by Billy Wells
Mortimer also remembered his father substituted coal and wood chip dust in the crematory urn rather than spending money on the fuel for the cremation. No one ever knew he had his men carry the body parts after he hacked up the corpse in a wheelbarrow to the back of the property and dump them. The rats did the rest.
What an ogre his father was, and he did it with the most warm and gracious smile he had ever seen. Mortimer had tried hard to emulate that perfect smile, but he never could duplicate it. Mortimer was certainly a chip off that old block, but he had never quite sunk to his father’s level of depravity. A person really had to be the scum of the earth, totally amoral without the slightest shred of sympathy or compassion for another human being to be like dear old dad.
A sudden knock from the sealed room startled him. Had he fallen asleep? Was he having a bad dream? He didn't think so.
He rose and proceeded to the glass panel separating the two rooms. He noticed a slight discoloration on the pane as if someone had breathed on it and made it cloud over. “How strange,” he thought. He pulled a handkerchief from his suit pocket and wiped the glass clean. He shuddered when he realized the wisp of fog was on the inside of the glass.
Then, he noticed one of Mable's eyes that he had glued shut had popped open. Mortimer stood transfixed, staring in horror at the gruesome, unnerving blind eye, as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.
Catching his breath, he wondered if the eye had come open during the two-hour service. He guessed not, since no one had said anything or fainted. He couldn't wait for tomorrow to be over. He didn't believe in ghosts, but Mabel was stretching his suspension of disbelief to the limit like no one else before her.
He decided to wait for the sun to rise before he entered the sealed room the next day for the final preparations. He drove home, urinated, and went to bed without brushing his teeth.
He felt like he hadn't slept a wink when the alarm sounded at 7:30 a.m.
After dressing in one of his best-tailored suits and having coffee and a bowl of shredded wheat, Mortimer drove past the cemetery on Shadow Lane to check on the mausoleum. He had been notified the previous afternoon it had been completed and was ready for the new occupant. It really looked impressive in the distance as he passed.
When he arrived at the funeral home, he found the parking lot deserted. He dreaded preparing the Meltzer woman by himself after the creepy feelings he’d had the previous evening. Leonard and Larry would be arriving shortly to transfer the body from the viewing room into the casket and move it into the main cathedral for the service.
He trudged to the sealed room, unlocked the door, and reluctantly entered. Immediately, the stench of death struck his nostrils like a knockout punch. Turning on the light, he saw the corpse’s black and purple discolored face and two bulging open eyes. Her forehead had deep crevices that had not been there when he left her last night to go home. He could see the stitches that were now visible between her lips as well as the tip of a black tongue protruding from between her yellow teeth.
Mabel had become a monster overnight. If she had remained, as she had been the previous evening, her son could have viewed the body one last time if he decided to. Now, that was out of the question. The ceremony would definitely have to be conducted with a closed casket.
During the church service, even with the closed casket, an unpleasant dead smell hung like a black cloud over the twenty people who came to pay their last respects. But, finally, like a horrible nightmare, the miserable affair ended without any further complications.
Leonard and Larry wheeled the casket to the front of the church. Six pallbearers carried the beautiful $30,000 casket down the front steps and pushed it into the back of a long, black hearse.
The police led a caravan of mostly late-model and high-priced automobiles to the cemetery at the bottom of the hill where the Lugosi house stood like an oversized tombstone against the gray, October sky.
After the family members departed, Cornelius handed Mortimer an envelope with the last half of the payment, plus the $1,000 for the flowers. Mortimer thought of mentioning the missing paperwork, but decided not to. He would pay the fine if it came up.
He consoled Cornelius, who was overtly distraught, as best he could. Mortimer didn’t see the peculiar manservant or the son’s weird wife among the people who came to the gravesite. He heard someone say there would be no gathering at the Lugosi house or the home in Mount Chester after the burial ceremony. Mortimer thought this was extremely odd as well, but almost everything about this funeral was odd.
