Creeptober 2020 Writing Challenge Day 13: Crematory

“Crematory”

People think it’s strange that I’m so proud of my work, but as the first-ever female head operator at the country’s oldest crematory, I’m continuing to make history with every single body I lift into this machine.

That being said, it’s a thankless job.

Despite all the morbid mystique behind morticians, the role they serve in the grieving process is essential. They’re not just looming figures lurking in the corners of funeral parlors, they’re key players in moving the dead to the next realm and ushering their family past the hardest stage of loss. They’re not silent observers obsessed with death, they’re compassionate communicators who make sure the deceased get their final wishes and their closest loved ones can send them off with peace of mind.

And, unlike me, morticians can actually work with the living.

A lot of my clients, as I call them, are far past their expiration dates. If they had final wishes they fell upon deaf ears. For those whose requests by which I am abiding, no one ever sees my face. You don’t mind meeting the person that puts the makeup on. You take solace from the person who opens the casket. You shake the hands of the people who dig the graves. No one wants to see the person making the dust-to-dust an immediate reality.

It’s a thankless job and it’s a lonely job.

But it’s okay, I like working in solitude. No one can judge the work I do. No one can micromanage how I parse out the bone fragments. And, in return, no one has to see what I see. No one has to check in on the body only to discover the black mass of the brain that just won’t break down. No one has to deal with the flies and maggots that come with decomposition.

No one thanks you for turning their loved ones into ash.

No one wants to talk to you about the mediocrity of your day-to-day work.

No one notices who I am.

It’s thankless.

It’s lonely.

It’s my life.

“ROBIN! THAT’S THE WRONG BODY!” I hear one of the other technicians screech. Finally, I’ll have some human interaction, even if it’s fueled by anger.

I’m proud of the work I do.

I never said I was good at it.

Creeptober 2020 Writing Challenge Day 6: Hard Candy

“Hard Candy”

Remember those strawberry candies? Yeah, you already know the ones I’m talking about. The ones in those little foil wrappers with the strawberry prints on them. The little red candies with the juicy center that tastes like the lovechild of a jolly rancher and a cough drop. The kind only found at the bottom of grandma’s purse or permanently in her candy dish, a never-ending supply. 

Those are my favorite candies. 

I know what you’re thinking, “those aren’t anyone’s favorite candies,” well you’re wrong. Everything you think is wrong. Everything you’ve ever been taught is wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. And it’s not out of a sense of nostalgia, they’re genuinely my favorite candies. I buy them in bulk and keep them on hand at all times. I don’t particularly enjoy the flavor, the wrappings are a nuisance to pick up around my apartment. 

I like them because they’re dangerous. 

Sure, all hard candy is dangerous if you’re not careful, but there’s something so deceptively alluring about the strawberry candies. Peppermint swirls are used to decorate gingerbread houses, seldom enjoyed over their cane counterparts. Werther’s originals are only for the aging and infirmed, those who already have so little left to lose. Warheads are for children who have something to prove, who dance with danger only to have it spit out, discarded. And jawbreakers… well, they’re far too predictable. There’s a damn movie based on their danger, for goodness' sake. 

The little strawberries, though, they’re my favorite because they’re unassuming. 

People only have fond memories associated with them. They make you think of kindhearted grandmothers, of the only good parts of waiting rooms, of easing nerves. They lull you into a false sense of calm. And that’s why they’re the perfect candy treat. 

Because no one ever expects it when they’re choking to death on one. 

From the moment you set your sights on the candy dish to when I so kindly offered you one, your fate was already sealed. You fumbled with childlike delight at the wrapper, never able to remove it in one sweeping motion, giving me just the right amount of time to plan my next move. From the moment you looked at me, bewildered, as I retrieved the sweet delight from my purse to when you quickly popped it in your mouth, I was poised, ready. 

It’s the juicy center people always take for granted. Unlike other candies that are all shell and no substance, the strawberry treats give you that last burst, that last rush, that last moment of pleasure before it’s all gone.  

It’s right before you get to that point, I can see it in your eyes. The way the candy shifts in your mouth, the way you unclench, that’s when I know it’s time. 

You never see the knife coming before that point. But when you do? I wish I could take a picture of the look in your eyes. Oh, who am I kidding? I’ve got plenty of those photos. I carry them in my wallet, should anyone wish to see. 

What’s really funny, though, downright hilarious, even, is that the knife was never meant to cause you any harm. It’s just a prop, nothing more, nothing less. Too bad you were so frightened, maybe you wouldn’t have choked. Maybe you would have found my joke funny if you were alive to see the punchline. Maybe you would have gotten the chance to enjoy that juicy center the same way I enjoyed watching you. Maybe you’d consider these candies to be your favorite, too, if only you were still alive.

Day 9 - A Joke

“Prompt 1: Relatives going through a deceased loved one’s belongings find something shocking.”

A JOKE
 

CHARACTERS

DAVID.  30. Fairly affluent. Well-liked among his social circles and considered a golden child within his family, though arrogant in his personal relationships. 

JENNIFER. 28. Shy, even-tempered. Not the standout of the family, but treats others with kindness and respect. 

GEORGE.  35. Deceased. Cause of death not yet known. A black sheep of the family who spent most of his life isolated and quiet. 

