Watch

by Cass J. McMain

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere. I can’t listen to this anymore. You can’t either.”

  They moved out of the foyer and down a hall. The quiet grew deeper as they moved through the carpeted passage. They saw a door and peeked through it.

  Their mother’s coffin rested a few feet away. This was the side door to the chapel.

  “There’s two doors?”

  “More than two. Didn’t you see it before? We came in from the other side. There’s two rooms over there where we were.”

  “Why do they have so many?”

  Todd shrugged. “For grieving. So if you’re crying really bad, you can hide out in one of the side rooms.”

  “So people can’t see you cry?”

  “So people won’t see you all messed up, with tears and snot and crap running down your face.”

  “Did you cry? Before?”

  Todd didn’t answer that. He walked into the chapel and stood next to the coffin, looking at the floor. “I didn’t look, yet. Did you?”

  “No.” Scott shook his head. “Are we supposed to?”

  “They didn’t say we couldn’t. I dunno, though. If I want to, I mean. Do you?”

  “What’s she look like?”

  Todd rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, retard. Right? That’s the whole point. She’ll probably just look like she’s sleeping. That’s what they say, anyway. The body’s just supposed to look natural, like nothing happened.”

  “I saw Corky looking. She put something in there.”

  “Yeah, people do that. The lady with the feathery hat was giving out flowers to put.”

  “No, she had something else. From her pocket.”

  “Oh, well. People put all kinds of stuff, I guess. Just stuff they think the dead person might want. In Egypt, they used to bury people with all sorts of crap. The men, they’d bury them in these big tombs with all their stuff, and then they’d bury their pets and wives with them.”

  “They killed their pets?”

  “They buried them alive. But yeah, I guess that killed them eventually.”

  Scott turned away and approached the casket. “I’m gonna look. I want to see what Corky put in. It wasn’t flowers.”

  Todd hesitated, watching Scott. Then he moved up to stand beside him, and they viewed the body together.

  “She doesn’t look normal.”

  “She’s not, dummy. She’s… dead.”

  “I mean… she’s wearing all this eye shadow and stuff. She never wore that. And look, she never did her hair like this.”

  Todd folded his arms. “Well they probably had to use some old photo or something, to go by. It’s not like she did it herself.”

  Scott stood on his toes and leaned over. “Geez. Look at all the flowers on her,” he said, but his eyes were looking elsewhere, around the edge where he had seen Corky reach in.

  “Told you, that lady had a huge bunch of roses she was giving everyone.”

  “Why do people put so much flowers all over? They’re just going to die.”

  Todd’s eyes took in all the flowers laid across his mother’s chest and arms, and he shrugged. “Dunno. For the smell, I think.”

  “The smell?”

  “Yeah. You know.” Todd sniffed the air. “See, you can smell all these flowers, right, all around us?”

  Scott sniffed and agreed, he could smell the flowers.

  “So…well, I think they started doing that so you’d smell the flowers, not the… the body. I mean, a long time ago, when they didn’t embalm them and stuff.”

  “What’s that? Enbomb?”

  “Embalm. You know. They drain out all the blood and take the guts and stuff out. They fill the body up with formaldehyde. To keep it from… hey, don’t. What are you doing?” Todd grabbed Scott by the shoulder.

  Scott had spotted the mirror and reached in to pick it up. Now he held it up for a closer look.

  “Dude, put that back, you aren’t supposed to take shit out of there.”

  “Look, it’s a mirror,” Scott said, stating the obvious. He looked into it and then turned it around and looked at the back. This was what Cousin Corky had put in, instead of flowers. “Why would Corky put a mirror?”

  “People put all sorts of things, I told you. Put it back. We’re not even supposed to be in here. You’re gonna get us in trouble. Put it back.”

  Scott tossed the mirror back into the casket with a thunk, and Todd jerked him roughly away. “You better not have broke it. Seven years of bad luck if you break a mirror.”

