haunting kiko&clara

[Wonder]

clara hartmyre, district 6

I wish I could say I don't think about them much. You'd think a girl who lives in a funeral home would have a better relationship with death, but I don't. Every morning, I sweep my legs from beneath the sheets and peek into the bright oak vanity from my bedside and see them both, Florence and Teddy, standing behind me. Their astral figures are smoky and porcelain but carry their features so purely they look etched in marble. It's almost as if they're standing behind me, caressing my shoulders with their ghostly palms. But I can't feel them. There's no weight or warmth to their touch. And if I ever look down? The apparitions disappear. Some would call this unresolved trauma, I'd say it's more of a healthy relationship with my siblings.

We used to cover all the mirrors in the house with opaque woolen sheets. Florence was superstitious of seeing the dead in her reflection, and since she was the one who dealt most closely with the bodies, we let her process it how she wanted. But since I deal with the bodies now, I'm in charge, and I'm not as concerned. There's not much that the dead could do to me that would break me beyond what the world has already done. Losing Mom, then Florence, then Teddy. It was more than most sixteen-year-olds had to go through, let alone process. But I think I'm doing pretty alright for myself, all things considering.

The funeral home had lost a lot of its mobility. With so many family members down, what was once a well-oiled machine was more of a clunky square wheel. It's a bumpy ride. When Florence died, I took over the body preparations embalming and then dressing the corpses to make sure they look good. Florence had a much better sense of fashion than I do, so I just try to keep it nice and simple. Maybe that's where we lost a little bit of our finesse. Or maybe it's being the family who keeps getting reaped for the games that keeps customers away. I'm not superstitious, but everyone else seems to be. The funeral home was by no means a mansion when we'd moved in, but the old church lot had turned downright decrepit in the last few years. Now I doubt anyone comes here by choice. We mostly get the unclaimed unnamed bodies.

I'm sixteen now, and a half. The half is important. I still have the same short bob cut my mother and Florence loved so much, but besides that, everything has changed. Call it trauma, call it loss, but the once meek girl who sat alone in her room toying with biology books had grown up. The harsh realities of livelihood. I have to do what I can to survive for my family. I'm not sure if they would be proud of me now, but I like to think they'd understand.

Three knocks echo through the empty house, a pause, followed by two more knocks in succession. A delivery. That was the code they'd established quite a while ago to indicate a special package. I stagger to the mortuary and fumble open the back door to find a mahogany coffin laid on the grass. Perfect, I grumble, no help to drag this in. I'd signed on the be a benefactor eight months ago when things started to go downhill for the home. We needed to bring money in somehow, and bodies just weren't doing it anymore. The coffin is lighter than it looks as it scrapes across the cobblestone floor. Once it's well within the mortuary, I lock the backdoor and crawl back to the new package. The top latch pries open with ease. Sitting atop the bed of white satin is not a body, but three stuffed duffel bags.

A dealer. A smuggler. A criminal. That's what I am now. When approached with a lucrative opportunity you have to take it. And I figure I'm just the middle man anyways, they bring the coffins containing the drugs, and I hand it out to the operatives, dealer, whatever. It's not like I'm putting the drugs in the hands of people themselves, I'm just handing them off to the sellers. That absolves me of all guilt, I figure, hopefully. At least in the name of any deity that's already cursing our family. The dealers can bear the weight. Me? I'm just.. the corporation.

The corporation that sees her dead siblings in the mirror every morning. Totally absolution.