by Amy Cross
“You were expecting something else?”
“I... I...”
“I suppose I've grown to match my job,” the Undertaker continues. “If I might say so myself, I was a strikingly handsome boy once, but I've spent my whole life around death and perhaps my features have changed accordingly, I've absorbed... something.” Reaching into the pockets of his dark robe, he pulls out a compact mirror and examines his face for a moment. He frowns, as if he's not entirely pleased with what he sees. “Oh, yes. I haven't looked at my reflection for quite a while, but that... Yes, that's quite horrible, isn't it? I look like a ghoul. I suspected as much, but it's not pleasant to have it confirmed. I'm sure I'd terrify young children.”
“I didn't mean that,” Sam replies, “I just -”
“I've been the Undertaker here in Rippon for as long as I can remember,” he says, interrupting her. “Before that, my father held the position, and before that his father and so on going back for many generations. It's a role that carries a great deal of responsibility, but there are also some positives. For one thing, I get to see the relief that I'm able to bring to those who have recently suffered a bereavement; for another, I am able to observe certain things, and to act accordingly. As I already explained, I refrained from coming to see you while you were doing such a good job. Now, however, I feel that you might have need of my advice. I should probably have got in touch sooner.”
“The Devil has gone,” Sam tells her.
“So I heard,” he replies. “Let me guess. Mr. Faraday didn't exactly give you any useful information, did he?”
“I'm starting to realize that he left a few things out.”
“That was always his way. A brilliant mind, but scatter-shot to the nth degree.”
“You knew him?”
“I've known all the gardeners who have been here during my lifetime. Faraday, Fenroc, Villeneuve... I send so much business to the cemetery, you see, so it would be remiss of me if I neglected to establish a strong connection.” He smiles again. “Let me guess. Faraday has included lots of very unimportant information, but he has neglected to mention the few things that you actually need to know.”
“I don't have a clue how to recapture the Devil,” Sam tells him.
“You can't,” he replies calmly. “It was always known that once he had been placed in the coffin, he would eventually escape, and that getting him back down there would be impossible. It was a one-time deal, I'm afraid, and that one time has now been and gone.”
“There has to be a way,” Sam replies, trying not to sound as if she's panicking. “He can't just be allowed to walk around!”
“The glass coffin is broken, is it not?”
Sam nods.
“Into lots of little pieces, all over the floor?”
Again, Sam nods.
“Here is what you must do,” the Undertaker replies. “It's very important. You must get a dustpan and brush, and you must sweep up all the broken shards of glass. If you don't, someone might cut their foot.”
Sam waits for him to continue.
“What about the Devil?” she asks.
“What about him?”
“How do I get him back down there?”
“I already told you, it's impossible.”
“But -”
“That does not mean that nothing can be done at all,” he adds, “just that the previous method is no longer an option. There might, however, still be a way to limit the damage he can cause. For one thing, we must determine how he was able to escape, and where he has gone.”
“He's still in Rippon,” Sam replies. “I think so, anyway.”
“I believe you are right.”
“He's probably trying to hide,” she continues, “so he can recover.”
“Possibly,” the Undertaker replies. “There are other reasons why someone might hide, though.”
“Like what?”
“Perhaps he's scared?”
“No way,” Sam continues. “The Devil? Scared? No, someone broke him out of that coffin and now they're probably harboring him until he's regained his full strength. Someone has been planning this.”
“Possibly. Still, we must at least acknowledge that other realities are worth considering.” The Undertaker makes his way to a nearby bench and examines a coffin for a moment. “I don't see everything, Sam. I can't tell you where the Devil is right now, or what he's doing, or even the precise manner in which he was able to escape. I can tell you, however, that I smell blood on the wind, which means there has been a death in Rippon tonight, probably in a most violent manner.”
“Mr. Hale,” Sam tells him. “The man at the cafe. He was killed.”
“How sad” He pauses. “I suppose I shall have to prepare a coffin for him in due course. He was tall, wasn't he? Tall and thin?”
“I'm not sure there's enough of him left,” Sam points out.
“There must still be a coffin,” the Undertaker explains. “Some things simply must be done. There are traditions that are supposed to be broken, and there are traditions that are supposed to be kept, and this is a prime example of the latter. Mr. Hale was a very religious man, although he rarely mentioned his faith to others. It was something he kept deep in his heart, and he must be buried in full accordance with the traditions he held so dear.”
“Then what -”
“You must not take things at face value,” he continues. “This is something I have learned from experience. Whatever happens, if you make the wrong assumption, the consequences could be fatal. You must also ensure that you are not alone when you face the enemy.”
“The enemy?”
“Very important. What kind of weaponry do you possess?”
“I... I have a shovel...”
“A shovel?” He pauses. “That might not be enough.”
“I've already spoken to someone who can help me,” Sam replies.
“What about the girl who lives here with you?”
“Anna? She's... I don't think she's coming back. She's got her own life now.”
“But she's still in Rippon?”
“For now. I don't think she's really the kind of person who can help me, though. She's more into her own thing at the moment, and trying to get her life back on-track.” She pauses. “I was told about a file that you have, with information about Rippon. Mayor Simpkin has seen it, and I think I should take a look as well.”
