Only the Light We Make

by James Dean

  “I don’t know,” Karen began, then sighed. “I guess, but you’re really going to owe me.”

  Harold laughed. “I know. I’ll pay for a big steak dinner out.”

  Chris laughed. “It won’t take me long to get Williams in the casket, and in the small chapel. Come on.” He held out his hand to help Karen from the stool.

  She let a nervous titter escape before clearing her throat. She stepped aside and Chris grabbed the handle to push the table toward the door.

  “If you start moving flowers, I’ll get this fella settled, then bring up the rest and let you arrange them,” Chris called over his shoulder.

  “Sounds good. Thanks.” Karen watched Chris walk away with a hint of a smile on her lips. She wondered if there could be something between them. After all, it was not like a town of two thousand had a lot to offer in dating options. She closed up her case, then followed Chris to the loading dock. She turned to the shelves holding dozens of floral arrangements. She grabbed a rolling cart and walked to the section with a paper label for Millie Dunfries. She loaded containers of roses, gladiolas, chrysanthemums, lilies, and dozens of other flowers she couldn’t name. When she was sure she could get nothing more loaded, she gently rolled the handcart to the ramp. She got to the top, opened the double door to the main hallway and pushed the cart down the carpeted hall.

  She passed the bathrooms, the snack room, and found the “White” chapel. She glanced inside and saw it was empty. She rolled the cart to the next opening, the “Blue” room. She saw Chris working on placing the casket arrangement on Mr. Williams’ coffin.

  She leaned her head into the chapel and announced, “I have Millie’s flowers. I can get Mr. Williams’ flowers and get them arranged while you do what you need to for the Dalton family.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it. Millie’s in the Dove Chapel.” Chris adjusted the casket flowers then turned to push the metal table toward the door. “When we get done, let’s go for something to eat. I haven’t had lunch and unless I miss my guess, neither have you.”

  “No, I haven’t,” Karen answered.

  “Then it’s a date.” Chris winked. “We’ll leave as soon as I’m done, and Harold can hold down the fort.” With that, he disappeared back down the hallway through the double doors.

  Karen smiled as she turned back to the cart and pushed it to the next doorway. She saw the pale pink casket draped in a huge spray of light pink roses at the front of the large chapel. Church styled pews on either side of the long narrow room funneled visitors to the front where a local artist had painted a dove flying through pale blue skies toward a bank of pure white clouds with rays of sunlight fanning out from behind. A podium to the left provided a platform for the grieving to share their thoughts and loving memories of the deceased.

  Karen shuddered as she remembered her mother’s service only a few years before. Shrugging off the memory, she pushed the cart to the side, then placed a crystal vase of miniature pink roses and baby’s breath on the edge of the podium. Stepping back, Karen retrieved one after another of the arrangements to put them on stands or on the floor at either end of the casket.

  She went back to the delivery dock, loaded the cart again then added more and more of the arrangements. When finished, she pulled the small cards from each envelope and placed them in front so the family would know the senders of the floral tributes.

  “Hey!”

  Karen jumped and stumbled against the casket as she turned around to face Chris.

  “Oh God, you scared me.”

  “Sorry,” Chris grinned. “Everything alright there?”

  “Sure. Just a little woolgathering, I guess,” Karen answered.

  A little embarrassed, Karen walked to the cart and pushed it toward the door where she met Chris. He relieved her of the cart and walked it toward the double door where he met Harold.

  “You got the kid cleaned up?” Harold asked.

  “Yes. The kid’s in the dressing room, laid out nice and peaceful with a sheet over the body.” Chris answered. “We’re going for a burger, can we bring you something back?”

  “Flowers set out?” Harold asked.

  “Stop worrying. It’s all ready to go.” Chris laughed. “When we get back, I’ll start on the kid, if the folks are gone.”

  Harold straightened his tie with a smile. “Sounds good. If you can get back before five, that would be great. If you can bring me a grilled chicken, I’ll pay for dinner.” He turned back toward his office. “Now, scoot before I bring the family down. It’s not going to be pretty.”

