It was far from popular … what Elvira did …but no one else knew of her fetish for saving a lock of hair from each of her deceased clients as she groomed them for their final presentation.  Elvira, dark, mysterious and elusive, carefully chose a place where hair would not be missed in unforeseeable event that anyone really looked closely at the person in the casket.  Most people barely took a peek and even fewer touched the departed.
          Her duty done, the deceased displayed, Elvira seldom attended the boring services … all nearly identical in format and few with any truth uttered.  People were seldom saints but, to hear their eulogies, one would think otherwise.
          Gretchen, fair of skin, face and hair, broke the mold when she dashed into Elvira’s beauty parlor.  Breathless, held back by an attendant who admonished the brazen dash through the mortuary, Gretchen’s green eyes were livid, fiery.  “I demand you stop whatever it is you are doing to my brother’s corpse.”
          Startled, Elvira jumped abruptly to her feet, standing all of 4’11” in her stocking feet.  She rarely wore shoes when working as they tended to pinch her six toes too tightly together.  Yet she didn’t wish to have them poking up in someone’s face either.
          Noises abounded, a heavy set man quickly hustled behind the two who dare interrupt Elvira’s artistry.
          The fat man, nearly doubled over from exhaustion, breathed laboriously.  “No one is allowed down here, ma’am.  This is where the departed are prepared for showing.” 
          Mr. Saunders shook his head in apparent apology toward Elvira obviously addressing the intruders.  “Claude, escort Miss Critcher upstairs immediately.”
          Heavily suited and somber, the thin Claude reached to grasp the lady’s upper arm just as she stepped aside. 
          “I, Gretchen Critcher, will not be moved!”  Young and slender, barely out of her teens, the adamant lady stood immobile, her eyes glaring furiously, the dark ebony pupils nearly 100%.  “Christopher has, obviously been washed and redressed despite your instructions to do nothing!  What else has been done to my brother’s remains thus far?  Where is the clothing he was wearing at the time of his death?  I must have all of his effects immediately.”
          Christopher Critcher, prone on the table with his head tilted back so the artist could better color to his bland face, could be a twin to the woman before them. 
          “Perhaps the paleness was hereditary but did he have Gretchen’s green eyes?” The short, middle-aged woman wondered softly, puzzled.  “What are these people trying to hide?  No one comes down here though they may go to the morgue to identify the remains.  This unit was separate, off limits to everyone else.”
          Exasperated and perspiring, Mr. Saunders put a finger to his lips to quiet Elvira (who actually had no intention of speaking) and dabbed at his flush face with a scarlet hanky.  “We did no autopsy as cause of death was being hit by a bus.  However, we’ve received no further instructions on how to prepare the body.”  He cleared his throat noisily.  “Do you have any paperwork?”
          The rustle of documentation, papers, drew Elvira’s attention.  Miss Critcher came prepared even though a tad late … the body had been examined, washed and redressed.  Still, the gal’s timing was quick provided the papers were genuine.
          “I have my own transport waiting.  Please sign the release papers so we may take my brother home.”  Her honeyed, sweet, voice soothed their concerns but Elvira wasn’t easily enchanted.
         “This is most unusual Mr. Saunders.”  To protest was unlike Elvira but she didn’t have a lock of his hair yet.  All this hassle made it all the more desirable.  Something was amiss and perhaps, with a lock of his hair, the artist could recreate the original.  If she pulled, DNA was available and Elvira had friends in high places.
          Gretchen’s face glowered momentarily, angered by the unlikely protest, but only Elvira noticed the fluke.  “You shall not have another moment with Christopher.  Not a hair on his body shall be touched or else … beware!”
          A movement in the room, a flutter, made all but Miss Critcher jump! 
          “Are you threatening me?”  Every gray hair on her head stood up, the tension rose.  “Nobody breaks into my room and orders me around.  NOBODY!”
          The funeral director, profusely drenched, hurriedly read the papers previously thrust in his fat hands.  “Now, now, Elvira, her papers are in perfect order and, since you were with the deceased, you will be paid regardless … for your time and gas.”
