Is Anyone There?
By Mike
The sun was slowly rising over the walls of Emerald Hills Cemetery. The caretaker was undertaking the task of flower-watering, and the undertaker down at the funeral home was taking care of a recently deceased fast-food restaurant drive-through clerk. He had been shot four times in the head by a disgruntled customer who received a cheeseburger, not the hamburger he requested. The broadcaster on the undertaker’s small radio was making light of the situations in Washington DC, and his assistant was laughing hysterically. The undertaker, in a flurry of rage, threw the small radio against the floor, where it exploded in an uncountable number of pieces. He swept up the pieces and tossed them in the garbage can. He was beginning to feel the effects of working overtime.
Meanwhile, the caretaker was having some problems of his own. He was asked to plant a row of flowers by the front gate of the cemetery, but the ground was frozen solid, due to the unseasonably cold temperatures the night before. He went back to the little shed where all of the shovels and digging tools were stored. To much dismay, he found that the lock was likewise frozen by the night’s icy grip. The caretaker picked up the shovel and beat at the frozen lock. At last, it broke and tumbled to the ground. He angrily kicked the door open and tossed the shovel inside. He slammed the door and decided to take his lunch break earlier than usual. If he wasn’t so preoccupied, he probably would have noticed the strange man walking up and down the rows of gravestones.
The strange man strode over to the farthest crypt on the right, smiling and humming Auld Lang Syne quietly to himself. It was January first, and he was in the mood to ring in the new year. Maybe his friend would want to accompany him in his celebration. He walked quickly, but not quite running, across the cemetery to the north end, without a care in the world. More than once he tripped into a grave set into the ground, obscured by bushes. He just got up again, not at all angered or embarrassed by his clumsiness. When he finally reached the crypt he walking toward, he stopped to catch his breath. He started toward the large stone door and knocked on it.
"Is anyone there?" he said. "It’s me! Come on, open up. It’s really cold out here! I’ll catch pneumonia, you know that!"
No answer.
"Please! I came all this way just to see you!"
No answer.
"Forget it. I’ll stand here and freeze to death."
Still no answer.
The strange man turned around and began to walk away. He turned around once, just to see if his luck had changed. It hadn’t. He walked slowly back toward the gates, looking behind every once in a while. He tripped on the same gravestone kicked at it, muttering curses and expletives to himself. No, this wasn’t a good day. Not at all. When he reached the gates he turned around and sighed. Seeing no more reason to stay, he went to the restaurant located across from the cemetery. Coincidentally, this was the same restaurant in which the caretaker was enjoying his lunch brake. The strange man stepped inside and found himself a seat by the window, directly behind the caretaker.
The caretaker saw this unhappy man in front of him, and decided to find out what was wrong.
"Bad day, buddy?" asked the caretaker.
"Yeah," mumbled the strange man.
"What happened? It’s only nine AM. Things couldn’t have gone bad already."
"I went over to the house and no one answered. I yelled and hollered but no one answered. She doesn’t like me."
"Oh," replied the caretaker, and turned back his meal. That man was frightening him.
Apparently not noticing that the caretaker was no longer paying attention, the strange man continued, "But why don’t they like me? I’ve never done anything bad to them. Why? I always thought they liked me, but I guess they never did. I guess they never did. But why?"
"I-I haven’t the slightest idea," said the caretaker, and got up from his booth by the window, forgetting to leave a tip. He walked casually out the door, and when he was about ten feet away from the restaurant, he ran back to Emerald Hills Cemetery.
Three miles away, at the funeral home, the undertaker prepared another corpse for burial. He really hated his job.
Ah, fresh victims for my ever growing army of the undead, he thought to himself, and laughed, although it wasn’t very funny. When you had a job as horrible as this, you took every scrap of humor you can find. What Dracula movie was that from, anyway? Ah, it matters not. I gotta hurry up and finish so this guy can be planted in time.
"Hey Igor! It’s ready!" the undertaker shouted to his assistant upstairs.
"Don’t call me that, Frankenstein." shouted his assistant. He hated it when the undertaker called him that. And the undertaker hated it when his assistant called him Frankenstein. "I’ll be down in a second."
"Quick, Igor, throw the switch before the storm passes!"
"Don’t call me that!!" he said as he descended the staircase.
The undertaker lurched toward the stairs leading the floor above, imitating Frankenstein’s monster.
"You look like such a moron. I can’t believe I’m actually this desperate for college tuition," grumbled the undertaker’s assistant.
"Where’s your sense of humor?"
"I accidentally flushed it last night."
The undertaker sighed, "Help me with this thing, would you?"
"I really wish you wouldn’t refer to that recently deceased member of society as ‘it’."
"Oh, be quiet, Igor. What’s wrong with you, anyway? I’m just trying to make this a little more enjoyable."
His assistant sighed.
Back at the restaurant, the strange man left an 11% tip and left the building. Ignoring the traffic on the busy street, he crossed the road, causing the many cars to skid to a halt and rear-end one another. The strange man was oblivious to the enraged drivers shouting at him as he walked across the busy road.
He walked back to the cemetery with a dejected expression on his face. Maybe this time she would let him in. The strange man collided into the titanic iron gates and fell down. He got up, rubbing his head and groaning with pain. He noticed that the cemetery was closed. It was dark outside, too. How long had he been at the restaurant? Eight hours, at least. No gate could keep him out. The strange man began to ascend the stone wall. When he reached the top, he smiled with satisfaction. His satisfaction didn’t last very long, however. His footing was lost and he fell head-first off of the wall, into the cemetery. He screamed loud enough to wake the dead when his body fell to the ground. Struggling to stand up, the strange man put his hand to his face and saw that it was swimming in blood. After he managed to stand up, he painfully continued on.
