Elias soon came to know that panic was no good.
The number of times his heart had leaped up and the numbness of his fingers did not matter, the screaming that something within him declared this was wrong. None of it showed on his face. His eyes looked as calm with his thin glasses, his lips in an indifferent expression, and he sat erectly up as though nothing in the world could have shaken him.
Elias was a breath away of losing it inside.
On the very next day after her settlement in the funeral parlor he ventured out only to prove the strength of the situation. He said that he had to get groceries. He assured himself that he had to familiarize himself with the town. He mostly said to himself that concealment would only make it worse and hide.
The door shut behind him with a easy click.
And the world instantly told him that it was not normal anymore.
There was a shadow in the opposite wall, and it was in the form of a man with his neck bent at an inhuman angle. Something trailed at the edge of the roof, and its extremities were twisting in reverse. Half her face had been cut off, and a woman at the bus-stop stared at the road, waiting, however, for a bus that was never coming.
Elias did not react.
He walked slowly on with his hands inside his pockets and looked straight ahead.
They would not feel so near, were he to feign that they were not there...
His pacing was faintly heard along the sidewalk. Each movement his body hoped that cold fingers reached toward his ankle, that there was a hand on his throat, that he heard a murmur in his ear. None of it happened.
Rather, a jovial voice broke the tensions.
"Morning! You're new, right?"
Elias froze internally. Externally, he ceased and looked back.
One of the women, that was in her fifties, stood close to a small vegetable stall, tying back her hair using cloth, and her hands were busy arranging cucumbers. Her smile was easy, natural, and the sort one gives when one has long known the way to do it, and hasn't thought it necessary to inquire.
Yes, replied Elias on a slight hesitation. His voice was deep, almost smooth.
The woman beamed. "I thought so. Haven't seen you before. You have got into the old funeral house?
"…Yes."
"Oh! Years have passed since that was a deserted place. She waved a hand lightly. "Don't worry, it's sturdy. Old Graves family property. Good people, that lot."
Elias blinked once.
The Graves family.
So the maternal side of this body had not vanished out of the world.
"I'm Elias," he said.
Her eyes lit up. "Graves, then! I thought so. You've got the look—quiet eyes. Your aunt would work in the clinic, you see. Kind woman. You take care of yourself, ok?
"I will," Elias said.
She handed him a cucumber. "First one's free. New face in town."
Silently Elias touched it with his fingers.
The shadow on the wall behind her was jerking.
He said good-bye and continued on his way.
It was… strange.
The ghosts were there. Everywhere. Peeking, spying, crawling over things that no human being is supposed to shiver with. But the real people passed them with no dread, no thought, smiling and shaking hands and giving each other welcome as though this were the most secure spot in the world.
Children were running in the street playing with a ball. A man waved from his bicycle. Elias passed a shopkeeper who bowed to him.
No one screamed. No one panicked.
And not one saw the object cowering on the lamppost over their heads.
The hands of Elias were a little clenched in his pockets.
So this was how it was.
People led their blameless and meek lives.
The dead remained close, invisible and agitated.
And Elias stood in between.
A small boy kicked his ball too high at the bakery. It fell once, twice, and hit the curb--fright right through the legs of a white figure lying on the ground, with a hole in his chest.
Elias could see the ball go through the ghost as smoke.
The boy ran after it, paused and looked about him.
"Mister?"
Elias looked down.
The child pointed. "Can you help me get my ball? It went too far."
The ghost slowly turned its head. Its eyes locked onto Elias.
Elias felt his stomach twist.
He stepped forward anyway.
He stooped down, took the ball and gave it back to the boy on the side of the road.
"Thanks", said the child, and ran away.
The ghost looked a long time at Elias. Then gradually it turned and disappeared into the wall.
Elias straightened.
He was very much frightened, as he could hear his heart beating so loudly.
No one did.
An old woman was standing at the crosswalk, clutching her cane. Cars were coming by slowly, yet she did not appear to know what to do.
Elias stepped beside her.
"May I", asked he in an entreating voice, be thy arm.
She smiled with relief. "Oh, thank you, young man."
They crossed together. Fifty half way along, Elias thought something was rubbing against his calf. Cold. Sticky.
He did not look down.
The woman talked of chatting something about the weather, that the town was not much different after years, and that it was good to see young people coming back.
She was squeezing the arm of his, thankfully, at the other side. "Such a polite boy. Your mother raised you well."
Elias swallowed.
He did not correct her.
His shoulders were sore with tension, and he had come, by the time he went back to the funeral parlor. He closed the door himself behind him and leant back against it, breathing slowly through his nose.
No apparitions passed the threshold.
The air inside was still. Quiet. Safe.
Elias slithered down till he was sitting on the floor.
Days passed like that.
Elias got to know which streets were bad. Which corners to avoid. Which stores were more comfortable, sunny, healthier. The town itself continued to be pleasant to him--almost over pleasing. People greeted him by name.
They inquired whether he was getting along alright. They carried little presents; bread, soup, old furniture which they did not require.
*****
Elias did not anticipate getting his first customer that soon.
Even after the funeral the bell of the funeral parlor clinked low in the afternoon, and its sound was very heavy and dull, and it seemed even to have known where it was. Elias had been rearranging the shelves again. He did not need to. The place was already clean. However, by having his hands occupied, he could keep his mind from raving.