          He felt faint, dizzy, and wanting nothing more than to be rid of the Critcher’s—both of them.  “I DO wish we could handle this upstairs but, apparently, your papers are in order.”  Mr. Saunders, red-faced, turned to his co-workers.  “Claude, see to a cart, please, and, Elvira, you are relieved of duty.  Take the rest of the day off … with full pay.  Our other clients are to be cremated.” 
          Gretchen Critcher stretched an arm out to block the door.  “Elvira is dismissed.  You may go.”  She lowered her arm to usher the woman out though Elvira stood spellbound.
          The young lady swiveled without turning, “Claude, will you allow my friend, Edwin, inside?  He has a cart right outside the door.  A hearse is parked and waiting at the appropriate place.”
          Another turn but not truly perceptible to the naked eye and Miss Critcher faced the funeral director.  “Sign the paper, please.”
          “Shall we leave the men to move the deceased?”  Mr. Saunders, who was now very unsteady on his feet, fumbled.  “I trust my employees.”
          A quake, slithering shadows moved.  Time, of essence, urged Gretchen to act rather quickly.  “I trust no one, Sir.  Move my brother now!”
          He was waking, merely stunned by the weight of the humongous bus.  New, Christopher misjudged his altitude.  Wings were an adjustment though seldom was a fallen one brought to a morgue of such ineptitude.  Money bought silence!
          Like a rock--it was her room--Elvira grievously chose to stay.  Curiosity overwhelmed her senses plus she really wanted a lock of his hair.
          Dad’s darling, Gretchen Critcher smiled at the stupidity of humans.  Their comprehension, limited, was unfathomable.  Knowing what Elvira wanted, the pale illusion reached up with her left hand to her own golden locks to pull a few hairs out by their roots.  Carefully, she extended the golden locks to the dark woman.  “We are siblings … Christopher and I … but it’s wrong to steal from the dead.  I freely give you a lock of my hair in place of his.”
          The three men exchanged looks of what the heck!  Who cared?  Both of these women were nuts!
          Elvira, mildly frightened, wondered, ‘How did she know about the locks of hair?’  Yet, her compulsion forced her right hand out to accept the gift.
          “Sleep with it under your pillow and you will know the truth about us.”  Gretchen’s smile sneered ear-to-ear.  “Isn’t that what you do?  You try to get closer to the departed because the living recluse themselves.”
          Everyone followed the cart out to the hearse and waited until Christopher’s body was transferred inside the waiting vehicle. 
          “I’ve never seen a white hearse.”  The older woman breathlessly remarked.  “What funeral home is it associated with?”
          “It’s my personal transport.”  Miss Critcher offered.  “I know you would like a ride in it, Elvira.  Do you prefer the front seat or the back?”
          Elvira stammered, shocked.  Only one guy—who drove a hearse--knew she lost her virginity in the back, in an empty casket.    
          The two Saunders, grandfather and grandson, ambled back inside the funeral home without a second thought.
          Dismissed but curious, Elvira hurried to her nearby car and anxiously caught up to the white hearse.  Following it cautiously, careful to allow cars to cut in between them now and again, the matron lost track of it.  It seemed to fade in and out of visual range.
          Stopping for gas slowed her progress but eventually Elvira caught up with the hearse on a winding two lane road just prior to it turning into a tree canopied lane.  The funeral car pulled into a garage with the gated backside visible and, though the man opened the gate, no one removed the body.
          Elvira waited hours, till ebony colored everything everywhere, eased from her hidden parking spot and crept toward the hearse.  Peering inside, seeing the body gone, she trembled slightly before a hand came down on her right shoulder.
          “Are you looking for me?”  A youthful, male voice questioned.  “I’m fine.  Thanks for your concern.”
          “Ah,” Elvira spun around quickly.  “You’re Christopher Critcher!”
          Illuminated, the beautiful, winged creature bowed slightly.  “A creature of fallen.  Would you like to meet the others?”
          Suddenly growls, roars and gurgling, choking noises rose.  “What’s that?  Who else is out there?”  The matron moved closer to the gorgeous angel for protection.
          “The dead stuck here on earth offer you their sincere gratitude.”
