The Undertaker's Cabinet

by David Haynes

  He opened the door and stepped inside. The walls of the office had not been skimmed and were still of the rough stone from which it had been constructed. He put the back of his hand against the stone and sighed. It was cold, so very cold and hard. It was perfect in every way.

  "Not like you." He turned and looked at the row of bodies leaning untidily against the altar. Some were presented in coffins, some grinning with sinister skeletal smiles whilst others were not much more than a bundle of rags and brown skin slumped on the floor. But there was no smell. There was not the usual base stench of human death and decay. None of that was present; quite the opposite in fact. Jacobs inhaled and allowed the smell to drift through what was left of his chemically corrupt olfactory sense. "Preparation 712 seems to be working." He dragged his brown, unclipped forefinger nail down Tom Moreton's cheek. "What say you young man?"

  He smiled and turned his attention to the cabinet with its copper fingers reaching into Tom's body. "You are indeed a thing of horrible and savage beauty, yet I have always known it was my destiny for our paths to cross."

  Behind him Tom Moreton wanted to scream. He wanted his brother to know where he was. His eyelids felt as if they had been filled with concrete and his lungs felt as if they were filling slowly, oh so very slowly, with water drained from the inside of a nuclear reactor.

  He blinked once but it took nearly five seconds and almost every ounce of strength he had left.

  "Now, now, Mr Moreton. You mustn't exert yourself. You will make your debut later and you must look your best."

  *

  Not only did his head hurt from the various knocks he'd suffered over the last couple of days but it also hurt from all of the thinking. Thinking about his own sanity had taken up every brain cell available. He slumped in the office and stared at the computer. For once in his life he was completely and utterly lost. There had been times over the last month or so that he felt as if he'd taken a couple of wrong turns here and there; God alone knew that. But now he felt as if he'd wandered into the deepest, darkest forest without the slightest clue where the path even was. Up shit creek without a paddle. Without a brother.

  He hadn't wanted to go home in case the coppers came back with some news about Tom. Maybe they'd found him at that house and it had all been a terrible and dismal nightmare. Maybe.

  Someone banged on the shop door and it sounded like they were trying to smash it in. He jumped up and ran toward the door. Two shadows loomed through the glass and his heart dropped a beat.

  "Have you found him?" he almost shouted as he opened the door.

  The two policemen stepped across the threshold. "The house is derelict, Mr Moreton. Nobody's been inside for years by the looks of it. Are you sure it's the right place?"

  "Of course!" Bobby snapped. "Why on earth would I send you to the wrong place?"

  The two policemen looked at each other before the taller one spoke. "Look we'll record your brother as a misper but in our experience he'll..."

  "You don't believe me do you? You don't believe any of it! You think I'm a bloody lunatic don't you?" Bobby bit his lip hard. Hard enough that he could taste blood. "I tell you what, I'll find him myself and when I do, I'm coming looking for you." He pointed at them in turn. "Both of you."

  The taller one straightened. "Are you threatening me, Mr Moreton? Because if you are then I'm going to have to warn you..."

  "Warn me about what? This is my shop and I want you out."

  The policeman stared back at him without a word but didn't move a muscle. Bobby opened his mouth to really tell them what he thought but the little bell jangled merrily as someone entered the shop.

  "Please leave now. I have customers." He kept his eyes fixed on the taller officer and for a moment it seemed as if they were destined to stay that way forever.

  "Bobby?" There was no mistaking Esther's voice. "What's going on?"

  He turned back to the officers. "Apparently nothing."

  "As I said, we'll record your brother as missing and make some enquiries."

  "You do that and I'll make some of my own."

  He turned and looked at Esther. The two officers took this as an excuse to leave and did so without further word.

  "What did he mean, record Tom as missing? You and that big copper looked like you were about to go toe to toe."

  Bobby could feel his heart racing from the exchange and he took a deep breath to steady himself.

  "And you didn't have that on your head when I left you yesterday." She gently touched the padded bandage on his temple. "What on earth happened here last night?"

  He'd almost forgotten about the bandage, about the paramedics and the drinks with Esther last night. He hadn't forgotten about seeing his brother embalmed and living stretched out on the table though. He would never forget about that.

  "Honestly?"

  "Honestly."

  "I haven't got the faintest idea."

  At first he wasn't sure he wanted to tell Esther about any of it. He wasn't entirely sure he could, but after some cajoling he started talking. He'd expected a look of shock or maybe pity but not the understanding nods of comprehension. She hadn't interrupted him once which helped but nevertheless it was difficult telling her what he thought he'd seen. What he knew he'd seen.

  At the end, when he stopped and was silent, she simply took his hands in hers and held them for a moment.

  "You think I'm crazy too?" he asked. There was no pity in her eyes just a blank expression which gave nothing of her thought process away.