“Out of the question.”
“Why?”
“Because one should never know one's own fate.”
“My fate?”
“The file is comprehensive,” the Undertaker continues, “and it includes information about the prophecy. If you were to read it, you would learn certain things about the way the situation is headed. After all, it refers to the last gardener and the events that will affect that individual, and I'm sure you know by now that you, Ms. Marker, are the last.”
“Can't you just cover those parts up?” Sam asks. “I really need to know what the hell's going on here.”
“I've already told you,” he replies, “there's simply no way to force the Devil back into his tomb. The prophecy always stated that once he was out, he could not be made to return. One must simply accept what has happened, and try to deal with the situation as best one can.” He pauses. “You know enough, Ms. Marker. You might not understand yet, but you know everything you need to know.”
“Which means what?”
“Have you located the Devil yet?”
“He's loose somewhere,” she replies. “I don't know where to start looking.”
“He will reveal himself eventually,” the Undertaker explains. “For now, I suspect that he is recovering his strength, but there will come a time when he seeks an audience with those of us in Rippon who he thinks might be able to help him.” He pauses again, as if a million thoughts are running through his mind. “The Devil has his own agenda, but you must not assume that you can guess his intentions. The prophecy does not say what he wants, only that he will achieve
his goal. Of that, there can be no doubt.”
“No,” Sam says firmly, “I'm going to stop him.”
“A brave move. I see that the prophecy was right all along about your fate.”
“So what happens to me?” she asks. “Am I going to die? Is that it?”
“Everyone is going to die, Ms. Marker.”
“But here and now?”
“I can't possibly tell you,” the Undertaker replies with a faint smile. “Just know that certain things are set in stone. The Devil is free now, and he cannot be returned to his tomb. You are the last gardener, and Rippon will fall when the final days arrive. The cards have been dealt, and all we can do is try to shuffle their order. Other than that, there are certain elements that are not recorded, and we must pray that we have a chance to save as many souls as possible.”
“And there's no way I can get you to show me this file?” Sam asks.
“Trust me. If you read it all, if you knew the truth, you would be struck down by fear. Trust me, I have seen people who have learned their full fate, and it never goes very well. You would never have another sensible thought again.”
“But -”
“You will find out soon enough. For now, I would suggest that you go out and find a way to draw the Devil to you as quickly as possible. It's vitally important that you at least know what he's planning, and...” He pauses. “The rest will become evident over time.”
“I'll come back soon,” Sam replies. “I'll need more advice.”
“I have told you everything.”
“No offense,” Sam continues, “but I don't believe that for one moment. Is it really fair that Mayor Simpkin gets to read this file and I don't?”
“Mayor Simpkin's fate is not mentioned in the file, so it matters not whether he reads it or not. And now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to work. I shall have to prepare Mr. Hale for his burial, and I trust that you'll be able to provide a suitable grave for him? I believe he has no family, so it will simply be a matter of choosing a plot in the cemetery that you think is suitable. Try to find somewhere particularly striking, perhaps with a view of the town. He loved Rippon so much, you know.”
“And you won't tell me any more about the Devil's plans?” Sam asks.
The Undertaker returns to the ladder and starts climbing back up to his platform.
“You won't even help me?” Sam continues, trying not to sound too desperate. “Seriously, the Devil's loose and you won't tell me what to do?”
“I have helped you enough already.”
“With respect, you've just made some vague references to a file, and now you're telling me to go do something I was already going to do anyway! That's not exactly helpful!”
“I wish you well. God speed.”
“But...”
“I have told you more than you realize. If you have not understood it all, then perhaps you must give it a little more thought.”
“I thought you were going to help me,” Sam replies, “but you're just as bad as Faraday!”
She waits for a reply, but after a moment she realizes that the Undertaker has returned to work.
“Fine,” Sam adds finally. “If you won't help me, I know someone who will.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“Sam? Are you here?”
Standing in the doorway, Anna waits for some kind of response, but finally she realizes that the cottage is empty. She heads over to the kitchen table and sees that Sam has abandoned the books that she was so relentlessly reading earlier, and when she touches the kettle she finds that it's completely cold, which means Sam hasn't been around for at least a few hours. After all, she knows that Sam mainlines tea whenever she's at home.
“Great,” she mutters, reaching into her pocket and taking out her phone. She brings up Sam's number and tries to call her, but a moment later she hears the other phone ringing in the bedroom. Sighing, she cuts the call dead.
As she heads back to the door, she's already starting to worry that Sam might be in trouble. After their conversation the previous night, she was angry and convinced that she never wanted to get mixed up in Sam's problems; now, however, the anger is already fading and she's worried about her friend.
“Come to return my property?” Ruth Havershot asks suddenly, stepping into the doorway.
“Jesus!” Anna blurts out, stopping dead in her tracks.
“That is why you're here, isn't it?” Ruth continues. “You've taken time out of your busy schedule to come and return my arms and legs to the rest of my body. Haven't you? Oh, that's so nice of you. I'm happy to learn that you've finally come around to doing the right thing.” She scowls at Anna. “Bitch,” she adds with a sarcastic hiss.
