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To be deleted on June 30th
An Accident Awful
The Mortimer Sisters were fearless and
four until Nyx woke up one morning to find that Clara had not. Death is a funny
thing until he pays a visit. Nyx and her sisters knew this better, perhaps,
than anyone.
You see, the Mortimers were morticians
which was fortunate because they lived in October— a town tame, a village
vibrant— a place where anything could happen, where everything did and
accidents happened all the time. Happily (at least for a mortician monetarily),
Death more than sometimes happened to follow. In such a place, such a village,
such a town (and in any place else), a mortician was usually useful. In October
(quite obviously) it was luck to have four. Five, including their father. Five
morticians happened to be heroes.
The Mortimers were young, but being
raised by Dr. Down presented many many chances to learn all about the
Downstairs: the cadaver-covered morgue. They all had seen the After. After the
accident. After the end. But only Nyx and Clara had worked Upstairs with Mrs.
Down. They all had seen the After, but it was only in the funeral home where
one could see what happened after that.
Usually there was crying. Lots of
hugging, lots of tears. Lots of people huddled together; lots of suits and
skirts, dark black. A service in the Chapel where everyone in October would
(usually) come to say goodbye. Outside, Mr. Wutsitz: to hold the doors open or
hold them shut. Usually Nyx would watch Clara help Mrs. Down wade the crowd.
Together, they’d orchestrate the service, consoling the grievers with their
kindness killer. But sometimes the grievers would notice Nyx, too.
Usually Nyx would try, “I’m sorry for
your loss.”
For some reason, though, the words never
sounded quite the way she wanted them to. Though her elder sisters’ jobs were
done AD, After Death,her job was to put the body in the ground. No
one but Nyx knew how hard that was to do.
It meant that she saw what happened
after the After. She saw the service. She saw the tears. And she was the last
to see the body.
Nyx was the one who put the body in the
ground.
So when Mrs. Down comforted the grievers
grievous, they leaned on her. They knew she cared. But when Nyx comforted the
grievers, they just nodded. She knew they were scared. They were scared of the
After— of what happened After Them. They were scared not of Nyx, but of the
place she’d put them after that. They were scared of Nyx, too, but they didn’t
know it. Nyx, however, understood. And for that, Nyx was always sorry. For some
reason, she could never sound quite as sorry as she always was.
And for some reason, she found Clara.
Nyx had almost thought her asleep. If it weren’t for the bend of her legs, of
the circle most crimson beneath her hair, dark black, Nyx might have kicked at
her for lying unladylike at the base of the stairs. Even then, Nyx did not
quite believe it. Clara pulled pranks often and it seemed a joke juvenile. Like
Clara and Evie’s work.
So finding Clara in the morning wasn’t
funny, but Nyx had almost laughed. She had reasons.
There were two.
She thought it was a joke, but seeing it
wasn’t, she thought of something more amusing. Death, you see, had paid another
Mortimer a visit.
And he put the body on the ground.
#
Clara looked almost peaceful. Like
the day Leila Mortimer brought her corpse to the morgue. She didn’t want to
call Clara a corpse but Clara was gone. And though Leila was the oldest, her
youngest sister sadly was... not.
Not a person. Not the youngest. Not
really here. Not alive.
Still, she was beautiful. Not even Death
could challenge that.
Her now-youngest sister, Nyx, had found
the body, but didn’t cry or shout. She looked at the body. Then she went to
find the others. Then she found them in the dining room. Then she said,
“There’s been an accident awful.”
Then Leila and Evie, Dr. D and Mrs. D,
their kitten Jinx and her puppy Stein, and the smell of syrup sweet all in a
line followed Nyx to Clara’s corpse. They all felt something different. Leila
felt her heart in her throat.
“Oh dear,” said their adoptive father.
“Oh no,” concurred his wife.
“Oh, Clara,” replied Evie emotionally.
And Leila said nothing but a prayer.
Then she went out and rung the police.
Detective Abe and Detective Bee were
experts exceptional at matters of fact. And in fact,
“This was an accident awful.”
Detective Bee agreed with Detective Abe.
“A break most bad.”
“A casualty cruel,” concurred Abe with
Bee.
“A death devastating.”
“Our Clara gone.”
Mrs. D let out a whimper and Detective
Abe handed her his handkerchief. She used it. Detective Bee nodded nobly.
“We are sorry for your loss.”
As the oldest, Leila thanked them. For
what, she couldn’t say. But as Nyx was saying nothing, as Evie was crying, and
as the first assistant of Dr. D, Leila felt she ought to do something.
So she thanked them.
Then she did her job.
She was what you might call a body
snatcher. She took Not-bodies to the morgue. That was all she did, but it was
the day before Clara’s funeral. So Leila found herself looking at her
Not-sister once again.
On the tray, Clara looked peaceful.