  “It didn’t… we’d have heard it if it broke,” Scott said. But he couldn’t be sure, so he pulled away from Todd to peer down into the casket again. “I can’t see it.”

  “Get out of there,” Todd hissed.

  “But what if it did break?”

  “So what if it did? Nobody’s gonna know. They’re going to bury it all in a couple of hours.”

  “But… what about the bad luck?”

  “It didn’t break, dumbass. And if it did, it’s just a superstition. It’s not real.” Todd made a fist and mock-punched his brother on the ear before turning around and jogging up the aisle toward the doorway. “C’mon. Uncle Bruce is gonna be mad. We’re not supposed to be in here.”

  Scott took a half-step back from the casket, but his eyes were still riveted to it. “Who gets the bad luck? The person who breaks it? Or the person who keeps the mirror?”

  He flicked a look back at his brother. But Todd was gone.

  Chapter 15

  Corky tried some of Seth’s punch and made a face.

  “It’s not cold enough, is why,” Seth said, taking it back. “It’s alright. Could use some vodka.”

  “Very funny. God, I’m starved. Where were the cookies?”

  Seth pointed. “They had donuts too. And some little crackery things. They were good.”

  She headed in the direction Seth had indicated and came upon the refreshment table, slightly picked over but still bearing plenty of food. Cookies and donuts. The crackery things appeared to be gone. She took one of the napkins and placed a couple of cookies on it.

  The lady with the black hat appeared beside her. “Hello dear.” She set a small plate of crackers on the table. “Aren’t those cookies divine? Did you get some punch? Are you a relative?”

  Corky blinked at this odd series of questions, but the answer was simple enough to give, so she did. “Yes.”

  “Times like these always make me appreciate the little things, you know? Were you and Pamela close?”

  “Not… well, I don’t live in town… we’re cousins. We were. Pam was my cousin.”

  “Bless you,” said the lady, leaning in to hug Corky. “Cousins! How about that?” She held Corky out at arm’s length and looked her up and down. “Poor Bruce, what a year it’s been for him. Have you talked to him? Those poor children. How is he holding up?”

  The lady wore a tiny cross around her neck and Corky’s eye settled there. It disturbed her. Why did people wear these things? Was there any gain in a constant reminder of the terrible suffering men could inflict on one another? Corky was, of course, wearing one herself, but for none of the normal reasons. Or was there a normal reason?

  “It was my sister’s,” the lady said, holding out the cross for Corky to see in greater detail. “I saw you looking at it. I don’t mind. My sister, God rest her soul, bought this in Italy. It gives me great comfort to have it near me.”

  “Ah. I see.” Corky leaned in politely and admired the little cross. “Very nice.”

  “It reminds me of her, of course,” the lady said as she patted the cross back into place against her chest, “but also helps me to remember that I am not alone. We are all sinners, but none of us are alone.”

  The lady patted Corky on the shoulder and made her way off to chat with others, leaving Corky standing there with her cookies and her hidden cross and her question still preying on her mind. The lady with the black hat wore her cross to remind her that she was but one of ma
ny sinners; somehow that comforted her.

  The one Corky wore was a burden, a trophy of death. It made her feel more alone, not less.

  She thought of Grey and his friends, wearing their own crosses for whatever reasons they had to offer, and laughed. Moony had wanted her to have his to protect her from the enemy. But his enemies didn’t feel like her own, now. His enemies didn’t even feel real.

  Corky took the cross off and held it in her hand, looking at it. There was a time when she’d felt it might save her life. Do not let him find you sleeping. Good advice, maybe. But what good did it do to pretend the cross was a weapon against evil? It wasn’t; it was just a reminder. The evil could still be anywhere.

  She closed her eyes, feeling like a fool. It was as lovely a cross as she’d ever seen, certainly. Probably she should be proud to have it. But she wasn’t. Now she didn’t even want it. She passed it from hand to hand, thinking.

  She’d given the mirror back. Maybe she could give the cross back, too.