SCENE I

The stage is set up with an upstairs space and a downstairs, with a narrow, winding staircase linking the two. The downstairs stage is dark, while the action of this scene takes place in the well-lit upstairs space. A dusty attic is bathed in warm daylight flowing in from a large window with broken blinds. DAVID and JENNIFER are in the process of boxing up the last few belongings of their recently deceased cousin GEORGE. They both look somber as they work. 

DAVID.   Looks like this is the last box of George’s stuff.

JENNIFER. He’d only been living here for a few years--how does one person amass so much stuff?

DAVID. Especially someone like George.

JENNIFER stops taping up the box and looks at DAVID.

JENNIFER. What do you mean by that?

DAVID.   Jennifer, let’s be real. George was our cousin but he wasn’t really… you know… the life of the party.

JENNIFER. George was nice enough of a guy.

DAVID. Oh yeah, for sure, but we’re not talking about niceness here. I mean his personality.

DAVID.  ...Or lack thereof. 

JENNIFER covers her mouth to hide her laughter. She gives DAVID a slight push.

JENNIFER.  That's so wrong! 

DAVID.  Maybe--but you know it's true. I mean, think about it, when is the last time you ever had a conversation with the guy? Like a real, honest to God conversation that you actually got something out of or even laughed at. Not even a deep belly laugh, just a slight giggle?

JENNIFER pauses to think.

DAVID.  Exactly.

DAVID stands up and lifts one of the boxes. He starts to make his way to the exit.

JENNIFER. I think he was just shy. 

JENNIFER also stands and carries a box as the two descend the staircase. 

DAVID.  Jen, you're shy, but I can still carry on a normal conversation with you. George was just blah. Weird at best. 

SCENE II

JENNIFER and DAVID walk down the staircase and arrive on the bottom stage, which GEORGE's bedroom. The room is also fairly well-lit but bare, containing only 1 twin-size bed, a closet, and a set of dresser drawers next to the bed. The bottom of the drawers should be slightly ajar. 

DAVID.  Don't you find it bizarre that we were left in charge of his belongings? We weren't even that close...

JENNIFER.  I guess we were closer than most people in our family... 

DAVID.  It's not like there's anything good in here, either. A bunch of boring history books and tax papers. Thanks for the gifts, Georgie. 

JENNIFER and DAVID set the boxes down on the floor. JENNIFER surveys the bedroom.

DAVID. My guess is us moving boxes around in here is probably the most action this bedroom has ever seen. 

JENNIFER.  Stop it, that's not funny. 

DAVID holds his arms wide out at his sides, examining the bare room.

DAVID.  So what do you think he really got up to, huh? 

JENNIFER.  Now what are you talking about?

DAVID walks back over to JENNIFER and gets close to her as he talks. 

DAVID.  Think about it. Guy barely talked to anyone, had no friends, held a boring desk job, was found dead of no discernible causes by the cable guy of all people--what could he have done in his spare time? Why did he feel the need to have a house, practically in the middle of nowhere, filled with next to nothing, he could have just as well lived in a one bedroom apartment with the amount of stuff he had. 

JENNIFER.  Maybe he just liked having space.

DAVID.  I think he had some secrets. I bet he was into weird shit. 

JENNIFER.  Stop it. 

DAVID.  Maybe this bedroom did see more action than I'm giving him credit for. 

JENNIFER.  Knock it off. 

DAVID.  Maybe... just maybe... David's body wasn't the only one ever found here...

JENNIFER.  WOULD YOU SHUT THE HELL UP?!

DAVID and JENNIFER stop and stare blankly at each other. DAVID begins to laugh, but JENNIFER is not amused. 

DAVID.  Calm down, cuz. I was just joking. 

JENNIFER begins to lose her cool as DAVID ignores her, instead directing his attention at the set of dresser drawers.

JENNIFER.  I don't care what you thought about George or his private life, but he's a member of our family who's gone now, the least you can do is show a little respect. 

DAVID walks past her and gets closer to the drawers.

JENNIFER.  But seeing as how you can't even show me that, I'm not sure what I was expecting...

DAVID points at the drawers as he speaks.

DAVID.  Did you open this drawer? 

JENNIFER.  No, why?

DAVID.  It was closed before we went upstairs. 

JENNIFER.  Well I didn't touch it, I haven't even been in this room for longer than a few seconds until just now. Are you sure you didn't touch it--

DAVID.  No. I swear to God, it was completely closed before.

JENNIFER.  This isn't funny, David. 

DAVID.  I'm not trying to be funny, not this time. 

JENNIFER slowly walks over to the drawers. She tries to peer into the open drawer. 

DAVID.  Is there anything in there? 

JENNIFER.  I can't tell...

JENNIFER looks back at DAVID before mustering up some courage. She closes her eyes and opens the drawer. She looks in and smiles, before slowly pulling out what's inside. At the sight of her producing a hand from the drawer, DAVID screams and faints. 

DAVID.  OH MY GOD!! 

JENNIFER smirks as she pulls out the rest of the object--a comedic puppet. She continues to dig into the drawer to pull out a stack of handwritten papers. 

JENNIFER.  Jokes? 

JENNIFER.  These are all jokes.

JENNIFER.  George was a... 

JENNIFER pauses to look at the puppet in her other hand. 

JENNIFER.  Prop comic???

JENNIFER laughs as she steps over DAVID's unconscious body, exiting the bedroom.

JENNIFER.  Good job, George. You finally made me laugh. 

JENNIFER turns off the lights as she leaves the room.

END.

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Off the wagon, then back on the wagon, then off again. What will come next? Only time will tell...