The Cleaning Lady
“What the hell was that,” Kaz thought as he picked himself up from the ground. The explosion, he assumed it was an explosion, had been deafening. The last thing he remembered before waking up on the ground was a flash, a loud noise, and a roaring wind that picked him up.
The mist that had moved in while he was unconscious shrouded the world from his view; he may as well have been alone in a two meter square world of rocky soil for all he could see beyond the range of his vision.
Surprisingly he didn’t hurt, thank God for some things. The silence was oppressive, he wondered if his ears had been damaged by the blast. Snapping his fingers disproved his deafness theory.
“Hello,” he shouted into the mist. No answer came.
He had been in the park; he remembered there being several groups of people running around having a good time. Someone else had to have survived the blast. What the hell was that blast anyway? He’d read about increasing terrorist threats, but what would a terrorist want in his sleepy little Virginia town. Was this the start of a war?
Kaz began to walk toward the wall of mist but a feeling of dread began to overcome him as he reached its boundary. He stopped, annoyed at himself; was he a child to be afraid of the mist. He tried moving forward again and found that moving his feet became harder and harder as he approached the vaporous barrier.
Taking a step back, Kaz spun in a circle. The open area remained the same while he had moved to its edge. That was not how he knew mist worked; the area of visibility should move with him. Balling up his fists Kaz strode across the small circle toward the far side only to find himself being slowed once more by the oppressive feeling. Something kept him from entering the mist; some disquiet so powerful it was having a physical effect on him.
Trauma, he thought, I’m having a reaction to the trauma induced by the blast; but he couldn’t clearly remember the blast so why would it affect him so?
A faint sound came to Kaz; a rhythmic scratching sound. He squinted into the surrounding mist trying to identify the source of the sound. There, he could see a dark form moving through the mist.
“Hello! Hello, can you help me,” he shouted.
The scratching stopped and Kaz could see the dark form begin to move closer. As the shape neared his circle of clear air he could see it was a human form, very short, and it was carrying some sort of stick.
“Hi, do you know what’s going on,” he asked as the form began to enter his circle of space.
The form was shorter than Kaz’s six feet and was dressed entirely in black. A long black coat with a hood pulled over the head, and what looked to be a long black skirt. The stick, he could finally see, was an old fashioned straw broom.
The figure fully entered the clearing and raised its head. The old woman’s face was a map of the worlds she had seen. Wrinkles and crevices created features best suited for craggy mountains. Her bright blue eyes were the opposite of her face, full of mischief and youth as she regarded Kaz.
“Well, hello young man. I didn’t realize you were over here. I’m just cleaning up,” she said
“Cleaning? So you know what happened,” Kaz said. “Was it a terrorist bomb?”
“Terrorists,” the woman actually cackled. “No son, this wasn’t terrorists. It was much grander.”
Kaz took a step back from the old woman. She sounded insane. He wasn’t too worried about her harming him, after all she was a good foot shorter, but still, even a small crazy person could cause a lot of damage.
“Grander? How the hell can you call an attack grand? There must be other people hurt, we have to help them. We have to call the authorities.”
“Kaz, my boy,” she began.
“How the hell do you know my name,” Kaz said, backing away in sudden unreasoning fear.
“Kaz, I know everyone’s name. I’m here to clean up the mess.”
Terror gripped Kaz’s heart and he continued to back toward the opposite wall of mist, away from the deranged old woman.
“Who are you,” he whispered.
“They named me Pesta. Oh I know, it’s a terrible name, not at all ladylike. Myself, I always preferred Atropos, much prettier, wouldn’t you say?”
The old woman cocked her head like a bird examining Kaz first with one eye and then the other. Kaz felt the gaze all the way to his guts.
“Please,” he said, tears filling his eyes. “Do you know what’s happening?”
Pesta, smiled kindly at the upset man, and lifted her broom as if that were an answer unto itself.
“Of course I know dear. I am here to clean up the mess. Look.”
She waved her hand at the distance and magically the mist disappeared. Kaz fell to his knees as he saw piles of bodies, burned ground where lush grass had been moments before. He could see buildings in ruins, belching smoke and fire into the darkened sky. The entire world, as far as he could see was the color of ash with a sickening yellow haze hanging over everything.
“What happened,” he managed to croak.
“War,” Pesta said. “Just like you people have done since the beginning, but much bigger this time. I’ve got so much work to do.”
“But, how did I manage to survive – this?” Kaz gestured at the carnage.
“Poor, poor, child,” Pesta’s voice held evident compassion. “You didn’t. Look.”
She gestured with her broom. Kaz looked where she indicated and saw a crumpled form. The body had been blasted by fire and shrapnel from a great explosion. It was almost unrecognizable as human until Kaz noticed the blonde hair, and then the torn clothing.
The body wore a shredded yellow shirt with a bloody, hand painted manatee on the chest. It was the exact shirt Kaz himself was wearing. The shirt was a one of a kind, painted by Kaz’s former girlfriend. No one had a shirt exactly like it; no one.
“I’m dead?”
“Oh yes dear,” said Pesta. “You and many others. I can’t chat all day, though. I have to clean up, send you on your way. Others are waiting for me too.”
She walked past Kaz and toward Kaz’s shattered body as she spoke. She began to sweep her broom over the form of the corpse as if sweeping the dust from it.
“It’s not fitting to allow you to be trapped in all this horror. You need to move on dear. That’s my job.”
As Pesta swept, the scratching sound Kaz had heard through the mist surrounded him, became a roaring sound in his ears. He felt a tug at the base of his skull like a doctor gently tugging at stitches to remove them from healing flesh.
“But, what happens to me?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Pesta’s faint voice said. “But I think it will be wonderful.”
The carnage faded from his view and Kaz’s senses were filled with white light, warmth and peace.
Death Songs Page 3