches past. Or the
room to shake. I expected something big to happen, but nothing did.
We sat quietly at Althea’s funeral listening to a priest
talk about Althea’s good deeds and her commitment to the holy.
“She was a model of propriety” The priest said.
He removed the photo of young Althea holding the “DEATH TO WITCHES” sign. Behind it was a photo of the old woman dressed in a black robe
with a white cloth over her hair.
“She was a nun?!” I whispered just low enough for Kyle and
Melinda to hear.
“Duh” answered Melinda.
“You could have mentioned that!” I whispered back.
“Seems like an important detail” Kyle chimed in.
“My little cuties, you should get out of here.” A now
familiar motherly voice said from behind.
Directly behind us, sat the ghost from the casket room. She
smiled kindly. Kyle, Melinda, and I eyed each other just to confirm we
all saw the same thing. The mourners seated around the ghost were none the
wiser of the phantom, though they were somewhat aware that we were staring at
the empty seat near them. An old man stared at us and tisked with a look that
screamed those young people.
Tiny mushrooms began to pop out of the
carpet beneath the ghost. The putrid smell took only seconds to waft into the
air. The mourners looked uncomfortable. One held a hand to their nose,
whispering to their companion that someone must have farted.
“Althea knew how easy it is to be swept up in unholy things.
She devoted her life to stomping out witchcraft . . .” the priest said.
“Meet me outside.” The ghost said with a wink. And then she
was gone.
Kyle stood up on command. The priest stopped talking and the
whole room stared. Melinda stood up slowly. “He’s just really moved.” She said,
elbowing Kyle in the ribs. “He needs a minute.” Kyle’s eyes glistened with
tears of pain. The priest nodded and a woman behind us commented on how moving
the service was. We shuffled out, heads down, toward the small Catholic cemetery
in the back of the funeral home. (Our own cemetery with our club house was in
the protestant cemetery- something I hadn’t realized until today.)
It was downpouring.
The ghost sat a few yards away, in a private mourning area
that had to have been paid for by an uber rich family. It was a small fenced in
area with a gazebo, a golden crucifix and a giant tombstone. Flowers and shrubbery
decorated the perfectly manicured space.
I snagged an umbrella from the w\rack by the door and we
trudged out toward the ghost, Kyle rubbing his ribs. The rain was so loud, I
couldn’t hear anything else. Not my own thoughts; not even my footsteps. We
huddled together, a mass of black cloth floating toward a phantom.
Melinda’s fear washed over me in a wave. I reached out and
squeezed her hand. She squeezed back weakly. Kyle stared straight ahead, with his
ever-present puzzled expression. I wondered if he’d finally acknowledge ghosts,
seeing as one was now talking to him too . . .
“Hello, darlings” The ghost woman said. We’d approached the metal
fence surrounding the memorial. Kyle clicked open the gate and we stood just
inside the private area, our back to the exit. “I really should introduce
myself. You can call me Birdie.”
“Hell . . . o.” I said, shakily. Until now, I hadn’t taken
the time to really look at Birdie. In my mind she was a ghost lady, she didn’t
need descriptors. Without the ominous messages and rotting mushrooms, I finally
really saw her. She looked like a judge from The Great British Baking show. Utterly prime and conservative, dressed in a floral print flowy dress with short
billow sleeves. Her skirt went down to mid-calf and she wore tasteful nude
heels. She looked about 70 years old and was wearing an old lady fro.
"They’ll be coming out soon.” Birdie said, motioning to the
funeral home. “It’s important that you stop what you’re doing, Melinda. No more
spells.”
“Why??” Melinda asked, breaking free from our huddle to
approach the ghost.
“Have you ever heard of a witch hunt?” Birdie said coyly.
“It’s 2019. We don’t burn witches at the stake anymore.”
Melinda replied, annoyed.
“Oh, but you are in Clancyville dears.” Birdie said with a
wave of her hand and a wink.
Melinda had a look on her face that screamed ‘I’m going to
do whatever the hell I want.’ “It’s OGS now . . .” Melinda muttered under her
breath, pointing out that Clancyville hasn’t been the name of the town in decades.
“Head my warning, little witch. Dark times are coming.”
Melinda snorted.
“And Kyle love, I really am dead. It’s not an illusion,
sweetheart. You really must stop with the magic trick research. No one is trying to trick your little team. It’s quite the
waste of time.”
Kyle went sheet white, his caramel colored skin turning a
pale grey. “Buttttt . . . I” He said, stuttering. He reached out and put a hand
through Birdie’s head. She giggled as his fingers passed through her old lady
fro. “Dear God!” He whispered
“Morgan, Morgan.” She said turning her attention toward me.
I’d stepped a few feet back, closer to the gate. “I’m afraid you aren’t going to
like what comes next.”
“What comes next??”
Birdie eyed me, her eyes crinkling as she looked me up and down. “I’ll be seeing you all real soon. Count me in to your
little Undead Society club. It’ll be a hoot.” Birdie said with a giggle and
vanished.
The doors to the funeral home swung open, a procession of
men carried Althea’s casket on their shoulders.
We slinked out the back of the cemetery, through the yard of
the Catholic church, back to Melinda’s Jeep.
What comes next??
“I need a drink” said Kyle as we piled in. He was still pale.
“Me too” said Melinda.
“Me three” I echoed, slamming the Jeep door shut.
“Slimer . . . Is that the name of the ghost in that show?
The sidekick?” Kyle asked out of nowhere.
“What?” I asked.
“Are you talking about Ghostbusters?” Melinda asked with
disbelief.
“Yes, I watched it. I’m tired of not understanding your
references, Melinda.”
“Yes, it’s Slimer.” Melinda said, surprised.
“Seems we have our own Slimer” Kyle said matter-of-factly.
He cracked a sly smile.
We all shared in a much-needed laugh. I laughed
so hard I started to cry.
“Where are we going?” I asked as Melinda backed up the Jeep.
“The club house of course. I put beer in the mini fridge.”
“Of course you did.”
___________________________________________________________________________
Hey guys!
Come back next week for anther short story. Things are getting weird in OGS!
Love always,
Morgan
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