  Chapter 16

  Scott stood on tiptoe, his eyes fixed on his dead mother’s foreign face, and reached in slowly, feeling for the mirror. His fingertips brushed against her body and he let out a squeak of fear. How could the mirror have vanished like this? It must have bounced… under. He took a deep breath and reached further, dizzy with fright.

  This was the closest he’d been to his mother since she died. Well, no, that wasn’t the truth. He’d touched her once… after. When he’d tried to wake her. She hadn’t responded to his yelling, so he’d poked her in the ribs a few times. And then he’d taken out his little knife, but even that hadn’t gotten her up. He’d thought she was sleeping, but after he cut her arm and she didn’t flinch, he knew it wasn’t sleep. Nobody sleeps through that.

  “She’s not sleeping,” he muttered now, feeling around in the coffin, horrified that she might suddenly sit up. Sit up and grab him and slap him across the face. She’d be so mad. He hadn’t been a good boy. He’d cut her on the arm. And now he’d (maybe) broken a mirror that he’d been (sort of) thinking about stealing. He was always bad. That was why she’d been taking so many pills in the first place. She told him so: he made her crazy; he drove her to drink.

  Scott pressed his lips together and reached in deeper. She can’t wake up, he thought. She’s not asleep, she’s dead. He knew she was. They had even taken all her blood and guts out. If she got up now, she’d be a… what?

  “Zombie,” he whispered, stealing a glance at her face again. “If she gets up now she’s a zombie.” His heart did funny things in his chest and he continued to feel around near her waistline for the mirror, but he couldn’t find it. It must have gone down farther.

  Down by her legs.

  He squinted into the darkness there. The coffin lid had two halves, and the part over the legs was closed. He thought he could see the handle of the mirror, just the tip. It was down there, but he couldn’t reach in that far. Not without going in headfirst.

  “No way,” he said, but almost no sound came out. The luck wasn’t that important. Not enough to make him do that. He wanted to know if it was broken, but not that much.

  He’d never want anything that much. Not anything.

  But he wanted to know almost that much. Enough that he hesitated, with tears in his eyes, still trying to work up the courage to reach in farther. Maybe if he lifted the lid, he could reach it. He put his hands on the lid and tried, but it wouldn’t budge. His frustration mounted. Maybe Todd would help him. Probably he’d make fun of him instead, but he had to go find him and ask.

  He turned, red in the face and wiping his eyes, and found Corky looking at him.

  Chapter 17

  …the sun teases me, and the moon is worse. I am surrounded.

  Corky took a step forward, hesitated, then took another step. “Scott? Are you alright, honey?” She stuffed her hands into her pockets awkwardly. Dumb thing to ask. But what was she supposed to do?

  Scott looked up at her, and his red face grew redder. “I’m… I was… just. Nothing.”

  She knelt in front of him and put her hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s hard.” She didn’t know what else to say, and she felt like a fool. Where was Bruce? Where was Seth? Where was the lady with the hat? Anybody else could handle this better than she could.

  “Where’s your brother?” Corky looked around the room.

  “He went back out. I was just looking. I didn’t do anything.”

  “No, of course you… of course you wanted to…” She squeezed his shoulder again, thinking of her own mother’s funeral and how afraid she’d been. “Did it… were you scared?”

  Scott’s head moved slightly. “It didn’t look like her.”

  “Yeah… I thought the same thing.”

  Scott looked up at her sharply. “You did?”

  “I did.”

  “She looks empty, ’cause they took her blood out. They embalmed her.”

  Corky opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came to mind. She stuffed her hands into her pockets again. The cross was there, and she fiddled with it. It gave her an idea.

  She drew the cross from her pocket and held it in her palm. “Scott… your grandfather gave me this cross, last year, before he died. I know your mother wanted it, and she was unhappy that he didn’t give it to her.”

  Scott’s eyes widened.

  “I felt bad about that, but I was stubborn, so I kept it anyway. Now I feel even worse, because I can’t give it to her even if I wanted to. Not really. I thought about it, you know… but it’s not the same.”

  “It’s too late,” Scott whispered.