  "No. No I don't. I was with you when you got that call. That wasn't make believe. I heard you repeat the address and alright I don't know you that well but you don't seem the sort of guy who lives in a fantasy land. Why would a man who sees dead bodies all day long feel the need to make one up?"

  "Thank you." His eyes had been locked on hers for the last half an hour but it was only now he felt a little uncomfortable. He looked away.

  "So what're you going to do now?"

  He stood and walked out of the office. "I'm going to make some of my own enquiries."

  Esther joined him at the shop window. He gazed across the square, past Crabbe to the abomination St Oswald's had become. "What now?"

  The iron gates swung open and a carriage pulled by two of the blackest horses imaginable rolled through.

  "Looks like your friend has got his first job."

  Bobby didn't answer, he just bolted out of the shop and stood outside with his mouth open. The carriage moved slowly into the square where it stopped beside Crabbe. Even from the other side of the square there was no mistaking the driver. Jacobs was perched high up in the driver's seat wearing his top hat and sickly smile. He held the reins between his fingers as if he were driving a pair of puppies and not two of the largest horses Bobby had ever seen. They snorted and stamped then lowered their heads. They were eager to be under way and the black feathers attached to their bridles stood to attention in the autumn breeze.

  Jacobs issued a command and they started to move again. Clip clop across the square directly toward Moreton and Sons; directly toward Bobby. As the hearse drew closer Bobby could see through the glass sides to the unmistakable shape of a coffin inside. A few people had been crossing the square or going about their daily business but now they stood and watched the procession. For that was what it quickly became.

  Behind the hearse was a group of sombre looking men dressed in gowns and carrying black crepe covered staffs. One of them started to sing a dirge. Bobby knew enough of the old traditions to know the mutes were a long forgotten custom for a good reason. They looked like the ghoulish spectres they had always been.

  "Why were you born when the snow was falling?

  You should have come to the cuckoo's calling,

  Or when grapes are green in the cluster,

  Or, at least, when lithe swallows muster

  For their far off flying,

  From Summer dying."

  "What's that they're singing? It's beautiful.
"

  He'd been so transfixed by what he was watching that he hadn't felt Esther standing beside him. He knew what it was. He'd read it at his dad's funeral, up there at the cemetery, in the same way as his dad had read it for his own father years before. "It's a poem called A Dirge by Christina Rossetti and it's something of a family tradition." Bobby gritted his teeth until he thought they might shatter.

  "Why did you die when the lambs were cropping?

  You should have died at the apples' dropping,

  When the grasshopper comes to trouble,

  And the wheat-fields are sodden stubble,

  And all winds go sighing

  For sweet things dying."

  The hearse was only a few metres away now and the mutes kept repeating the poem over and over again like it was a mantra.

  "Shut up. Shut the fuck up," Bobby whispered.

  The horses looked as if they might march straight off the square, through both Bobby and Esther and into the shop but at the last moment Jacobs pulled the horses and they veered sharply to the left. They were so close, he could feel the warmth of the horses' breath on his face. Jacobs loomed over them both and Bobby was sure his smile grew ever-so slightly wider as he looked down on them. In one motion he lifted his hat and flicked something down at them. It clinked pleasantly against the road but Bobby couldn't look away, not until Jacobs had.

  "What's this?"

  Bobby finally turned away and saw that Esther was cradling something in the palm of her hand. It was something round and black; very black. He reached out and took it from her. One side, the side which was face up, was black, so black in fact that the absence of any colour or shade made it look almost ethereal. A small silver clasp had been attached but the workmanship was of such quality that no join was visible. It was undoubtedly a jet brooch. He turned it over and stared at it. For a moment he felt only confusion before the realisation dawned on him. He swallowed hard and felt a deep and burning rage rush through the vessels in his body and flood his already tense muscles. It was mourning jewelry and the lock of hair was the same sandy shade as Tom's.

  "It's Tom's hair," he said flatly and dropped the brooch by his feet. "And my brother hadn't had his hair cut for a long time." He stepped into the road behind the procession.

  The crowd had grown but Bobby didn't see anything or anyone except for the black gown of the rear-most mute. His staff rocked from side to side, keeping time with the lament. Before the man had time to turn Bobby snatched the staff from his fingers and marched on. He knew what he wanted and woe-betide anyone who tried to stop him. He felt a tug at his sleeve but shrugged it off. There were four mutes in all and they'd walked in a loose square behind the hearse. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the mute to his left shoot him a glance and raise his staff. Bobby didn't give him the chance to make a move and jabbed his staff into his ribs. He heard the man grunt and fall back, doubled over.

  That caused the front mute to turn. He had obviously been the one who was singing because it stopped immediately. The soft and mellow voice with which he sang was in contrast to his appearance.