  Chris parked the floral cart on the loading dock and grabbed Karen’s hand. He pulled her toward the side door.

  “My bag. . . .” Karen protested.

  “Later,” Chris responded as he pulled her out into the afternoon sun.

  An hour later, Chris with Karen pulled his F-150 back into the Victorian’s parking lot. He parked at the back of the lot and killed the engine of the six-year-old truck. Several cars and pickup trucks were already scattered around the lot.

  Chris turned to Karen. “If you don’t mind, would you check upstairs and make sure Harold is meeting people. If he’s there come back down, we’ll get your bag, and you can head home.”

  “Sounds good,” Karen answered.

  They walked to the back entrance, and Chris keyed in the code to open the door. As soon as they entered, a strange sound came from the preparation rooms. It was a low keening mingled with the noise of equipment being knocked over and tossed around.

  “What is that?” Karen shivered.

  “I’m sure nothing.” Chris squeezed Karen’s arm, with a tentative smile. “Just go on up and see to the visitors while I check it out, please.”

  “Sure.” Karen gave Chris a quick wave then walked up the ramp toward the double doors. She pushed them aside and stepped out into the carpeted hall. The murmur of voices came from the Dove Chapel. Harold was nowhere to be seen.

  After a quick trip to the bathroom, she donned a black blazer from the office then headed for the entrance. She met Millie’s daughter, her husband and two children at the door of the chapel.

  Maranda glared at Karen. “About time someone showed up.”

  “I’m sorry, Maranda, I’m sure Harold just got tied up. I’m here now. Please, accept my condolences. Your mother was a dear lady and will be missed. I hope all the flowers give you a measure of comfort.”

  “Well. Thank you.”

  “May I escort you into the chapel?” Karen asked.

  “No.” She sniffed and dabbed a tissue to the corner of her eye. “We’re okay. Just see that everyone signs the register.” She turned and walked away; her family following close behind.

  More and more of the mourners arrived, and all but one walked to the large chapel to pay their respect to Millie and her family. Some stayed, while others visited briefly then left.

  Karen glanced at her watch then over her shoulder. Just as she decided it was time to check on Chris and Harold, Mr. William’s son walked up to her.

  Jack Williams was a scowling little man. “Well, I see they pulled out all the stops for old lady Dunfries.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry for your loss, Jack.” Karen answered.

  Jack snorted. “I’m not. He was a mean old bastard that drove my mother to her grave. He deserved to die alone, and he did. He laid in that nursing home for the last ten years, and I didn’t visit him once.” He sneered. “When I get him buried, I’m burning his house to the ground.” With that said, he walked toward the small chapel where his father lay in repose.

  Karen turned away and whispered. “Wow.”

  She walked to the Dove Chapel and looked inside. Over a dozen people hovered around the family while the two boys perused the flowers then gradually walked to the casket to view their grandmother. Suddenly one of the boys shrieked, jumped back and fell on his butt. He clutched his hand to his chest.

  Maranda rushed to her son’s side and pulled him from the floor. “Get up! What is
wrong with you?” She hauled him toward the door. “Why are you acting like this.”

  “Mom! She bit my finger! I swear.”

  “What were you doing touching her? Your brother must have bumped the casket.”

  The older boy rushed up to his mother. “No. I didn’t do anything. She opened her mouth and bit him.”

  Maranda pulled both boys from the front of the chapel, through the door and out into the hallway. She glared at Karen. “Where is the bathroom?”

  “Down the hall to the left, second door on the right,” Karen answered.

  “Mom, I swear, granny bit me.” The boy protested. “I’m not lying.”

  Karen turned to her own concerns and decided to head to the dressing room to see what was going on.

  *****

  Chris hurried down the ramp towards the rooms below. The door was closed. He stopped.

