by Nick Younker
Legacy Mausoleums, Inc.
by Nick Younker
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Making a life for himself as a journalist was all Duncan Criss really wanted, but economics rarely favored the industry. Running a website and reporting odd news did little to shoulder his burden in life.
Pay the rent, pay the water bill, pay the doctor, pick up mother’s prescriptions, take sister to the city for a play, organize an anniversary party for his Episcopalian grandparents. It all came down to the one thing that made the world go around – money.
He had a bachelor’s degree in Journalism, but the only job he ever had after college was writing for a local newspaper just outside of Bloomington, Indiana, and even that was just a favor handed to him from the editor he once interned for.
It became clear to Duncan that he wanted to report the news, just not the news that everyone liked. His headlines were considered clickbait by other mainstream web publications, even though Duncan sourced his own material through his independent investigations as a journalist.
Hoosiers Turn Into Cannibals Along The Ohio River
Rock Star Izzy Brown Sighting Reported Following 1994 Disappearance
His articles had a sensational value to them, mostly because he reported the news that was the most interesting, even if other major news outlets dismissed such reports as nonsense. But he had his own sources and he went to great lengths to make sure they were true.
Duncan had spoken with at least twenty different people about the incident along the Ohio River and each one of them had a varying account of what really happened there in the early ‘90s. But several accounts had a few things in common that were all the same in his independent investigation.
After his editor refused to publish the story, Duncan started his own website and it was the first headline that he published as an independent news publisher. It made a few rounds on social media, but died out fairly quick. He had used a generic photo for the thumbnail picture and people found it too sensational to believe. That was one of the things that Duncan always regretted about his maiden publication, but he still trucked on with the website.
Making money off the site was the next issue. He had to get advertisers in for space on the website, but he soon found out that he was not that good of a salesman. It didn't get him down, especially when he found out that he could start putting major search engine ads on it as long as he respected certain criteria that they had for his site.
Eventually, Duncan had to give up his job at the Bloomington paper if he wanted to continue on with his website. It became a conflict of interest, so he chose to keep the website and make a go out of self-publishing his own news stories to a worldwide audience. It was thrilling and even when there was no money coming in, Duncan did not lose his passion for the work. That is, until he could not pay his rent.
Every writer has some point in their life when they have to push the chair back and look around the room, wondering whether or not they can afford food, and ask themselves the ultimate editorial sin – Do I need to get a real job?
Duncan let it circle in his mind several times before he started talking to himself.
What is a real job anyway? Do I not work? Do I not make money off what I do? Must I conform to society in order to exist in this world? Am I not allowed to live my life the way I want? What’s the point?
Eventually he dusted off his slacks, his brown suit and red-checkered tie, and started the hunt. He hadn’t looked for a job in years. The last time he even searched, he was browsing through the classified ads in the newspaper, looking for just about anything that said “no experience necessary.” Of course, that was back in high school and he would take anything then. But just for nostalgia’s sake, that was where he wanted to start this time.
His eyes scanned the “help wanted” ads and looked for the same things he looked for long ago. He didn’t want anything professional, just something that he could do without much thought. Maybe a dishwasher at a Chinese restaurant or a store clerk at the Five & Dime store. Just something that would give him a paycheck so that he could continue writing for his site.
Fortunately, destiny was on his side when he saw it. The keywords his eyes were scanning for across those tall pages of inky newsprint turned up the perfect opportunity for him to make the most out of a second job and still work on his news site.
Overnight Security Watchman, Legacy Mausoleums, Inc.
A job as an overnight watchman at a mausoleum was just the creepy vibe that would attract someone like Duncan. It also posed a fantastic opportunity to write on his site at night. He envisioned a small room that he would sit in that overlooked the creepy vaults along the walls of a mausoleum. All he had to do was be awake and alert if anyone tried to break in or vandalize the place. It was a no brainer. He could write his stories at night when no one was there to watch over him and he could get paid to do it… finally!
All he had to do was show up at the place in the morning in his suit and tie. Surely no one wanted a job like this? It couldn’t possibly be in demand. He could just show up and tell them that he could start that night. It should be as easy as that.
Of course, in the real world, nothing was ever quite that easy. Legacy Mausoleums was a national company that had bought out or built a mausoleum in every major metro in the country. They were not the standard mausoleums either. They had a luxury component to them and that meant that they probably had a strenuous hiring process. Duncan would have to go in, fill out an application, submit a resume and consent to a drug screen.
It certainly seemed simple enough, but he would have to clean out his system before he took a drug screen. It had been less than two weeks since he had smoked his last joint… but surely they weren’t going to hold that against him. Would they?
Duncan arrived at Legacy Mausoleums the next afternoon and to his pleasure, there wasn’t anyone waiting in line for the job. He started to fill out the application, still a bit smug about the whole idea of having to get a job to start with, but was interrupted by a woman who told him to go into Mr. Audrie’s office.