  "What you gonna do now?" the man almost challenged him.

  "This!" Bobby jabbed the staff at his face but he was too slow and the other man stepped to the side.

  "Now what, sunshine?" He winked.

  Bobby was aware that the carriage had stopped but his sense of urgency was still furiously bubbling away. "Get out of my way!" he roared.

  "Or what?" the mute challenged him back.

  Bobby swung the staff in a great arc sending the crepe fluttering through the afternoon air like a fallen crow. The man easily ducked under his crude attempt but Bobby hadn't intended to hit him, just get him out of the way. He flung the staff at him for good measure but he batted it away easily.

  He'd seen these old carriages in photographs at the shop and his dad had talked about them making a return someday but he'd never been so close to one before. He leapt onto the first of two steps leading to the rear, glass door but he was pulled back almost immediately.

  "I don't think so!" the mute said calmly.

  Bobby felt the sharp impact of the road thump into the base of his spine as he fell backward. He expected a jolt of pain but a rush of adrenaline took care of that. He was up on his feet again quickly and clenched his fists. He wasn't much of a fighter, not since he'd given Tom a bloody nose or two when they were kids, but he knew his rage was a powerful weapon if he used it properly. The other man was of similar size, although his face looked like it had been used as a punch-bag.

  "I said get out of my way!" He approached the mute who took up an old fashioned boxing stance.

  "Gentlemen! Please!" Jacobs' conspicuous frame appeared at the side of the hearse. "What on earth is all this nonsense? He smiled broadly. "Mr Moreton? Is that you?"

  Bobby took a step forward but the mute stepped to the side and blocked his path.

  "My word, Mr Moreton you look terrible! Are you unwell?"

  "You killed my brother," he snarled. A collective intake of breath suddenly made Bobby aware that the crowd had grown. They were eager for the show to go on, albeit a different performance from the one initially expected.

  "Your brother, Mr Moreton? I'm really not sure what you are talking about. Perhaps that bang on your head has confu..."

  "And he's in there!" Bobby pointed at the coffin inside the hearse.

  "Mr Moreton I really think we ought to get you some medical attention." He turned to the crowd. "Do we have any physicians here today. This man is quite unwell."

  Bobby hurled himself at both men, not caring whether his attack was well thought out or not. He just wanted to feel the flesh on Jacobs' throat beneath his fingers. Unfortunately Jacobs remained behind his protector and Bobby's frantic clawing gained little but handfuls of Littleoak air.

  "Mr Moreton, please! You're making a dreadful spectacle of yourself. Think of your position!"

  Jacobs' hired thug hurled him backward again. This time Bobby's head collided painfully with the road sending a fresh burst of pain through his skull. If his brain hadn't been scrambled before, it was certainly running close now.

  He felt a hand on his chest. "Bobby just take a breather. You'll get hurt," a voice whispered. "Everyone's watching."

  Bobby looked up and saw Lucy smiling down at him. Her blue eyes were as vivid as ever and the tumble of chestnut hair fell around her shoulders like a swirl of chocolate. He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again.

  "Esther?"

  "Come on. I'll help you up, just take your time." She offered her hand and he took it gratefully.

  "If you are absolutely dead-set set on looking inside the coffin, Mr Moreton, I shall accommodate your wish. Mutes!"

  Bobby rose and watched the other mutes gather about Jacobs, taking their instruction. A second later they began the process of lowering the coffin. It was stunning. The surface was a mirror of black lacquer and it reflected the darkness in Bobby's mind. The twisted brass handles curved their way about the body of the coffin and swooped in and out of the blackened skin. He had never seen anything like it. Not in all his days in the business.

  The men laid the coffin at Bobby's feet. An image of a man with a soul as dark as pitch stared back at him.

  "If you would care to do the honours?" Jacobs gestured and stepped away.

  Bobby looked down. He knew he was wrong. This had all been part of a trick to bring him to his knees. To bring him before the people of Littleoak and push his face into the dirt. Yet he had no choice. He had to open it and see for himself what lay inside.

  He looked at the people gathered around him. He recognised nearly all of them even if he didn't know their names. Their faces almost shook with the anticipation of seeing a corpse exposed before their eyes and he felt dejected. These were not the sons and daughters of those his dad had buried. These were the rubber-necking creatures who ogled the car crashes from the safety of their own pristine cars and thanked God it wasn't them.r />
  Bobby knelt beside the coffin and a rumble rippled through the crowd. "Fuck you all," he whispered and pushed open the lid.

  A whoosh of air and a flap of wings shaved his nose as a flight of doves rose helter-skelter into the grey sky.

  "Behold! Are they not beautiful? As free as a spirit, the birds take to the sky in celebration of new life. For the journey has only just begun."