* * *
Later that night, just before midnight, Mortimer remained at the mortuary while Leonard and Larry went to exchange the expensive coffin for the plywood one. The transfer was a no-brainer since the coffin was in the mausoleum and not buried six feet under.
As Mortimer sat at his computer desk setting up the payments of his outstanding bills, he could still smell the horrible stench emanating from the sealed room. The thought of having sex with the horrible thing he'd seen that morning almost gagged him.
After an hour and a half of waiting for Leonard and Larry to return with the expensive casket, Mortimer began to worry. Had the Meltzer family discovered them in the old cemetery? He didn't see how since the gravesite was shielded from view through the front windows by part of the hill. For the tenth time, he punched in Leonard’s number on his phone, and just as before, the call was immediately forwarded to voice mail. Something had definitely gone wrong. Had his greed ruined the entire affair? Had they been caught exchanging the coffins? Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone? There was nothing left to do, but to go to the cemetery and face the music.
As Mortimer pulled into a grove of trees at the bottom of the hill, he could see the gaunt structure of the Lugosi house silhouetted against a crescent moon in the midnight sky. No lights were visible within. He could make out several black limousines parked in the driveway. There was no sign of Leonard or Larry, or even the hearse from this vantage point.
Silently, he exited the Crown Vic and crept behind the cover of the trees and underbrush toward the old cemetery and the newly constructed mausoleum. On one stretch of ground, he got down on all fours and crawled among the leaning tombstones past the part of the graveyard visible from the black windows of the old mansion.
Mortimer choked off a scream when his hand groped into a stew of something foul in the coarse grass. Peering through the space between two headstones, he saw the black hearse parked close to the alabaster, granite mausoleum.
Crouching low, he crab-walked to the driver’s side of the Rolls and lifted his head just enough to peer through the window. In the dim light of the moon, he saw nothing unusual inside. The back portion of the interior was empty, which meant Leonard and Larry had removed the plywood coffin, but had not replaced it with the expensive one.
Moving closer to the front of the mausoleum, he noticed the enormous granite door was ajar, and a dull light emanated from within. Had he ordered electricity to be run from the house to the mausoleum? He didn't remember it. If Meltzer had requested this extra feature, Mortimer had not invoiced him for it. He made a mental note.
Listening at the yawning crack of the door, he heard a low moan resonating from within.
“Leonard? Larry? Are you in here?” Mortimer called in a low whisper.
He heard a muffled incoherent response and ventured forward reluctantly into the dimly lit eerie tomb that was much bigger than the plans he had seen.
The next thing he noticed was that someone had removed the top on the $30,000 mahogany coffin, and the cheap plywood box lay on its side against the statue of a cherub with a harp.
As he inched closer, he saw three more coffins on pedestals across the expanse of the mausoleum. Above each coffin, something dangled from the ceiling that he couldn’t quite make out. As he moved ever closer, the dangling thing began to turn slowly around like a chandelier caught in a breath of wind.
Mortimer cringed in horror as Leonard’s hag
gard face spun into view. His eyes were hollow orbs, and his lips had been stitched together with black wire.
Mortimer recoiled, and turning to run, he saw Larry’s body turning toward him like a human piñata.
The weird voice he recognized from the crack in the door at the house in Mount Chester echoed within as strong hands wrestled him to the ground. After securing his legs and arms with leather straps, someone punctured his jugular vein with a plastic tube and placed the other end in the closest coffin to him. Afterward, cables lifted him to the level his assistants were above each coffin.
Mortimer heard a sound like someone sucking the last drops of a chocolate shake through a straw and felt his strength beginning to ebb as his blood coursed through the plastic tube into the pursed lips of Mable Meltzer’s undead corpse. Her hungry eyes were ravenous as her hideous teeth swam in a mouthful of blood that oozed down her chin. She looked as radiant now as the first time he’d seen her.