  Harold hardly ever closed the door. Unless he did it because the Dalton family was down there. Where was Harold? Chris looked through the small window in the right door and instantly relaxed. Harold stood at the doorway looking into the white embalming room.

  Wondering what he was looking at, Chris opened the door and called out. “Harold? What’s up, boss?”

  When Harold didn’t respond, Chris stepped through the door, leaving it swinging as he stepped closer. “Harold, is everything okay?”

  The smell of blood hung heavy in the air. Chris scanned the disarray in the dressing room with unease. Drawers had been pulled from the cabinets, and the contents were strewn across the floor. Stainless steel instruments, packages of sponges, sutures and stacks of medical drapes were mixed amid the mayhem. One of the preparation tables lay on its side while the other sat in the middle of the room with the sheet that once covered the body of Billy Dalton hanging off the side.

  Chris cringed when he saw the table holding Karen’s makeup bag lying on its side with the content spilled. Tubes had dropped from the open bag and the contents smeared in flesh colored swatches, shattered clear plastic containers lay broken with their content reduced to streaks of colors underfoot.

  He knew it was a significant investment, and the destruction made him angry. For the first time since leaving the Army, he was actually feeling almost normal. He’d actually asked an attractive woman out to lunch.

  “Damn it, Harold.” Chris slammed his fist on the metal table. “What in the hell happened down here?”

  Harold slowly turned his whole body toward Chris, his head looking down with his chin against his chest. The movement was deliberate, a hauntingly robotic response. Chris drew in his breath when he saw the front of Harold’s white shirt above his tailored suit. Blood had poured from a neck wound staining the white collar and shirt until it faded into the dark suit.

  “Harold!” Chris called out in a croaky whisper.

  He grabbed the metal gurney to push it out of the way, but the wheels stopped rolling after only a few inches. Chris looked down and saw a woman in a black dress sprawled on the floor. Her face was a mass of shredded flesh. Gray hair covered most of her eyes, but he could see the ashy gray color of her complexion. She had wounds up and down her arms and at her throat. Her windpipe had been torn out leaving a gaping hole of blood and gore. A swollen puddle of dark red blood circled her head.

  Petrified, Chris clung to the metal table with a rising sense of terror. This isn’t happening. It’s a nightmare. It had to be a dream, Harold would never hurt anyone? He looked down at the empty table. Where is the kid?

  Harold raised his head and faced Chris with no hint of recognition. Chris saw the color of Harold’s eyes had disappeared under a white film while the sockets had sunk deep into his head creating dark hollow caverns. His complexion had faded to gray with patches of a dark purple where pooled blood collected around grievous wounds. Harold raised his hands with fingers curled.

  Chris stepped back, as Harold took a tentative step toward him. “You’re scaring the shit outta me, Harold.”

  Chris pulled the table back between him and his boss. When Harold stepped away from the doorway of the embalming room, Chris saw the Dalton kid and older man standing at his side. The Dalton kid’s right forearm hung from a scrap of flesh, but despite that he raised it to reach out toward Chris. Both men walked toward the metal gurney. They stumbled against Harold, jostling each other in an awkward dance to stay on their feet.

  Chris stepped back, glanced over his shoulder to the closed double door and then sprinted away. He burst through the swinging door and looked for something to secure it. Nothing. He could see nothing. He ran up the ramp to the dock, grabbed the flower cart and pushed it down the ramp toward the door.

  He could leave, run out the dock door, but Karen was still in the building. He ran up the ramp to the second set of doors into the hallway of the public area. Chris could hear Harold and the Daltons slamming against the door blocked by the flower cart. Screams and the sound of mass confusion came from the front of the hall, but he had more pressing problems. He had to secure the door.

  Chris stepped into Harold’s office and scanned the room; desk, sideboard, chair, coat rack, expresso machine, and a small refrigerator for his personal supply of Lone Star. He turned back to the wooden coat rack, grabbed the top half, and slammed the end on the desk. The bottom broke off.