Almost peaceful. Peaceful, but not. She looked like Clara, still smiling, but
Leila knew that she was not.
Leila was the oldest so she knew that
everything about Clara was Not. Not smiling, not here, not okay. Not ever
again. And she had to hold on to something. Something that was; something real.
Something like the Downs or the Mortimers or something— anything— else.
Sad and uncertain, she chose something
else.
She chose the body because holding the
body was what Leila knew to do. Leila liked knowing. That’s what big sisters
were supposed to do. But as she held onto the hand of her sister Not-smiling,
Leila still didn’t know what she what she was feeling. She still didn’t know
what to say to Not-Clara. Still didn’t know what she should do.
But as the eldest, Leila knew that she
ought to do something. So Leila simply said a prayer.
Then she managed a weak and wobbly,
“Okeydoke.”
#
Evangeline was the only Mortimer who
had cried at the loss of the youngest adopted Down. But the Downs cried more
than she did. And Evie cried a lot.
They cried so much that it shocked Evie
to her senses. Their crying, quite frankly, sucked all of her tears right up.
And when Evie stopped crying, she found a black hole in her heart. Evie
Mortimer feared that not even the tears of the Downs could fill that black hole
up.
Evie had always thought Mrs. Down to be
all-business. An automaton matron. A creature of the clock. Mrs. Down set
breakfast out at 8, lunch at 12, dinner at 5, and she managed to bustle about
the Upstairs at all hours odd and in between, making phone calls and
arrangements, ordering Clara to prepare this and set that, and Evie was so used
to this that she almost cried out for help when today there was no breakfast.
There was no bustle. No Clara childishly giggling around the backside of Mrs.
Down.
Mrs. Down who’d made arrangements for a
father, a brother, and her first and only son, was nowhere to be found in the
days of preparation for the function final of her youngest Mortimer girl. This
left Mr. Mrs. Down to help make all the arrangements, but Mr. Mrs. Down was
useless Upstairs, on top of being a Mr. Mrs. Downer.
Besides, Clara usually oversaw the
Display Room. So there was no one to greet them when Evie and Leila dragged him
Upstairs ultimately. They were in a scene most surreal and several times Evie
wished that Clara had not collapsed conclusively— just so they’d have someone
to show them inside from out.
How they needed someone to ask whether
they preferred a full couch casket or wanted a viewing or preferred the casket
closed. How she hated that they just weren’t sure if they should order lilies
or hold a wake in the plaza or at their home. How it bothered her that they
couldn’t decide between a public or private service. And how did Mrs. Down ever
manage to choose a date that didn’t clash with the Reverend’s sermons? From her
first call to the clergyman, it seemed Reverend Angel was always giving
a sermon.
Evie Mortimer had stopped crying over
the loss of Clara, but that was only because she was tired. And she was shocked.
And she was hollow. Inside, Evie Mortimer was lost most ludicrously. And as she
dressed her smallest sister in a dress brightest white, Evie really had to
wonder if it was possible to escape a black hole. If she cried hard enough,
long enough, and built a boat, would she— could she— possibly row
her way out?
#
The Mortimer sisters were now tired
and three, and on the day of Clara’s funeral, the threesome hardly spoke. They
sat quietly through the service. Sat quietly as the town peeked into Clara’s open
casket. And they held on to each other and to the Downs until the pallbearers
stood to carry Clara out of the chapel. The Mortimers didn’t need to view the
body. No Mortimer ever got the chance to properly say goodbye. And the
Mortimers didn’t want to. Say goodbye. Not just yet.
And it was time for another service. The
Commital. To the ground. That was Nyx’s job, but today she wasn’t sorry. She
would do her duty diligently for her sister. For Clara clever and classic and
for some reason, this was reason good enough.
She wouldn’t be sorry because October
was sorry enough. She’d seen Leila and Evie and the Dr. and Mrs. Down shake
hands with almost everyone and almost everyone was sorry for their loss.
But only the Brothers Beetle noticed Nyx
and smiled. Like Nyx, the Beetle Brothers weren’t sorry at all. They were
smiling and they were celebrating.
“Come on Nyxie Nyx,” said John.
“Let’s do this,” said Paul.
“We’re with you,” said Richard.
George clapped his hands. “Let’s send
our Clara home.”
So the Brothers carried the casket and
the family marched behind. But Nyx led the procession. To a hole in the ground.
Reverend Angel said a prayer and Nyx
helped secure the casket on the lowering device. October sang a hymn and Nyx
lowered the casket into the vault. Mrs. Down wept softly and Nyx put the vault
into the ground. But today she wasn’t sorry. After the accident abhorring, she
wasn’t much.
For a
while she was not happy and not talking. She was sad and scared and lonely and
she was missing Clara madly. But the Brothers Beetle had shown her that her
task wasn’t totally terrible after all. For some, holes were actually homey. So
she sent her sister home.
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