Maybe this one will be strong enough.
Melanie heard the whisper in her mind as she stepped out of the car. It didn’t feel like a hospitable welcoming from the parking lot.
Don’t waste my time.
The same unnatural voice grew louder as she approached the funeral home.
She fidgeted with her keys in her front sweater pocket as she walked up the ramp. When reaching for the door handle, an electric shock raised every hair on her body from toenail to neck nape. These types of establishments always held residual spirits and usually a few roaming half humans, but the heightened energy from the handle she never touched put her on guard. She knew instantly that this was not a normal reading, nor a normal payment.
Covid had taken its toll on her finances over the past year and a half. Anxiety of the unknown virus had decreased her bank account to nearly zero. Readings, psychic parties, meditative classes, and all the other entrepreneurial marketing techniques she had perfected were put on the back burner. Bottom line, Melanie needed this job, no matter how bizarre the concept, especially considering the only stipulation to getting paid was offering her direct deposit information in advance. Her PayPal account was sufficient.
The solid oak door that felt re-stained due to a fire years ago, creaked open. A sharp dressed middle-aged man in an expensively tailored gray suit and a pink shirt with a white collar stood in the doorway. His Rolex gleamed and his diamond cufflinks glimmered in the sunlight cascading in through the open door. His hair was a disheveled mess that probably took him an hour to perfect.
He reached his hand out in greetings. “Thank you for coming. I’m Blake McPherson, third generation owner of this establishment.”
Melanie kept her hands in the front pouch of her sweater vest, leaving Blake shaking air. He adjusted, ever so slightly, by switching his weight from his left leg to his right. Clearly, he favored that right knee because of the cartilage damage, but Melanie decided not to make mention of the truth she already knew. Instead, she half smiled and introduced herself.
“Please, “Blake offered with an extended hand and a wide smile. “Come out of the damp cold. It sure does a number on these old bones, especially the knees.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
She was apprehensive stepping across the threshold, controlling her breath, and glancing around the lobby. Persons tall and short, wide and thin, bald and scalped, meandered around the front entry way and passed through the opposite wall when Melanie partially lowered her invisible barrier, allowing them to see her. Too quickly, she understood that this store was a chaotic place.
“I must say that your resume is quite impressive.” Blake side smiled. “However, maybe I have a bit of my own intuition as to why I chose you.”
Melanie responded with silence, trying to analyze Blake, which had nothing to do with the paranormal. His human interaction was no less than unusual. Then again, he did own a mortuary and crematorium.
“Why have you hired me?” Melanie asked, not wanting to sit as she was offered in the office filled with skeleton bones.
“Our paranormal activity has been increasing over the years.” Blake clasped his hands in front of his Italian leather belt. “But lately, the activity has amplified and is affecting our guests.” He added an overexaggerated head tilt and continued, “I can’t be sure, but since the Grant family’s slaying—I’m sure you read it in the news—things have really picked up.”
Melanie held up her hand, palm out. “Please do not continue. I’d like to tour the grounds and crematory myself to determine the root cause.” She waited for a reaction and received none. Blake stared, unblinking, like the half-burnt woman standing next to her. “If that’s okay with you,” she added.
“Yes, of course. I don’t have any appointments today. Cleared the calendar for you; so, you have all day to gather information.” Blake stepped backward and eased himself into the leather chair behind his mahogany desk. “I have plenty of work to keep me busy.”
Melanie half-turned to begin her investigation when Blake asked, “Before you begin, I have one question.”
Melanie nodded for him to continue.
“With all due respect, why did you choose to visit during the day. Most mediums prefer the midnight hours?”
Muscle tension nearly squeezed her left eye shut, but she forced the tightening to only a twitch before she responded. It wasn’t the question, but rather the way in which he asked it that kept her invisible shield up. “Time is irrelevant to the other-worldly spirits. They roam our world at all times, not just in the witching hour,” she stated matter-of-factly.
A cold blast of air came from Blake’s too arrogant smile. Melanie couldn’t be sure, but she felt the owner was hiding more than laundered money in this store.
Out of his egotistical aura, Melanie gathered herself outside of Blake’s office. She needed to put aside his unnatural energy and focus on the task at hand. With eyes closed, she began the grounding process by picturing tree roots extending and expanding from her feet. The energy pulled from a world of nature far below the surface slowly made its way up her legs, through her torso, limbs, and out her crown chakra. Her EYEwas now open and ready to see.
