Hollow Tree

by Ian Neligh

  Working in the service industry sucked. He wanted something quieter this summer. A job that didn’t demand a lot of him and allowed him time to collect his thoughts. He needed to do a little soul-searching—and a security officer at the local mortuary seemed like a perfect fit. It was quiet, five miles outside of town, and even further from the college—and Sara.

  He needed the money, sure, he always needed the money, but this summer he needed the isolation, too. Sara had broken up with him, by e-mail, a day before finals. With her went the friends he met in her social circles. None of them wanted to talk with him, their allegiances falling to her. She’d never explained why she was ending their relationship. After four months that was it. With a damn email.

  He had wracked his brain to see what it was he had done wrong. A few days before the e-mail he had backed down from an aggressive jock at a local bar. She had looked disappointed in him when he hadn’t taken the bait. But Jon, a history major, wasn’t crazy about the idea of having his face punched in by someone with the IQ of a microwave dinner.

  So what if he was a coward? He had never been in a fight—and he meant to keep it that way. As far as he was concerned it was over and done with. If she wanted a tough guy to hang out with, she could find a townie working in the lumber yard or wait around on the fields after football practice.

  He was angry and he needed the job to get him out of the dorms, to get his mind off his troubles.

  “Right, take a nice, long look,” Carl said. “This is as close as you get champ.”

  The security guard stopped and made a careless gesture to his right toward the double doors on the second floor.

  “The one and only reason you’ll ever go in there is if there’s some kind of an issue,” Carl said. “These are the ones being worked on. So otherwise, stay the hell out, it's off-limits.”

  Jon peered through the door’s wire-crossed windows and saw a handful of gurneys on the other side. It was the only room he wasn’t allowed in. Lying on the gurneys, covered in black plastic sheets, were familiar forms. Jon had never been so close to death, and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. In an odd way they looked like upsidedown exclamation points. On the left side of the room Jon could make out a series of tables covered in instruments. Saws, scalpels—all metal and sharp. In the dim light they glittered like wet teeth.

  “What’s the difference between a mortuary and a funeral home?” Carl asked.

  Caught off guard, Jon thought back to his orientation packet.

  “Oh, um‚ a mortuary can do a cremation and eh…other body presentation stuff…”

  Carl pointed down the hallway to another large set of double doors. “Right, well, that ‘stuff,’ takes place in there.”

  He then pointed to the first set of doors where the handful of bodies lay on gurneys. “There’s an elevator in back that takes ’em one more floor down to a presentation room for family viewing, and that’s where we get the new arrivals.”

  Carl looked Jon in the eye and smirked, as if he knew what he was thinking. “And, no, you may not use the elevator.”

  Jon, having no desire to be near the bodies or use the elevator, followed Carl back down the stairs.

  “If there’s a problem,” Carl continued, “use the direct line to Dr. Kerrigan. Do not use your cell phone, it probably won’t work up here—and he won’t recognize your number anyway. If there’s a break-in, and they have happened before, do not try to apprehend anyone, just visually verify the illegal act and call Dr. Kerrigan or myself.”

  “Break-ins?” Jon asked, feeling his stomach butterfly at the idea of dealing with an actual confrontation. The other reason he’d applied was his belief that there would be very little need of his services.

  “Years ago someone tried to break in. Young punks,” Carl said, stressing the word for Jon’s benefit, “with nothing to do but drive up here from town in search of cheap thrills.”

  Carl’s use of “cheap thrills” reminded Jon of an exploitive ’50s movie about greasers and fast cars.

  They got back to the bottom of the stairs and started to head for the far end of the building, past the tiled floor, and through one of two red-carpeted family viewing areas.

  “Don’t fret, they’re generally harmless townies who wander around the grounds looking for graves or some such stupid crap—cemetery is miles off. Just stay inside and give me, the doctor, or, failing all of the above, the police a call. The doctor lives on the edge of town and in an emergency could be over here in a couple minutes.”

  He stopped. “If I’ve had a couple beers, it might take me longer to get up the hill,” Carl said, thinking out loud, then turned on his heel back to where the scant administrative offices were located.

  Carl opened the door to Dr. Kerrigan’s office and waved Jon inside. “When you’re done, find me. I’ll finish the tour and give you a set of keys.”

  Jon nodded and walked into the office and past an unused secretary’s desk to the back, where Dr. Kerrigan did most of his administrative duties.

  Grandfatherly, the mortician looked up as Jon came into the room. “Jon,” he said, looking pleased to see him. “How was your tour of the old building?”

  “So far so good,” Jon said, doing his best to look competent and reliable.

  “Good, good. She’s been a mortuary going on eighty-nine years. Did you know that?”

  Jon shook his head.

  “Sure, got a necessary upgrade in the ’60s with a government grant—that’s when we got our cold room downstairs and the elevator. Beats trying to go up and down the stairs all day, eh?”

  “Carl said I should stay away from the elevator and that part of the building,” Jon said.

  Dr. Kerrigan blinked. “Hm? Oh, certainly, well you may need to use it in an emergency, but it can get downright spooky back there at night. That elevator works about as well as a one-wheeled car—and if you get stuck in it, we might not know till morning.”