Twisting his head from side to side, he could see the pale faces of Leonard on the left, and Larry on the right, and he could hear the sound of the vampires below them in their coffins sucking their blood.
He couldn't make out the blood donor to the left of Larry. Whoever hung there was extremely frail with the tangle of snow-white hair.
Then, he heard the familiar voice of his dear old dad from the gloom, “Son, is that you?”
“Not believing his ears, but knowing that voice as well as his own, he muttered, “Yes, dad, it’s me.” With his strength waning from the loss of blood, Mortimer tried to think of something eloquent to say after all these years, and finally, he said solemnly, “I must be in Hell, if you’re here.”
“They’ve been drinking my blood for five years. They won’t let me die,” his father grumbled, beginning to drift into unconsciousness again. “They plan to use us for blood donors for all eternity. It’s not fair,” he croaked. “I didn’t know their aunt was a vampire when I dumped her body in the septic field. How was I to know she’d burn to a crisp when the sun came up?”
As Mortimer began to feel himself falling deeper into a stupor, he couldn’t believe his ears when his father asked with a rasp, ”How many times did you sell the Emperor coffin so far, son?”
THE TOMB
Brian Mitchum was fifty and had worked twenty-nine years for the Metropolitan Museum in New York City. During his years of service, his ten expeditions into some of the most exotic places on the globe had yielded nothing the museum considered worthy of putting on display. His father, Angus Mitchum, on the other hand, was a legend in archeology and exploration and had supplied the museum with enormous quantities of priceless artifacts during his fifty years of employment.
Right after Brian’s graduation, Angus had convinced the director at that time to hire his son with no experience. Unfortunately, Brian never lived up to his father’s lofty opinion of his talents, but the museum continued to look the other way to appease their most successful and valued explorer.
The combined cost of Brian’s substantial salary, his well-appointed office, and his secretary was the price they chose to pay for Angus’s ongoing contribution. Brian could read the Post in the morning, the News in the afternoon, and enjoy a three-martini lunch at the Museum’s expense. The board preferred he sit in his office and twiddle his thumbs rather than requisitioning funds for another one of his fruitless expeditions.
Finally, one day, after years of no contact, Brian received a request from Archibald McManus, the director, to come to his office. He had a bad feeling as soon as he received the call. He prayed it would not be an evaluation of his pathetic career performance.
Entering the palatial, fashionably decorated office, Brian saw McManus seated in an overstuffed leather chair behind an enormous teak desk. Feeling completely ill at ease, he took a seat in one of the four lavish chairs that probably cost more than his annual salary. He watched the bushy eyebrows of the legendary curator, and now director, rise and fall over a thick manila folder.
McManus finally looked up over the top of his Ben Franklin style spectacles, and clearing his throat replied, “Brian, I’m sorry to say, the board has asked me request your immediate dismissal based on your inability to secure a single artifact worthy of placing on exhibition in twenty-nine years of employment. To be frank, you’ve been spared all these years due to your father’s great contributions to the museum.”
Brian gave the director his most convincing look of startled disbelief, and then responded with a wounded whine, “You mean now that my father is retiring, you’re firing me?”
“Brian, you know very well your performance has been abysmal. If you were anyone else, we would have fired you three months after your hiring like anyone who did not produce.”
“Archibald, I beg you to give me one last chance. I have recently received a lead to Usercari’s tomb from a reliable source.”
The director looked at him skeptically and smiled, “Is that so, Brian? Can you supply me any evidence that what you say is true? Why haven’t you come forward with this grand discovery before now?“
“I just received the parchment last Friday.”
“Really,” the director said, picking up his pipe from his desk, and breaking the museum’s strict rules against smoking, lit up. A strong, sweet aroma that began to fill the room made Brian’s eyes water. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I intended to write you a check for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars for your severance pay, but instead, I will appropriate that amount for your expedition to find Usercari’s tomb. If you are successful, based on the strong lead you say you received last Friday; I will reconsider your termination. Would you be interested in such an arrangement or do you want to have Margaret prepare your severance check?”