The evening mist hindered the strange man’s already damaged eyesight (from the fall off of the wall), causing him to trip over hidden headstones. This, however, did not destroy his high spirits. Surely, she would let him in this time. When he reached the top of the hill, he looked at the crypt which was only one quarter of a mile away now. The strange man took a step, fell, and tumbled down the hill. Now, blood was dripping into his eyes and his mouth, but he still failed to notice. He slowly staggered up and down the rows of graves, again humming Auld Lang Syne. This was going to be a good day.
The crypt was almost in the strange man’s grasp. He could see it clearly. The gray cobblestone was coming into view, as were the doors. Finally, he had reached the entrance.
"I’m back!!"
No answer.
"It’s me! Remember?"
A faint rustling was heard inside the crypt. Slowly, the door began to creak open.
At the funeral home, the undertaker was dismissing his assistant and preparing to watch the football game. After his assistant had left, he decided to go to the restaurant three miles down the road before going home. Maybe his good friend, the caretaker, would be there. It was probable, considering that he usually dined there for lunch and dinner on working days.
The undertaker got into his car and headed to the restaurant. He parked his car neatly, taking heed the parking laws. He got out of the car and stepped into the restaurant. Sure enough, the caretaker was there. The undertaker meandered toward the booth where the caretaker was sitting, and sat down.
"Hey," said the undertaker.
"Hi. Take a shower before you come here. You always smell like embalming fluid," replied the caretaker, "Hey, you wouldn’t by any chance be too busy, would you? I need some help with something at the graveyard."
"No, I’m not too busy. It’s pretty dark, though. I hope you have a flashlight or something."
"Don’t worry. I just need help digging something."
"I don’t get paid to plant dead guys."
"Yeah you do."
"Well, not directly."
"Yeah, well anyway, it’s just a flower bed, not a grave. The soil’s a bit frozen so I’ll need some help. You up for it?"
"Yeah, I guess. It shouldn’t be too bad."
"On a completely unrelated note, have you ever seen this guy? He’s kind of spaced out, and he’s constantly yammering about someone who won’t let him in. Really strange."
"I don’t know. I see a lot of guys every day. Of course, they don’t ‘yammer’, but they’re ‘spaced out’ beyond belief."
"I mean guys that are still alive, stupid. You haven’t seen him?"
"Nope."
"Ah, it doesn’t matter. Let’s go. I heard that it was supposed to rain later on tonight, and I don’t want to ruin these clothes, so let’s hurry."
"My food didn’t come yet."
"We’ll be back before it does. Let’s go."
They both got up out of the booth and left a note for the waiter to leave the food on the table and that they would be back in a few minutes. After they stepped out of the restaurant, they realized that the temperature had dropped severely.
"I had better be getting paid for this," grumbled the undertaker.
"Oh, shut up," was the caretaker’s reply.
They had no trouble crossing the street, for it was mostly deserted. The undertaker almost ran into the large iron gates of the cemetery, where the caretaker was hopelessly fumbling to insert the key into the lock. At long last, the gates were open far enough to squeeze through. It was a tough fit, but both the undertaker and caretaker made through unharmed (the undertaker, however, still thought it necessary to mumble some curses and expletives under his breath to make it through the small opening).
"Hey, did you hear something?" asked the caretaker.
"Yeah I did. It sound like my ribs breaking," replied the undertaker.
"No, seriously! It sounded like a scream," Another scream was heard. "There it is again! Don’t even tell me you didn’t hear that!"
"I heard it that time. Where’s it coming from?"
"Over there," said the caretaker, pointing in the direction of the crypt. "Let’s check it out."
The undertaker grumbled again. The barbecue prime rib he ordered was getting cold (and probably eaten) sitting at the table in the restaurant. They started toward the crypts, almost running. The caretaker was worried about the person screaming, and the undertaker was worrying about what was currently happening to his barbecue prime rib.
In about five minutes, the caretaker and undertaker reached the crypt. The door was open. That really wasn’t good, considering it had about seven locks on it. Almost afraid to go inside, the caretaker walked very slowly and cautiously into the small building.
"Hey! This is the crypt that they put that person in. The one who I just finished up a few hours ago. Maybe they forgot to lock it, or something," said the undertaker.
No reply from the caretaker. He stepped through the threshold and stopped. With a trembling hand, he struggled to turn on the flashlight. He could feel something inside that he didn’t like. Not at all. He turned on the flashlight and uttered a nauseous groan. A few seconds later, he dropped the flashlight. It fell to the stone floor, flickered a moment, then died.
Alarmed at what was going on, the undertaker rushed into the crypt. He slipped on something wet and pulpous, and fell face-first onto the flashlight, which caused it to come back on. Horrified, he was able to see everything. The strange object he slipped on was the remains of a large intestine. He turned his head away in disgust, and accidentally discovered the person who the large intestine belonged to. The body on the floor was obviously dead, and had a large hole ripped in it’s stomach.
"Oh my God…" said the undertaker in sheer horror, "Who could have done this?"
"I don’t know. I’m leaving," said the caretaker, who quietly purged his stomach outside the crypt. The undertaker left the building and did the same. "C’mon. Let’s get out of here. Go to the police or something… I think… I think that was the strange man I saw today. Maybe. The strange man… It was… Oh, nevermind."
Maybe this wouldn’t be such a good day after all.
The End
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