In an instant, the vomiting smell of decay filled her nose before her mortal eyes opened. Melanie took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Finally, with a slower heart rate, she eased her lids open and began her walk-through. The once-bright ambiance changed drastically to bone marrow, a deep brownish-red on the floors. Ashen dead bodies clothed with century old smocks and ripped linens lined the walls, standing shoulder to shoulder. Their stares void of life. The once baroque creamy ceiling with a large golden chandelier now revealed thick, long ivy stretching and weaving from corner to corner. What had she got herself into? This was only the main lobby area.
The floor squished liquid under her boots as she walked into the Viewing Room. Constant cries of torment stuffed her ears like cotton balls. To the right side of the empty space where a casket would normally lay, stood a podium made up of human bones. Thick femurs stood on end, ten across the front and back. Five lining each side. Smaller bones, probably radius and ulnas made up the platform, where an ancient, unworldly book lay closed. The cover of the frayed black leather held an image of a gold leaf pentagon.
She knew if she held the book, even placed a finger on the corner, Melanie would receive the information she sought. With a shaky hand, she declared, “Spirits please protect me,” and reached out, placing her right hand over the image. “Show me what I was hired to see.” Her head whipped back making her feel as though she would fly across the room, but the book held her hand in place, forcing her to receive the information she asked for. A twelve-foot bone man with red glowing eyes stood in front of the podium. His skull grazing the ivy in the ceiling.
Melanie tried to scream, to release her hand, to run, something, but the sheer force of the book kept her in place. The liquid oozed like lava below her feet as she tried desperately to unlock her boots from the muck. Blood saturated her socks and against gravity, forced its way up her pant leg. The bone man dropped his jaw. Don’t waste my time! Hurricane winds flew out of his mouth. Melanie toppled backward into the blood pond, the same spot where a casket would normally sit.
She darted to her feet, frantically wiping blood from her face and hair, wanting to run far away from the infestation living within the store. But the price tag on this job would pay the mortgage for a year, and then some. Deep within, she knew her spirit guides would protect her and Mr. McPherson wanted the answers that Melanie was determined to give him. But was this worth two hundred thousand? With confidence and protectors on her side, she closed her eyes, and once again took a deep meditative breath to calm herself and continue the walk-through.
With cleared eyes, the bone man disappeared. Blood retracted like water down a drain and the speaking podium looked typical, a cherry finish with a small microphone attached to the surface. The drywall was painted a light salmon. Paintings of serene scenery with intricate gold frames were placed strategically around the Viewing Room.
Melanie took another deep breath understanding from a place deep within her mind’s eye that the scene visitors see, is one of illusion. What she still didn’t know was if Blake created this store or was a victim of it. She put those thoughts aside for the time being so to determine the root cause of the bone man and his prisoners lining the walls like they were purposefully used in the building’s framework.
Through double open doors, Melanie left the Viewing Room and methodically stepped, one steady foot in front of the other, down the hallway. It looked hospitable enough, until she realized that the salmon painted walls swelled around her, slowly dematerializing into bones. The skeletal infrastructure rippled in and out of her peripheral as she walked, then returning to its drywall state. She reached an open door of a break room or sitting area for those disheartened by death. It was a funeral home after all.
The dead lining the perimeter of the room all turned their heads simultaneously, toward a door in the far corner. The living would have thought the door led to a cleaning closet of some sort, but her instincts told her otherwise.
The cleaning closet contained no buckets or mops. No vacuum. There was no window cleaner or toilet bowl brushes. Instead, there were at least twenty steps leading down a dark stairwell. Melanie stared down the darkened staircase, inadvertently picked at her black painted nail, and whispered, I don’t like this evil place. Cobwebs tickled her cheeks and shoulders as she descended into darkness.
Still standing on the bottom step, Melanie reached around the corner, and as hoped, flipped on the light switch. The floor of the basement flowed blood, like a river current leading to a larger sea. She poked her head out of the stairwell to determine what she might be getting into this time. Oh, God, help me. Her hands shook and her legs felt like a broken rubber band. The cremation chamber stood in the middle of the giant room. Death snaked up her nose. She leaned over and vomited.