  Hurrying to the double door just as Harold and the Dalton family pushed against the barrier, Chris put all his weight on the doors. When the handles drew close enough, he jammed the lower part of the coat rack through the handles. It stopped the door from opening again despite their assault.

  *****

  Karen ran into Chris as he secured the doors. “There’s something wrong! People are attacking each other. I didn’t know what to do with all the screaming. I can’t find Harold.”

  “Harold is downstairs, but something is wrong with him. I think he’s dead, but not dead. The Dalton woman was on the floor with her throat torn open. Billy and his old man came after me.”

  Karen gasped. “Oh God! What are we going to do?”

  “You’re going to hide until I can get us outta here.”

  “Amanda and her boys are in the bathroom. The youngest said Millie bit him."

  “You go into the office. Close and lock the door. Anything happens, go into the display room and close yourself into a casket until help comes.”

  “I can’t crawl in a casket. Can’t we just leave?”

  “No. I have to get Amanda and the boys. Close the door and be ready to open it as soon as I come back with her and the kids,” Chris replied. “No way out the back.”

  “Alright,” she answered hesitantly. “Don’t be long.”

  “I won’t. Just be ready.” Chris answered as he pushed her toward the door. Karen went into the office, and Chris pushed it closed behind her. “Stay put.”

  She turned the lock and stood to wait. She pressed her ear to the wood.

  Chris turned from the office door and walked past the small empty chapel and closed the door. He went to the bathroom door and slowly turned the doorknob. Harold and the Dalton family pounded on the secured door at the end of the hall. The screams and sounds of confusion at the front rooms lessened.

  He pushed open the door and saw something he’d forever have nightmares about. Amanda lay out on the white tile, with her black suit coat and white blouse pulled open. Her two boys sat on the floor next to her pulling organs from her body.

  The smaller of the two turned with a handful of liver. Blood ran down his chin and arms. He buried his mouth into the bloodied mound in his hands and pulled away with a mouthful of meat. He chewed. The older boy dug into his mother’s chest. He looked up and pulled out her heart as if he were daring Chris to stop him.

  Chris slammed the door shut.

  He hurried back to the office door and knocked softly. “It’s me. Too late with Amanda and the boys. Don’t open this door for anyone but me.”

  With that, he hurried toward the front hall and the wall of windows that made the funeral h
ome bright if not inviting. He looked toward the entrance at the far end of the hallway past the two occupied chapels. Three people with grievous wounds lay on the carpet. Nearly a dozen mourners feasted on the remains.

  Taken back by the atrocities, he leaned back against the wall with a trembling sigh. The racket Harold and the Dalton family made would soon draw the monsters feasting on mourners. He was trapped between horrors.

  Suddenly the wooden coat rack splintered and fell to the floor with a crash. The door burst open, and four horribly damaged and mangled bodies that had been Harold and the Dalton family tumbled through the opening. They ended in a pile on the floor.

  At the sound of all the racket, Karen opened the office door. She stuck her head out to see Harold and then turned to see Chris at the end of the hall. She screamed.

  Chris turned and saw Harold and the others scrambling toward the open door. “Get back and close the damned door! Hide, now!”

  The door slammed, and he jerked back to a growl at his right shoulder. He ducked and scrambled away from the outstretched hands and dove toward the wall of windows. He jumped to his feet, grasped at a wrought iron bench, picked it up and swung out. The momentum sent the dead man sprawling back across the floor into two more dead mourners now reaching out to attack. The heavy bench continued until it struck the window.

  Window glass from the ceiling to floor window shattered and spilled shards to the carpet on the inside and the porch beyond. Chris dove through the opening, landing on the wooden planks, feeling the shards of glass embedding into his back. He rolled and jumped to his feet.

  Outside, people or what had once been people now chased the living. They swarmed their prey and pulled them to the ground to feed on the flesh while the victim’s screams shattered the small town quiet. Blood pooled around bodies by grievous wounds. Wounds, that failed to stop the newly dead from joining the army of the undead unleashed on the world as the day faded into night.