Page 2 of Grave Humor

She’d been headed to heaven.

Her husband had gone to hell.

The whole town knew why, but it took death and some help from me to guide her back to the light where she belonged.

Mr. Theault was just one of the cheating, abusive bastards in town, and on a bad day, I wanted to take a pair of honey rocks and beat the assholes to death with them. The thought of ruining two perfectly good melons kept me from indulging in my desire to clean up Sunset, which probably meant I had a ticket to hell once I kicked the bucket, too.

I’d still gotten a gift card for helping Mrs. Theault head to where she belonged, but it hadn’t been enough to cover even a single honey rock after I’d gotten the necessities to get me through another week.

I hoped Mrs. Theault found a better man in heaven or got a new chance at a life with someone worth her time. Of all the little old ladies in town, she’d been one of the nice ones. Despite her long years, she never forgot what it meant to be compassionate. I supposed that had something to do with her final destination.

We needed a few more people like Mrs. Theault in the world. Then I wouldn’t want to do things like rip a dead man’s remaining organs out of his nostril.

Why the hell was mutilation of a corpse illegal? And since the corpse happened to be able to get up, walk, and talk, not only would I be hit with a count of mutilation of a corpse, I’d also get jailed for assault and whatever other charges someone got for ripping a dead guy’s remaining internal organs out through his nose.

I allowed my shoulders to slump, and I sighed again.

“That would be mean of me. All right, Anwen. I’ll give this hand to you. How do you get your groceries, and what does me going back to my coffin have to do with it?” The old, dead man sat across from me, squishing as he made himself comfortable. After the first dozen chatterbox corpses, I’d convinced the funeral home director to use thick pleather cushions, which were a breeze to clean. An hour with the right chemicals and some elbow grease, and no one would know Old Man McGregor had left his coffin and gone for a stroll.

“It’s simple. At your viewing—before and after, too—you don’t make anyone scream. You don’t scream. Nobody screams. Director Hammel hates when people scream in his funeral home. If no one screams or breaks any of the other rules, I get groceries. My current wage doesn’t pay for my bills and my groceries, so it’s really nice when a lively corpse behaves. If one behaves every month, I get my groceries. It works well for everyone.”

Once and only once, two corpses had felt sorry for me, and I’d gotten to have a nice steak to go with enough food to get by plus an entire pack of cigarettes.

Damn it, I could use a smoke, and I didn’t care if it landed me in my grave early. If someone brought me to my work for interment, I’d go out with a bang and work hard to break every damned rule on my way out. With the way my thoughts kept going, I had a ticket to hell, and damn it all, I meant to earn it.

“That’s it?”

I understood the skepticism in the old man’s voice. Director Hammel knew everybody in town, and the smart ones gave my boss a wide berth for good reason.

Old Man McGregor, while considered the town’s almost-lovable nuisance, wasn’t stupid.

“That’s it,” I confirmed, although I did nod towards the placard informing guests of the funeral home’s rules.

“I can do what I want as long as nobody screams?”

I pointed at the rules. “Those still apply.”

Old Man McGregor turned in the chair and read, “No screaming, no murdering, no mutilation, no possessions, no kidnapping, no resurrections, and no cursing of any type. Please remain quiet and polite.”

“If you obey all those rules, I’m paid a bonus in the form of a grocery store gift card tomorrow morning.”

“What’s in it for me?”

And there it was, the usual request for a bribe. If he wanted to be bribed, I could give him an ultimatum the dead wisely feared. “I won’t call the priest or tell Director Hammel you got out of your coffin. I’ll clean up before the viewing, and should you decide to do something that doesn’t break the rules, I’ll play dumb.”

Sometimes, giving the dead a chance to stretch their legs and play harmless pranks before they returned to the ground helped them accept their final rest. If he didn’t go down and stay down by tomorrow morning, the priest would handle the details with no one being the wiser his sermon was more than showing respects for the dearly not-quite departed.

“That ain’t hard for you, youngin’. We all know you never did finish your schoolin’ like a good girl. Why not, anyway? In my day, why, we would’ve given an arm and a leg for the chances you’ve thrown away.”

I considered taking my phone and beating the corpse to his final rest. “I could just call for the priest.”

“No, no. That’s all right. I never did get along with that jackass anyway. Indulge an old dead man, Anwen m’dear. Why quit? You’ve nowhere to go now. Your old man kicked you out over it, didn’t he? I’ve heard things you know. You made your momma cry.”

I picked up the phone, cradled it between my shoulder and ear, and cracked my knuckles in a show of preparation. Disgust and fury grew as a cold seed deep within my chest. “So I did, Mr. McGregor.” She’d cried because I hadn’t given her any fucking money to chase after her vices. She’d never given a shit about my schooling; to her, women existed to provide men with children, and all education did was get in the way of the procreation. She’d done her duty having me, and that was as far as it went with her. “I’m going to give you three choices. I recommend you choose wisely, or the priest will be over here in ten minutes to ruin your fun.”

“Three? Wasn’t it two before?”

Asshole old man. With enough work, could a spine be ripped out through a nostril? “Now it’s three. Are you going to cooperate and hear your choices, or am I just going to give the priest a call?”