“This isn’t just about the money anymore. These people need peace,” she said to herself in hopes confidence replaced the nausea. Did Blake know what was going on down here, she wondered.
Crimson splashed her pant legs with every hesitant step. There was no going back. The basement was filled with half burnt bodies. They lined the cement walls parallel from floor to ceiling, each on their own gliding gurney. It looked like the city morgue without the personal coffin box space.
Melanie walked between bodies. Four in a row had toe tags reading John Grant, June Grant, Jonathan Grant, Jessica Grant. The skin of most of them was charred off, half-clinging to bone. One had an eyeball still left in its socket with no lid to cover the death stare. She was so enchanted with the scene, that she didn’t realize that her guides were no longer speaking to her.
“Where have you gone?”
No response.
“I wish to close my third eye.”
Melanie closed her mortal eyes and when she reopened them, the blood river disappeared, but the stench of death still lingered. Half-burnt bodies, each on their own gurney, still lined the cement walls from ceiling to floor.
“What the…” Melanie ran up the stairs, through the break room, down the hall, past the Viewing Room and into Blake’s empty office. “Screw the money.” She turned to leave, never to set foot in this store again. By the time she reached for the front door’s handle, a familiar voice spun her around.
“You have done well, Miss Parcel. Most mediums have left within the first ten minutes.” His smile sent shivers down Melanie’s spine. “What information will you share with me today?”
Blake McPherson stood in the lobby. Behind him, the dead lining the walls rippled in and out of Melanie’s sight. She blinked, trying to regain her professionalism. After all, he didn’t know of her visions, did he?
“Mr. McPherson.” Melanie faced him, clasping her hands in front of her waist and hoped Blake hadn’t seen them trembling. “I believe your funeral home is haunted and the thing controlling it is a twelve-foot bone man.” She was blunt and honest, with no desire to tip-toe around the subject. She just wanted to leave. “I don’t believe your establishment can be exorcised or exonerated from the evil spirits roaming the grounds. You may want to consider selling this property and moving the building’s location far from this land.”
“Thank you for your honesty. As I stated, all the other mediums haven’t been able to gain so much information, and therefore none of them have been paid.” Blake took a step closer to Melanie. The closed door left her with nowhere to go. “You have already sent me your direct deposit information.” Blake pulled his phone from his front pocket. “I will transfer your two hundred thousand dollars now—if that’s alright with you.” His finger hovered over the send button, waiting for a response.
Melanie stared at the phone app with her profile picture displayed on the screen. Having had no clients in the past year, the pandemic drained her bank account. She did what she was asked. She should get paid, right? Her stomach curdled. Sweat beads moistened her forehead. The dead moved in waves behind Blake. Was the money worth it?
“Well?” Blake didn’t shift his weight to the other leg this time.
“Yes, thank you very much for this opportunity. I hope you take my advice,” Melanie’s voice shook.
Blake hit the send button and smiled, a vicious crook that pulled his lips back in an unnatural gesture. Her eyes bulged. This was no illusion of the dead this time. Melanie reached for the handle and tugged. The door was locked in place. She spun around and watched in horror as Blake’s skin slowly burnt away until only bone was visible. His once charming eyes transformed to red and before Melanie could scream, Blake shape-shifted into the twelve-foot bone man.
She clawed at the door. Kicked it. Ran to a window to dive out. Anything to get away from the madness of this place. The unbearably loud voice rang between her ears, making her brain feel like it would explode out of her head. She fell to her knees.
“I own you, Miss Parcel.”
Melanie held her ears, trying to stop the booming voice from another realm. She looked up at the bone man, realizing for the first time his true nature. Realizing the true consequence of accepting this job. She understood then. The answer was obvious, but she asked anyway. “What do you mean?”
“I paid you, not for your services, but for your bones. I’m sure you were quite aware that this is a store.” The laughter grew inside of Melanie’s head. Warm, fresh blood dripped from her ears. “You have three days to organize your finances and anything else you wish to arrange.” Another loud evil chuckle. “Your strength will give me opportunities your piddly guides cannot comprehend.”
The door swung open, slamming against the wall. Melanie sprang off her knees and ran out of the building, still clutching either side of her head. By the time she reached her car, the voice said one last thing, “You will spend an eternity with me.”
Three days later, the police report stated an electrical fire broke out in Melanie’s bedroom at 3am. There were no survivors.
-RA Dolence, 2021