Audrie? That sounds just odd enough to be a director for a funeral home… or a mausoleum.
Duncan didn’t care. He had what he wanted and if they were going to interrupt him from filling out a tedious application, then they needed to rush him for one reason or another. Sounded more to him like he may be able to name his price.
The lady led Duncan into Bob Audrie’s office and sat him down. His future employer was on a call in the next room and it didn’t sound like he was having a good day. It sounded like the boss had a boss, and the shit flowed uphill from this small mausoleum in comparison to the ones they operate in Los Angeles County in California.
Although Duncan was quite professional when it came to eavesdropping, he didn't really have to go out of his way to hear what Mr. Audrie was saying.
Yes sir. I know sir and I am just about to make good on that situation. I have a young man in my office as we speak and he seems like he will be a good fit. Of course. Right away, sir.
Mr. Audrie hung up the phone and walked into his office with the same morbid grace and dignity Duncan would expect out of an undertaker. He was dressed in a suit and tie, very well kempt and excellent grooming. He couldn’t have been more than fifty years old, maybe even forty-five, if Duncan was guessing right. His demeanor was eloquent and dull, one that reminded Duncan of an elderly man who was greeting young parents just before church services on a Sunday morning. He had a non-confrontational look to him, but still a command of respect when he entered the room. He had shiny black hair that appeared to have a layer of gel weighing it down.
“Mister… Criss, I presume,” Mr. Audrie said as he walked in the door and sat down, using his glasses as a magnifying glass to glance at Duncan’s partial application.
Duncan held his resume in his hands, but folded it and tucked it in his back pocket. It had suddenly occurred to him that he did not want Mr. Audrie to know that he had a background in journalism.
“Yes, sir. You can call me Duncan, though.”
“Very well then, Duncan. You can call me Mr. Audrie.”
Duncan had a bad habit of smiling at the wrong time. It happened all too often when he interviewed local politicians and he knew they were lying to him. It formed almost like a nervous tick, but was more of a dead giveaway to the people that knew him – that he was suspicious of.
In that moment, it occurred to him that he just told Mr. Audrie that he could call him Duncan, but the man did not offer his own Christian name as a sign of respect. That let Duncan know right away that his job at Legacy would be to conform to the strictest of policies and not ask any questions. So what was it that Legacy Mausoleums had to hide? That smile was the first sign that he was going to find out… one way or another.
Duncan reached across the desk to shake his hand and Mr. Audrie obliged, with no reciprocal enthusiasm.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Audrie.”
“Likewise,” Mr. Audrie said with a slight look of disapproval, but still not a hesitant move to part ways with Duncan.
Right away, Duncan realized that he was not just the prime candidate for the job, but the only candidate for the job.
“I’m sorry I did not get the whole application filled out. I suppose I don’t write very fast.”
At least not in freehand, Duncan thought to himself, but had to force that same smile not to roll over his face.
Mr. Audrie released a sigh and tossed the application on his desk.
“Mr. Criss, we are in immediate need of an overnight watchman for our fine facility here. This position is not very demanding, but it does require a great deal of gravitas. We expect the highest level of professional behavior in our mausoleum and that is the first and foremost expectation of you. Is that something that you would be interested in?”
Well, don't sugar coat it, doc. How long do I have to live?
The smile returned.
“Of course, Mr. Audrie.”
“Our tenants, the deceased, have decided to spend their eternal lives with us and entrusted us to their well-being following their interment. They are all at peace and it is our sole mission to ensure they remain that way. So, as I’m sure you understand, you will be required to simply look over the deceased and ensure that interlopers have no access to this facility.
“Furthermore, our tenants optioned for interment at Legacy due to its superior standards above all else. The chambers provided are climate controlled and their bereaved ones may enter and visit with them during practical daylight hours, as per the national standard.
“Mr. Criss, since the position is of low demand, I only have a couple of standard questions to ask you.”
“Okay.”
“First of all, have you ever been convicted of a crime in the state of Indiana, or in any other state?”
“No sir.”
“Do you have any higher education?”
“Yes sir. I have a bachelor of science degree from Indiana University.”
“What was your course major?”
“Communications, sir.”
“So why is it you do not pursue a career in your field of expertise?”
“Well, sir, I have a mother that has been in failing health lately, so I had to move back here to look after her.”
Mr. Audrie accepted the answer before Duncan finished his explanation, not even considering once that it might have been bullshit.
“This position pays ten dollars per hour. Will that be satisfactory, Mr. Criss?”
“I’m okay with that.”
“Am I too assume that you can start immediately?”
Duncan tried not to look too desperate, but submitted.
“I can start tonight, Mr. Audrie.”