  Jon had no intention of being stuck in an elevator used for transporting dead bodies.

  “I’ll just use the stairs.”

  “Did Carl tell you about the ghost?” Dr. Kerrigan asked, winking.

  Jon shook his head again.

  Dr. Kerrigan laughed a dry guffaw that turned into coughing and waved the notion down from the air with his hands.

  “You’ll do just fine,” he said. “You can always—” The mortician was interrupted by his giant flashing desk phone. “I need to take this. Go ahead and finish up with Carl. I’ll catch you on my way out for the evening.”

  Two

  After exploring around on the ground floor for Carl, Jon’s cell phone began to ring. He dug in his new polyester pocket and took it out. He smiled with satisfaction, recalling that Carl had told him his phone wouldn’t work.

  He looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Sara. His heart thumped in his chest.

  He answered, “Hullo.”

  “Jon, it's Sara.”

  Her voice was wrapped and layered in static.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “How’re you doing?” she asked.

  The question, while innocent, made him angry. How the hell did she think he was doing? This must be how it felt to be a spider tortured by a child who just wants to see what happens when you pull the legs off.

  “Fine,” he answered.

  “I feel like I need to talk to you,” Sara said.

  “Well, I’m at work now, just started a new—”

  “Yeah, I heard, you’re working now at the funeral home outside of town,” she said.

  “It’s a mortuary—”

  “We’re going to drop by and—” Her voice cut out, then came back with a collection of half words as Jon tried to tell her she couldn’t.

  “Can you hear me?” he asked. He listened and the interference seemed to clear up. “You and your friends can’t come by, it’s a new job.”

  “Now wait one second,” she said in the way she did when she expected to get her
way.

  If they were no longer in a relationship, he didn’t have to be polite, so Jon hung up.

  He found Carl in the small employee break room, sitting at a table, drinking a soda.

  “Okay,” Carl said, standing up and burping into his fist. “Two more stops on our tour. I know it probably all seems simple to you—and far be it for me to ask—but do you have any questions? ’Cause if you do, now is the time to spit them out.”

  Jon racked his brain and shook his head. The job was indeed simple: Every fifteen minutes go through the security desk’s close-circuit cameras of the building’s exterior, and note the results in a log. Every hour do a walking check of the building’s interior, doors, and windows, and note the results in a log. Every three hours do a walking check of the building’s exterior, note the results in a log.

  “Dr. Kerrigan did mention something about a ghost?” Jon asked, trying, for the umpteenth time, to break the ice.

  “There’s no fucking ghost. Follow me, I’ll show you the last two rooms,” Carl said, tossing his can in the trash and leading the way to the back of the building. “Oh, and by the way, if you’re ever caught asleep on the job, you’ll be fired on the spot.”

  Jon wondered if it was even possible to fall asleep in a building like this.

  The building had several private reception rooms in the back in addition to the second red-carpeted presentation room. Making their way down the center aisle of chairs, Carl pointed to a wooden wall.

  “That’s the elevator’s second-floor entrance. Its got that fake wood paneling, which makes it hell to open from the inside, so you might be asked to help open it when they need to get a body out for service,” Carl said. “If you’re helping to get one out of here, you’ll always have to wait a second, because no matter where the damned elevator stopped—it will always reset back to the bottom floor.”

  The big man pointed one thick finger down to the plush red carpet.

  “That’s where the cold room is, where they take the new arrivals.” Then, after a log moment, added, “I’ll show you, but touch nothing.”

  Carl walked up to the wooden panel, showed Jon the hidden latch, and slid the wall open, revealing a set of elevator doors. He pushed the “Down” button and waited as a loud whine and groan preceded the elevator’s arrival.

  With a chime, it arrived and the two doors shuddered open. Nondescript and colored in a tan paint, the elevator smelled to Jon like his chemistry class’s supply locker. Carl hit the button to go down, and after a moment it lurched and sank to the bottom floor. They waited in silence for the elevator to stop and its doors to open.

  Jon found the “cold room” looked a lot like an old automotive garage. The room had a stained cement floor and a wall of empty gurneys with several hydraulic machines he couldn’t imagine the purpose of. Vents along the ceiling made the room chilly. At the far end a garage door was open, and Dr. Kerrigan stood outside among a group of policemen and an ambulance driver.

  “Shit, they’re bringing one in,” Carl said, motioning Jon back to the elevator. “Our sightseeing for the day is over.”

  Before the elevator closed again, Jon could see several men roll in a tarp-covered body on a gurney. Police officers wearing Smokey the Bear hats followed them in.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” Carl said as they traveled up in the elevator. Jon looked at the security guard in the poor lighting. “It can get spooky here at night, especially in the cold room, and while its no excuse to slack off, you should probably know…”

  In the shadows Carl looked like some type of Scandinavian troll, with his round nose and sunken, glittering eyes. There was the slightest hint of a smile.

  “Sometimes they twitch.”

