A night at the mausoleum

                                    An excerpt from the diary of Elias the Caretaker

                     Elias is enticed by a rogue entity, causing him to bend the rules.       

        Lonely and soulfully weary, I toted a burden of five traumatized spirits from another hectic night''s work. I tucked them away securely, each in its own vial, in a compartment inside my tattered jacket. With extra time on hand, I decided to take a stroll on a different route to the Spirit Deposit Center, located in an abandoned cathedral on the outskirts of town. My walk unknowingly channeled up to the mausoleum at the top of cemetery hill. Exhausted and void, I sat for a while on a memorial bench crafted out of fine marble, too cold and harbored.

         My resolve was vexed to nothing when I sensed a murmur from the five spirits inside my jacket… growing louder as shrieking emitted from the hallowed walls of the mausoleum at the same time. I didn’t understand at first, but this is, after all, my area of expertise. So, I ventured up to the massive oak door to where the shrieking and gnawing grew to an unfathomable fervor. I queried the spirits. “What''s the point of your vexing?” There was no dialogue in return, only a wearied telepathic disdain towards me. Then I noticed a formal placard hanging below the stained-glass pane of Saint Peter. Names were inscribed on it: Nell, Fred, Sam, Jordan, and Debra. “Aah,” these were the names of the dying whom I had spent the day comforting, and therefore, coerced their spirits to flee death and join me on a return to a celestial home. These five bodies were to be cremated the next morning. Somehow, someway, there was an understanding between the two sides, and I was pinned in the middle. Softly, an enticing audible voice reverberated in my tired conscience, “Son of man, can''t you let the two sides visit each other for one last time?” The rapport between the bodies and the spirits tugged at my soul. “Sure, why not?” As if drugged, I removed each vial, pressing them against the mail slot and releasing the spirits to reunite with their bodies one last time. I recalled a saying taught in ‘Watcher school: beware the cave of the dead.

All was quiet inside the mausoleum as I pressed my ear against the slivered oak door. What have I done? I waited, “Alright, Nell, Fred, Sam, Jordan, and Debra,” I bellowed out with a demanding shout, “It’s time for you to return hither into your vials!” Nothing. Stoic in stature, I stood, thinking, cursing in dread, I have never done anything like this before. ‘Everything by the book’ is my motto.  I listened for a response… I heard rustling in the leaves coming from the side exit. “You’ve got to be kidding me! Hey, get back here.” The five bonded into a single working body, hell-bent on escape. What a sight, Nell was missing a leg, Fred, an arm, Sam had a crushed skull, Jordan was totally limp, after being dragged over fallen trees and limbs, and Debra was cut nearly in half from a farming accident. “Halt! Stay where you are.” I admired their resolve. But rules need to be obeyed. I ambled up the rolling hill, heading them off beside an ol’ hand-dug well. (heavy breathing) “Got ya, you shysters, quit screwing with me. I command you; spirits return forth into you’re vials.” A scuffle ensued … but I prevailed, extracting each spirit from said bodies, and in a fit of rage, I roughed up the bundle of bodies into the abyss; Cadaver parts lay scattered or hanging on the side of the well. Frankly, I didn’t care; it was chow for the beasts.

Later the next morning, I staggered into the cathedral and made my deposit at the ‘S D C.’     The deposit slip read, Thank you for six vials.     The end