“One hundred and fifty thousand is certainly a paltry amount of severance for almost thirty years of service,” Brian grumbled, slumping backwards in his chair.
“Not when you consider the money we gave you for accomplishing nothing. It’s certainly more than you deserve. As additional compensation, you can take the meager pots and broken dishes you brought back from your expeditions with you when you leave. They’re only taking up valuable space in storage. Consider this my gift to sweeten the pot.” He paused, and taking a giant puff from his pipe, leaned halfway across the desk and glowered, “Well, Brian. What’s it going to be? The search for Usercari’s tomb or the check?”
* * *
Later that night, Brian called his father and asked him to meet him for drinks at Docks.
After ordering two Ketel 1 martinis, Brian broke the ice, “Well, Dad, Archibald has agreed to give me one last chance to redeem myself. If I fail….” Brian drew a finger across his Adam’s apple.
“Do you want me to speak with him?”
“It won’t do any good this time. The board has spoken. Now that you’re retiring, and they can’t squeeze any more treasures out of you, your recommendation won’t carry any weight. But… there is one thing you can do for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Come with me on the dig. No one in the world knows more about the tombs of the Egyptian pharaohs than you.”
Angus shook his head wearily and sighed, “Son, I’m too old and out of shape to trek across the Sahara for a tomb lost for three thousand years. All I want is to find a mountain lake where the fish are biting 365 days a year. That’s all the excitement I need at my age.”
“You know and I know there is no such place. Look, all I want you to do is advise me. You can be a consultant. My crew and I will do all the heavy lifting. In fact, if you can’t walk, I’ll have some of the bearers carry you.”
“Don’t you think my involvement is a no win situation for you? If you don’t find the tomb, you’re out, and if you’re successful, the board will give me credit for the discovery. They still might fire you.“
“I hear what you’re saying, but I’m willing to take that chance. I hate to admit it, but you’re the only chance I have. I can’t make it wi
thout you. Look what I brought back the other ten times. I don’t blame the board for firing me. They should have tossed me out on my ass years ago.”
“How long do you think we’ll be gone?”
“The initial advance is only $150,000. If we don’t find something within the first three weeks, it’s over. You know how fast money goes.”
The bartender placed the two martinis in front of them. After draining half the glass the first time he bent his elbow, Angus grimaced and agreed to accompany his son on the expedition against his better judgment.
Brian was relieved, and after two more martinis, they left the restaurant and hailed separate taxis. Brian returned to his apartment. Angus returned to the museum to pack some of his personal items to get ready for his last day at work.
After Brian opened the door to his apartment on the thirty-first floor, he walked to the window, opened the drapes, and looked across the expanse of Manhattan like a man who had just received a diagnosis of terminal cancer. He had lived a wonderful life. Up to this point, his position at the museum had allowed him to eat in the finest restaurants, live in a beautiful apartment near the UN, and to buy just about any gadget he wanted to pass the time. His marriages had failed, and he had never had a child, but he was happy. Unfortunately, he had never put a nickel away for a rainy day. This was the rub. Losing the lifestyle he had taken for granted for so long. One thing was certain; no one on earth would be crazy enough to hire him if he lost the job at the museum.
At that moment, he would’ve sold his soul to the devil to keep the lifestyle to which he had grown accustomed, but damn it to Hell, he didn’t know how to contact the old hellion.
The next afternoon, Brian met with an expert in ancient Egyptian lore. After browsing through the man’s impressive shop and listening to him bragging about the obscene prices he charged, Bomani Bokar escorted him to an office in the back of the showroom to discuss the upcoming dig.
The conversation was cordial at first. The two exchanged small talk about the sites Brian had excavated in Egypt during his career. An exotically dressed woman served the two of them a cup of herbal tea.