  Three

  Jon sat at the security desk, which was located on the black-and-white-checkered first floor. The desk and its small bank of television monitors faced the entrance and second-floor stairs, with the offices and viewing area to his left and the windows and front lawn to his right. A small closet was located behind him with paper towels and toilet paper.

  Carl left him a bundle of keys, and without further ceremony was gone for the day. Dr. Kerrigan was a little longer in wrapping up on account of his late arrival. Jon could hear the mortician and the law enforcement officers moving around on the floor beneath him. After about an hour Jon watched on the black-and-white televisions as the police vehicles left, their brake lights flickering like small stars as they disappeared down the road. By then the light was starting to fade.

  The clouds overhead, in concert with the setting sun, gave the outdoor world an unsettling orange hue. For some reason it reminded him of his break-up with Sara. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in a failed relationship, but it was the first time someone had left him without explanation. Sara was impulsive and quirky, traits he had initially found intriguing. It felt like his heart had been torn out and thrown up against a wall.

  Her e-mail had simply said: I’ve decided to move on, sorry. - S

  Jon was pulled from his thoughts when Dr. Kerrigan came up the stairs and went into his office. After rummaging around for a bit, he came out and walked across the polished floor to the security desk.

  “That does it for me,” the doctor said, looking tired and somehow older. “Do you need anything? Are you ready for your first day—er, evening, on the job?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jon said, standing up from behind the desk.

  “Good, good,” the doctor said, turning to the side for a moment, then looking back at Jon as he remembered something. “We have a new arrival, whom the police are interested in. They’ll bring in a forensic scientist in a day or so. It’d be best if you stayed away from the cold room for now.”

  Jon nodded, just thankful he wouldn’t have to patrol the area.

  “Just make sure the room is locked securely from the outside,” Dr. Kerrigan said. “I’ve secured a padlock; it’s something the police insist on.”

  The mortician waited for another moment to see if he had anything else to say, then, nodding once, added, “Well, I’m off, have a good evening.”

  Jon wished him the same and watched the doctor leave the building, climb into his ’75 Cadillac in the parking lot, and drive off. His little sedan was now alone. It needed so much engine work he was lucky to get it to his first day of work.

  The sky’s orange coloring turned a shade of bruise purple. Jon walked up to the entrance door and turned the interior lock to the right, securing the deadbolt.

  He walked back to the security desk and sat down, letting himself sink into the faux leather chair. Jon glanced at the three monitors, noted the time, and made a notation on his checklist. He had never worked a twelve-hour shift before and had no idea how he was going to keep awake.

  With everyone gone, Jon began to pick up on the natural sounds of the building. He heard the low rumble of the cold room’s refrigeration, the hum of the break room’s soda machine, and the creaking of the roof. An old building like this must shift and settle like an old pile of bones.

  Jon glanced at the clock and saw that it was time to do his first interior check. He got up from the chair and picked up the checklist. Starting at the back with the viewing areas and administrative offices, he worked his way around each room. He flicked on and off each area’s light, glanced around, and checked it off on his sheet.

  Many of the light switches were located a good way into each room, and he found it difficult not to feel hurried to get out of the dark after switching off the light. Making himself look more bored and confident than he really felt, he made his way up the stairs to the second floor.

  Jon peered through one of the double-door windows, putting his flashlight up against the glass on the other door. He moved the light from side to side, causing the beam to wash over the shapes on the gurneys. The moving of the light caused the shadows to stretch and reach from one side of the room to the other like fingers. His light reflected off the metal elevator door in the back.

 
He couldn’t see in every corner but decided his check was good enough. He’d been told not to go in there unless there was an emergency and decided the place would have to be on fire before he even considered it. Walking over to the cremation room, he opened the door. Inside, at the back, was what looked like a large, brick pizza oven. It was human sized. The room was empty. He closed the door, made another notation in his log, and went back downstairs. He felt more comfortable back in the black-and-white-tiled entrance way. For one, there was light, and for another, no dead bodies.

  He walked across to the security desk, shoes squeaking on the tile. He sat down and watched the cameras. Less than nothing was happening. He tried to keep himself occupied for another thirty minutes but began to grow tired. He hadn’t had time to adjust to working a nighttime schedule.

  Bored and desperate to stay awake, he looked through the security desk, finding old paper clips, rubber bands, and an ancient, half-eaten protein bar. He came across Carl’s worn security belt, and in the bottom drawer among a dozen various forms, he found a small portable television.

  After fiddling with it for a second, he turned on its high-contrast black-and-white screen to find the nightly newscast. The camera zoomed in on a serious-looking woman with a perfect haircut and a small screen over her right shoulder, which showed an image of police tape.

  “In other news, police believe they have discovered the body of missing killer Randall Davis. Davis, known for his brutal killing spree across the state earlier this year, disappeared last week after a shootout with police, where it was believed he received a critical injury.”

  The police tape image turned to a mug shot of a tall man with long, stringy black hair. His eyes were black like eight balls.

  “The body was found earlier this afternoon in a car on National Forest Service land. Police are confirming the car was registered to Davis. A spokesperson for the coroner’s office said the body was badly decomposed and has yet to be identified.”