           Elvira’s brow arched.  “Yeah, right, like the dead still walk the earth!”
           “They do,” Christopher paused, “due to a clause about the dead going to their just reward intact, these folks have been spared an eternity in a living hell because you have a lock of their hair!”
          Her head swiveled around.  “You have wings, you’re beautiful.  Aren’t you an angel?”
          Christopher bowed.  “I am an arch angel for the fallen with newly acquired wings which are, do look closely, black.”
          “If you’re immortal, why were you in the morgue?”
          “Note the word: new?”  Christopher smiled.  “I fell onto and in front of the bus and was knocked unconscious.”
          “Hey,” Gretchen ran down the stairs of the grand white mansion and stood waving her hand toward the pair, “come on in.  Dad’s anxious to add another to his flock.”
          Elvira flinched.  “What did she mean by that?”  She started to back aside but Christopher was right at her side.  “I really should be getting home.”
          “Don’t worry, Elvira,” Gretchen sugar-coated her words, “we’ve already moved all your stuff … including the locks of hair.  Golly, you must have been working in the morgue for thirty years from the number of locks we retrieved.”
          “It’ll be thirty-three years come March,” Elvira proudly smirked. 
          Gretchen’s black wings appeared feathered but glossy.  They were identical to Christopher’s now that they could be seen in the light of the front portico.  Elvira, willingly walking, was escorted on both sides.  “Let’s go meet the man!”
          In a haze, going through time, slices of reality, the matron felt drugged.  “Where are we?  This doesn’t feel like L.A. anymore.”
          A CRACKLE flashed followed by a BOOM!
         Unwillingly a mew passed through Elvira’s pursed, parched lips.  Now this was hell!
          Numerous assorted creatures of every variety imaginable labored or poured over body-licking flames, each in their own fashion.  Some appeared anguished while others showed no distress.
          An elongated mixture of a serpent and a dragon sprawled about the vast fire lit cavern.  When he opened his mouth to speak, a coiled pink river, split in two, languorously rolled out.  “Elvira, how nice it is to finally meet the one responsible for the long line of unusable labor overhead.”
          Unused to hearing satire, Elvira curtsied.  “You are welcome though I had nary a thought about the consequences of my actions.  I just like hair, the feel of it and the many different shades.  It comforts me.”
          “You should have bought a pet!”  The beast thundered!
          “MY LANDLORD WON’T ALLOW PETS!”  Elvira screamed in retort.  “NEVER HAS: NEVER WILL … so be it!”
          The others scampered out of his way though he made no move.  “Place the locks of hair upon her body.”
          Christopher and Gretchen, each bearing several bags of shorn locks, flew to Elvira’s side to begin the transplantation of the locks.  Gretchen, however, put her shorn locks back in her hair whispering.  “My hair was given to entice you.  You have no further need of it.”
          As each lock touched Elvira, it rooted, sprouted more hair along with a body, fell aside and began working.  The ease of it pleased the matron who assumed she’d soon return home when it was finished.
          “Is that all of it,” he growled softly, “with the exception of your own lock, Gretchen?”
          “Yes, Sire, it is.”
          The beast huffed up, puffed a fiery flame Elvira’s way, and then reclined.  “YOU, Elvira, will remain here that my minions may take your hair and, eventually, your flesh, tissues, muscles, and bones for whatever pleases them.”
          On wobbly legs, Elvira attempted to stand but fell.  “I am a good woman.  You cannot keep me.”
          He yawned.  “On the contrary, no one likes you!  You’ve done nothing good for anyone … including yourself … for a LONG time.  At least here you have company and, in time perhaps, friends.”
          The Saunders’ funeral home went on without her—other make-up artists and beauticians were on call—and, even when the white hearse showed up there again, they had no memory of the woman who stole hair from the dead. 
          Christopher and Gretchen sought donations from the long line above ground to prolong Elvira’s life but, eventually, she refused the hand-outs.  “It only prolongs my eventual agony.”
          It was only then that the trio noticed Elvira was covered in hair everywhere, more beast than human.  “What the devil?” the matron cursed.
          “I’ve become accustomed to your company, Elvira.  Don’t thank me yet!”