  “Yeah. It’s too late for that. But maybe I could give it to you, instead.”

  “Me?”

  Corky nodded. “Yeah. To you. I was going to give it to your uncle. I was looking for him, when I came in here. I figured he might want it. But now I’m thinking… if your mother had gotten it last year, it’d be yours now. Yours and your brother’s. So, why don’t I give it to you, and you and Todd can decide what to do with it? Do you think you can do that?”

  She held the cross out.

  Scott licked his lips. “I don’t know. What if I get in trouble?”

  “Why would you get in trouble?”

  Scott didn’t have an answer for that. He held his hand out and Corky laid the cross in his palm. “It’s heavy,” he said.

  “Silver, I think. You probably won’t want to wear it, but you could hang it on the wall. Talk to Todd and your uncle about it.”

  “What if they think I stole it?”

  “You didn’t. I gave it to you. You can tell them.”

  The boy held the cross flat in his palm and pressed the other hand on top of it. “What if they don’t believe me?”

  “Why wouldn’t they believe you?”

  Scott put the cross in his pocket slowly, watching her eyes, but he didn’t say a word.

  Chapter 18

  …Edgar is in the walls like a family of mice. I can hear him in every room. It would be easier to be dead.

  Scott tossed in his sleep with cold night sweats. He yelled and sat up, dragging his sleeping bag with him. Todd sat up, too, scowling into the dark. The boys had shared the pink bed at first, but then Todd had moved to a sleeping bag on the floor. Scott had insisted on sleeping in a bag, too, then. “Pink is for sissies,” he’d said, and Bruce had brought in the other sleeping bag for him.

  But Scott knew why Todd had moved from the bed, and it wasn’t because of the pink. It was because Scott talked in his sleep, and moved around too much. Todd had told him so.

  “What? What are you yelling for?”

  Scott shook his head and panted, but said nothing.

  Todd rolled his eyes. “Fuck. Go back to sleep.” He lay down, his eyes on Scott. But his brother didn’t lie down, so Todd sat up again. “Bad dream or something?”

  Scott nodded, and his eyes batted in the dim light. “I dreamed… about Mom.”

  “Yeah? What was it about?”
/>
  “Doesn’t matter.” Scott leaned back on his elbows. “Dreams aren’t real.”

  “No. But you look pretty freaked.”

  The younger boy flung himself onto his side. “It’s fine,” he said.

  “Go back to sleep, then.”

  Scott was quiet for a few moments. “Todd? Did you sign the guest book?”

  “Huh?”

  “There was a book. At the funeral. Like for people to sign that they were there. Did you sign it?”

  “No. That’s for visitors, like. Not the family.”

  “Why do they make people sign?”

  Todd sighed. “They don’t make them, it’s just there. If they want to.”

  “Well, why though? Why do people sign it?”

  “I dunno, so you can look at it later, and know who came, I guess.”

  Scott sat up again. “A lot of people who were there at first didn’t come for the burying part, though.”

  “So?”

  “So they’re in the book but they didn’t stay for all of it.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Go to sleep.”

  Scott was quiet for a minute, thinking. “Corky signed it, I think.”

  “Mm.”

  There was another short period of silence. Scott folded his legs under and squinted at the pattern on his sleeping bag. Ducks, he had. Todd’s bag was just plain blue. He ran his finger over the ducks. He wondered what duck beaks were made of. Were they like bone, or more like fingernails? Not fingernails, he decided. Fingernails kept growing. If you cut them off, they grew back. He’d heard that they grew even after you died.

  “Todd?”

  “What? Jesus, go to sleep.”

  “How long does the casket last?”

  Todd didn’t answer right away. Then he sat up again. “What? Was that what you were dreaming about?”

  “No,” Scott said, but that was only half true. He’d been dreaming about the cross. He’d dreamed that Bruce found it hidden in the closet, and made him dig up the casket so he could put it in there. In his dream, the casket was rotten and covered with worms.

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s going to be there for a long time.”