Mr. Audrie looked surprised, but did not hesitate to take Duncan up on his offer. He reached across the table and shook his hand, seemingly relieved.
“That is satisfactory. I am going to show you around the main chambers and the interment vaults, then I will release you to go home for some sleep before you report for duty tonight. My secretary will get your keys and necessities prepared for you.”
Mr. Audrie gave Duncan an expanded tour of the mausoleum then showed him his work quarters, which basically consisted of a desk inside an extra large janitor’s closet. It contained a closed circuit television that monitored the hallways of interment, the front, side and back doors as well as the main office area.
The deal was sealed and when Duncan reported for work that night, it would be as an employee, all by himself next to a hundred rotting bodies and a TV full of inanimate programming for the night. It was going to be everything he needed for extra income.
As if the place could not get any quieter, Duncan relaxed on his first night of work and monitored the hallways of the dead. It did not bother him to be employed under such circumstances. The supernatural never really played a role in his imagination, but hard news did.
He wondered if there was anything else he should know about the mausoleum, or the company that ran it. It is certainly expected for people who worked in the industry to be both dull and creepy all at the same time, but was there a deeper element to this vocation that he was not seeing? Why in the world would anybody want to buy into a burial plot that is considered “high-end,” or luxury?
You die, you get buried in a comfortable sealed casket. What else could someone want?
He took a quick glance at the monitor and saw that everything was quiet in the halls of the dead, so he got his laptop out and did a basic internet search.
(Legacy + Mausoleums + Employment)
Several results came back for Legacy Mausoleums, especially in regards to open employment. It didn't surprise him that there could be turn over in the industry, given the morbid nature of the business. But almost every single “help-wanted” ad that he came across listed an overnight watchmen. That included three jobs in Los Angeles, one in Shreveport, two in Bangor, one in Seattle, two in Tacoma, four in Chicago, eleven in the NYC/New Jersey metropolitan area and seven in various regions across Michigan.
What seemed weird to him is why they didn't have anything listed for an accountant, or maybe a mausoleum director. It seemed odd to Duncan that Legacy is of such prominent status that they have no turn over at the top. Not even a secretary job was listed.
He found an online video that showed a sales pitch for Legacy interments, which is everything that he would expect out of an industry of that sort. But he did get curious as to what the local sales pitches were and what made Legacy Mausoleums so prominent within the industry. What gave them their star status as a luxury interment provider?
Now he could get back to what he was good at. He might be getting paid as an overnight watchmen, but he was still a journalist and his keen eye would keep him entertained all through the night until the day staff showed up in the morning. Just one quick glance at the monitor and he would be out from behind his desk and searching through the company files… just one quick glance at the monitor.
In all his years, he never allowed his primal superstitions to get the better of him. But that one quick glance gave him a wave of cold chills that quickly shot down his arms and laid dormant at the base of his trousers.
What that closed circuit monitor showed five minutes ago was a dark hallway with just enough light to illuminate outlines of the tombs that lined the walls. Some moonlight spilled in from the overhead sky windows and the room was mostly dark, but not impenetrable to the human eye. Everything was still and nothing was amiss. But this glance was much different. A square shaped, incandescent light shined from inside one of the tombs. The edg
es of the tomb were illuminated like someone was inside of it, perhaps reading a book or knitting in their bed.
It occurred to him that he might be a practical man, but not immune to the tricks his own mind could play on him. It could have perhaps been a refraction of the moonlight that shone from above, but he knew it wasn’t. It could have been his mind filling in the void, but Duncan trusted his eyes more than anything. If he could see it, then it was there.
He reasoned with himself to have better judgment than to do what he was about to do. A sane man would trust his fear of the unknown and stay confined to the safety of his room until other people could show up. He thought to himself that if he had half a brain, he would not dare go out into those barren hallways of the dead and see what was really taking place.
Of course, if Duncan were any other man, then he would not be a journalist who seeks out the truth, even in the face of peril that stared at him in the looming darkness, waiting for the right moment to subdue him.
The one thing that Duncan told himself at the moment was to quit thinking altogether. Any more of his wild thoughts could end up giving him premature anxiety. There had been no real event that had unfolded at the moment and he needed to do his job. BOTH of his jobs.
Duncan put on his jacket and stuffed a nightstick in his belt loop, then grabbed his flashlight and he was out the door. He cautiously maneuvered down the lighted hallways of the administration wing, then slowly opened the door to the hallway of tombs, the hallway of the dead. His wild imagination could hear the dead talking to him. His fear and paranoia were quite bothersome to him and if he could, he would turn his brain off just long enough to debunk his dreadful theories.
Come in, come in.
Bring friends, many of them.
Stay for dinner.
Take your jacket off.
Take our hands.
We taste, only.
We taste.
We only taste you.
We are delighted to have you here.
Close your eyes.
Do not fear us.
We are you.
