RESURRECTION
BY
MARY HAZEL UPTON


The winter afternoon sunlight fell through the window onto the potted trees. The amber glass colored the cold light with a false warmth. One whole wall of the mausoleum was made of panes of the amber glass. In the middle was a stained glass panel of the Good Shepherd. Rosalie Holmes carefully kept her eyes on the stained glass sheep in its green glass pasture rather than on the casket. The casket was closed now, but it still looked scary.
"Don't fidget, Rosalie. Pay attention to what the preacher is saying." Mama's voice was unaccustomedly sharp.
Tears came to six year old Rosalie's eyes. She blinked them back, unable to understand what was wrong with Mama. She knew it had something to do with Grandma Rose.
"Grandma is asleep, " Mama had explained when they'd filed past the coffin back at the other place.
"When will she wake up?" Rosalie had asked loudly.
"Shh..." Mama had sounded embarrassed. "She won't wake up. She's gone to Heaven."
"But..."
"But nothing, Young Lady. I'll explain later. People are starting to look at us. Just go along now."

Rosalie stood up straighter and stopped tugging at the hateful stiff black dress that Mama had made her wear today instead of the pretty red one Grandma Rose had made for her. She wasn't listening to the preacher's voice droning on and on, though. Instead her mind drifted back to the funeral.

The room had been full of beautiful flowers, but after awhile their sickly sweetness began to bother her. Everybody was crying, and that began to frighten her. At first she was fascinated by the box painted with beautiful violets at the front of the room. Tiptoing softly, when Mama and Daddy weren't looking, she went to the front of the room. Grandma Rose was in the box! She didn't look like herself anymore, though. She looked like one of the mannequins in Graham's Department Store. For some reason those mannequins had always scared Rosalie.

As she stood looking down at the corpse, the first small skeletal fingers of fear began to touch Rosalie's spine. Then everybody was coming up to the front of the room. Mama was beside her, hurrying her along. Finally the long black cars with their headlights on were bringing everybody to the cemetery.

"I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live." The preacher's booming voice brought Rosalie back to the present.
"Exactly what does this mean, brothers and sisters? It means that our sister, Rose Bishop, who lies here asleep in Christ, shall be resurrected. Yes, on that Great Morning, our sister, Rose, along with the rest of the dead who are asleep in Christ, shall awake to eternal glory."
The icy fear fingers grabbed Rosalie and squeezed, just as they always did when the preacher talked about resurrection on Sundays in church.

Mausoleums, where the dead were stacked layer on layer from floor to ceiling, covered two of the walls where Rosalie stood with her parents. They were made of yellow granite. Most of them were very old. The oldest date was 1894.

Rosalie looked down the long hall, her eyes wide with fascinated fear.
"Mama, " she whispered. "What's back there?" From where she stood she could see on back to more halls and more endless rooms all filled with the floor to ceiling warehouses of the dead.
"That's where other people are buried, " Mama told her shortly.
"Is that where Grandma Rose is going to be?"
Mama looked uncomfortable. "Yes, " she admitted at last. "Don't talk during the service, Rosalie."

Rosalie had only a vague idea of what death was. She knew it meant you had to go into the ground and couldn't ever come back, like her kitty, Blueberry, that had gotten run over by a car. She knew that that was what was going to happen to Grandma Rose. The preacher's words horrified her, though.

Mixed with her fear was a sick fascinated curiosity. Rosalie had always been a curious child. She began edging away from Mama and Daddy when they weren't looking. She didn't mean to go far, but before she knew it, she was alone in the silent hall. She could no longer see the preacher or the other people gathered for the service. All around her were granite doors with dates on them.

Angela Smith 1925 to 1975. Joseph Smith 1920 to 1960. Jennifer Mays 1960 to 1980. Rosalie felt the presence of the dead surrounding her. The icy fingers of fear had her in their grip now and they wouldn't let go.
"On that Great Day In The Morning all the dead shall be resurrected." Rosalie recalled the preacher's words, heard so many times.

Was it morning yet? It must be. It felt as if she'd been alone in this dim windowless place for hours. And now the dead were rising, even as the preacher had predicted. Slowly, silently, one after the other, the granite drawers were opening and the coffins inside were giving up their contents. The corpses were in various stages of decomposition. One or two of the newly dead looked like the mannequins in Graham's Department Store. Most of the corpses were mere skeletons. The skeletons scared Rosalie the least. The most horrible of the resurrected dead were the ones who were partially decayed, their faces eaten away by death.

Rosalie began screaming, looking around for a way of escape. Then she saw Grandma Rose coming down the long dark hall toward her from the other direction. Grandma Rose moved with slow jerky motions, the way Rosalie imagined one of the mannequins would if it came to life. As she came closer, Rosalie saw that the old woman's face was completely blank, wiped clean of all humanity. Worst of all were the staring eyes, looking right at Rosalie. Rosalie began running, heedless of anything but escaping the nightmare figure of her grandmother. She ran for what seemed like eternity until she was hopelessly lost in the maze of halls. And still her grandmother shuffled along behind her. Rosalie ran right into her mother's arms.

"Rosalie! We've been looking all over for you! We were scared to death when we found you missing. You nearly got locked in the mausoleum after everyone began leaving."

Rosalie struggled wildly for several moments, sure that Grandma Rose had her in her deathly grip. Slowly she realized that she was back in the big room with the stained glass sheep with her mother and father and a worried looking caretaker.

"They resurrected, Mama! They all resurrected!" she sobbed. "Grandma Rose was chasing me. She nearly caught me."
"You're letting your imagination run away with you, Rosalie, " Mama told her when she was able to make sense of Rosalie's wild tale. "It's all right now. I knew I shouldn't have brought you to the funeral."

Rosalie said no more about her experience. She knew now that no one would ever believe her. She knew what she'd seen, though. From that day on Rosalie feared the dark.

COPYRIGHT 1999 MARY HAZEL UPTON AND JAMES WELLSTOOD


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mary Hazel Upton writes science fiction, horror, and gothic romance. Her books are available on computer disk from her publisher Jim Wellstood. For more information please send self-addressed stamped envelope to Jim Wellstood, P.O. Box 365, Medford, NY 11763-0365 or E-Mail: jcwezine@aol.com

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