His gloves he straightened and turned. A couple stood at the door.
They looked exhausted. Not that melodramatic sort of sorrow that was accompanied by lamentation and crying, but that sort that consumed people internally. The lady grabbed her bag and her fingers were pale.
The man was half a step in front of her, his shoulders erect, his eyes flying about as though he thought he were being hunted out.
You are the funeral director, are you? the man inquired.
"Yes," Elias replied.
His voice was steady. Soft. Professional.
The man hesitated. "We saw your notice. The… basic service."
Elias nodded. He had hung it on purpose inexpensive, bare-bones. He had to have customers and what he had to have was something easy. Something ordinary.
The woman finally spoke. "Our son passed away."
"I'm sorry for your loss," he said.
They knelt clumsily and there was relief on their faces. It is possible that they had anticipations. Suspicion. Judgment. Rather, they were received calmly. The corpse came soon afterwards. It was a small one.
One boy, who was not more than seven, but tied up in white cloth. He had a peaceful face with his lips slightly open like he could start breathing again at any time.
Elias ushered the parents into the paperwork, and told them how it works, and how to listen and just say sorry that they are in a hurry.
"We, I, we have things to clear", the man muttered, with lowered eyes. "Debt. Work. Haven't eaten right in days, our daughter.
The woman bit her lip. "We'll come back later."
Elias nodded.
I am going to take care of everything, said he.
They thanked him more than he should have done and walked away.
As soon as the door was shut the temperature of the room shifted.
Elias felt it immediately.
Not danger. Not hostility.
Something… sad.
He lifted his gaze.
There was a small figure floating close by the window with feet slightly in contact with the floor. A short-haired boy, with bright eyes, whose figure is very slight. His hands touched the glass, his eyes strained to look in and in with curiosity but not fright.
"…Right," Elias murmured. "Of course."
He exhaled slowly.
The barrier held. The ghost could not enter.
The note had said so. Wandering spirits cannot come into the parlor unless asked.
Elias looked at the boy again.
He didn't look frightening. No twisted limbs. No missing eyes. Nothing more than a child, as common as anyone he had ever seen out of doors--except the faint radiance and the manner in which the light was penetrated by him.
Elias rubbed his forehead.
Just get this over with.
He turned to prepare the body.
His fingers were jerking with disturbing familiarity. Washing. Changing. Adjusting. His gestures were attentive, deferential, near to being a rehearsal.
At one point, he knew that something had gone wrong.
He wasn't fumbling.
He wasn't panicking.
He knew what to do.
Elias stared at his hands.
That necklace, again, he said to himself.
The red cord around his neck was hot on his flesh. It had been said in the note--the remains of memory. Unbeknownst to any who followed him.
"Creepy," Elias said flatly. "Very creepy."
And, lifting his eyes, the boy was nearer. As he stood right in the doorway. Elias stiffened.
"…You can come in?" he asked.
The boy grinned.
"I knew it! Mister can see me!"
Elias's brain stalled.
"…Yes," he said after a pause. "Unfortunately."
"You are not like the others", the boy said, nodding his head. "They all cry. Or scream. Or pretend I'm not there."
Elias glanced away.
"I am a specialist in pretending", he answered.
The boy giggled again.
They talked.
Slowly. Carefully.
The boy talked about his parents--how they were so tired, how they quarrelled more, how they cried when nobody was watching. He discussed his fever, and how cold, how he had been, and how he wished to call water, but could no longer.
Elias listened.
His face remained still.
Something was tearing inside.
"I do not blame them", the boy said to himself. "They're just… very tired."
"And your siblings?" Elias asked.
The boy's smile dimmed. "They're sick too. Mama cries at night. Papa blames himself. I don't want them to be sad."
There was an urge, sharp, sudden, in Elias. He wanted to hug the boy. He would have liked to tell him that it was not his fault. That it was unfair. That it was cruel.
His face would not cooperate instead.
He put out his hands fumblingly.
"It is going to be weird", Elias said.
The boy nodded eagerly.
The gloves rubbed on the shoulders of the boy.
Elias froze.
He could feel him.
Not cold. Not warm.
Just… there.
"…Huh," Elias whispered.
The boy hugged him tightly.
Elias stood up like a plank of wood.
"…Alright," he said weakly. "That's enough."
The boy laughed, after which he made a gradual withdrawal.
"Thanks, Mister, thank you", he said. "I feel lighter."
Elias swallowed.
"I'll… handle things," Elias said. "Go. I'll deal with everything."
The boy nodded.
Then he hesitated.
"Mister?"
"Yes?"
You are a scary guy, said the boy. "But you're kind."
Elias stared.
Before he could respond, the boy smiled one last time and faded away like mist in sunlight.
The room was quiet again.
Elias stood there for a long moment.
Then something clinked softly against the floor.
A golden coin. Elias stared at it.
"…What?"
He bent down and picked it up, turning it between his fingers.
Payment?
Blessing?
Elias sighed deeply and tucked the coin away.
"My first job… and I get paid by the dead." He looked at the prepared body, then at the empty doorway.
"…This is going to be a long career."