“Get over it,” Anna mutters, slipping past her and heading outside.
“Do you think I'm just going to let it go?” Ruth asks, keeping pace with her. “It's not as if I've got anything else to do. I don't even need to sleep now that I'm dead, so I can spend all day and all night bugging you until you finally do the right thing. Won't that be fun, huh? I'll just be nagging you twenty-four-seven, droning on and on, like your own personal ghost.”
“Get bent,” Anna tells her. “Seriously, don't make me call an exorcist.”
“Ha ha, but I'm deadly serious. How can I rest in peace when you're wandering around with part of my body? If that wasn't bad enough, I know what you're doing with my brother, and it's disgusting!”
“What Scott and I do is none of your -”
“It's absolutely my business,” she replies, interrupting her, “especially when you're using my hands to -”
“Stop!” Anna shouts, stopping suddenly and turning to her. “Do you have any idea what's actually happening here?”
“Yeah, you're a grave-robber.” She looks down at Anna's legs. “Jesus Christ, you've even got my tattoo.”
Looking down, Anna sees the tattoo of a bloodied dagger just above one of her ankles. “I'll cover it up,” she mutters. “It's pretty ugly anyway.”
“Ugly? Where do you get off calling my tattoo ugly?”
“The Devil is loose,” Anna continues, hoping to get rid of her, “and now my friend is nowhere to be found! Can you possibly imagine why that's a more pressing problem right now?”
“The Devil?” Ruth pauses, clearly concerned by the news. “You're just making this stuff up to -”
“He broke out of his tomb,” Anna explains, “and unless you're monumentally stupid, I'm sure you can appreciate that this is really bad news. So forgive me if I don't have time to give you back these arms and legs so you can do absolutely nothing with them. What exactly do you want, anyway? Should I dig up your coffin and slip them back inside with the rest of you?”
“That'd be a start.”
“And then they can just rot? Is that what you want? The rest of you is dead, but your arms and legs can live on and find a new purpose. Don't you have any ambitions for your limbs?”
“They're mine,” Ruth says firmly. “If I want them to rot, they can rot. It's not like I carried a donor card. If I wanted some dumb-ass little slut to get bits of me after I'm dead, I'd have made sure to let everyone know.”
“Who are you calling a slut?” Anna replies. “You're just jealous 'cause you didn't get any action before you died. Let me guess, you were saving yourself for someone special and then, boom, you drove your car into a tree.”
“I wasn't saving myself,” Ruth replies, clearly annoyed by the suggestion, “and I only drove my car into a tree because I was attacked by a bunch of stupid birds.”
“Birds?”
“Beside the point,” Ruth mutters. “My arms and legs! I want them back now!”
“So what? You're a ghost, right? So what are you going to do to make me?”
“You really don't want to know.”
“Come on, I'm interested,” Anna replies. “What exactly are you going to do?”
“I can freak you out,” Ruth mutters, with a hint of uncertainty creeping into her voice. “I haven'
t got it all worked out yet. It's not as if there's an instruction manual waiting for you when you die. I've got to experiment with a few things, but when I know what I'm doing, I'll make you wish you'd never stolen my body parts. Seriously, I bet I can rip my face off or make ectoplasm run down the walls or something like that.”
“You don't have a clue,” Anna continues. “All you can do is bug me like this, and if that's your plan, then fine... See if I care that I've got some nagging dead girl floating along next to me all the time. I'll just learn to zone you out.”
“You're a real piece of work,” Ruth replies. “I already knew you were a grave-robber, but now you're turning out to be one hell of a bitch too. I can't believe the rest of my family is being taken in by all your bull, but I guess they're just too overwhelmed with grief right now. They'll do anything to distract themselves from the truth about how much they miss me!”
“Actually, they're already planning to clear out your room and take all your stuff to a charity shop.”
“Liar,” Ruth continues. “There's no way they'd ever do that. They're going to keep my room exactly as I left it, like some kind of shrine.”
“I think your Mum said something about turning it into an exercise room.”
“Nice try, but my mother would never do that!”
“Wouldn't she?”
“No, and...” Again, Ruth seems a little uncertain. “They're never going to get over me. They're basically going to live the rest of their lives in mourning.”
“I have to go and help my friend,” Anna mutters, turning and heading toward the gate. “Believe what you want.”
“I'll make sure Scott knows what you did!” Ruth calls after her. “I might not be able to force you to give me those body parts back, but I can make damn certain that my brother doesn't end up with someone like you!”
“Do you worst,” Anna whispers as she heads out through the gate.
“I'll tell him today!” Ruth shouts. “If you think I won't, you're in for a big surprise!”
“Jesus, her voice carries,” Anna tells herself as she heads along the street. She doesn't even know where she's going, but she knows she has to find Sam fast. Glancing at the top of the cemetery wall, she spots a raven watching her, but she ignores it as she hurries away. When she gets to the end of the street, however, she looks over her shoulder and sees that the bird is still watching her, its beady little eyes fixed so firmly that it's almost as if some dark design is running through its mind.