by A. L. Mengel
I’m the Mortician’s Mortician.
There’s no reason to fear me. I love you. I will make you all nice and pretty, and get you all nice and ready for your trip to the afterlife. Death is beautiful…
Death is just that. It’s a beautiful thing, not to be feared or loathed. I know that we will see our lost loved ones, one day again. My compassion will always flow through me, and to you.
I am The Mortician’s Mortician.
*~*~*
After the sun had set, Antoine crept into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. He reached down to touch Darius’s face and stopped as soon as he did. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
He went over to the window, closed the window and drew the curtains. He stopped for a moment in front of the bed and looked down at Darius.
“The Dark Ones didn’t come, my friend. They didn’t come.”
THE STORY WILL CONTINUE
THE BLOOD DECANTER
FROM THE TALES OF TARTARUS
A.L. Mengel
JERUSALAM, Near Gethsemane
“I grew up in the times of Jesus Christ.
“I still remember the day that my captor arrived at the hanging flap that served as my door; when I was sleeping, huddled in my bed, the single, simple and thin cover hugged up tight towards my neck, my eyes shut tight.
“But I heard his footsteps.
“Thick, heavy on the earthen floor, getting louder and closer as they approached my bed.
“I drew the covers up over my head and listened. The footsteps stopped. But I felt a presence up and over where I lay.
““Claret…” a deep, rasping voice pierced the silence. “Claret, wake up…”
“But I was awake.
“I lay, beneath the protection of the cloth blanket, the tattered piece of fabric that secured me from the outside world when I slept, which now would serve as my only barrier between me and him.
“For I remember, now while telling you this, the night when I lay as a child, huddled under the covers, in the chill of the night air, as I covered my eyes with the crook of my arm, and waited.
“His breathing was heavy.
“But he let me lay where I was for minutes. And then the minutes felt like hours, and I watched the edge of the blanket and I waited to hear his breathing. But the night remained silent. And I waited for the covers to be pulled down from my face, waited for his hand to caress my hair, to pull it back from my forehead, but that never happened.”
*~*~*
“I remember when I woke up. I had been sleeping for what seemed like an eternity, but the night was still shrouded in darkness. The night smelled sour. I was in the back of a wagon, a wooden wagon, and there were horses. I could hear the clap of their hooves in front, but I did not know where we were headed.”
“Claret!” A voice called from outside as the carriage stopped. It sounded like the same man. I opened my eyes, but saw it still wasn’t morning.
Claret, I am coming for you. Claret, I have chosen you.
And I stopped. I sat up as the blanket fell from me. I looked around at the interior of the carriage.
It was a rainy afternoon.
The blinds were open, the sunlight shone through, but the rain dampened it. The day felt like a heavy blanket. Like the sun was somewhere off in a distant place, but the light was still present.
Claret leaned back in her chair. She wanted a cigarette. She started to fidget. Her fingers drummed on the arm of the chair, and she shifted her legs back and forth from one crossed position to another. “So do you understand what I was saying?”
A silver haired man sat in the expansive desk before her. He thumbed through a file. After a few minutes, he reached out and pressed stop on a tape recorder. “This sounds pretty far-fetched.”
She leaned back in her chair and let out a deep sigh. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
The silver haired man gestured with his hand and she lit up. He continued to look through the file.
“It is time for me to tell my story.” - CLARET
COMING SOON
A PUBLICATION BY PARCHMAN’S PRESS
COPYRIGHT 2014, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
June 8, 2014 11:49am and October 9, 2014 11:50am final run-through.
