By Joshua Vise – October 29, 2024

Published in Halloweenthology: All Hallows’ Eve by Wicked Shadow Press. Lulu: Paperback or EPUB

The hamlet of Antonine, situated amid the hilly farmland of southern Illinois, prided itself on its sense of community. A common saying among the residents was “Born here, bound here.”, meaning that even as the younger members of the community gravitated towards work opportunities in the larger cities of St. Louis, Springfield, and Chicago, they still shared a connection that no amount of time or distance could shake. The people of Antonine would readily step up to help each other at a moment’s notice, a camaraderie that could only be found in a place where one didn’t just know their neighbor, but everyone on their street.

Moreover, it was impossible to be a stranger, at least for long, as new residents quickly found themselves on the receiving end of a torrent of gossip, spread in hushed tones by locals who took it as their duty to bring their new neighbors up to speed. This small-town mentality was both lauded and bemoaned by the populace as news of any kind spread at the speed of sound, and information, once leaked to the public, never seemed to die away. “There goes Mr. So-and-So,” they would say. “He runs the Gas-and-Go on the corner of Main and Broadshire. Had a drunk-driving incident a few years back. Cleaned up since then.”

It was just such a familiarity with each other that allowed Noah Larson to recognize the voice on the other side of the mortuary door late that Halloween evening.

“Noah! Let me in!”

The banging on the heavy steel door was so loud and so frantic that Noah hesitated, wondering if it would be better to pretend he was not there.

“Please, Noah! Let me in! It’s an emergency!”

“Alright, Phil! Christ, give me a second!”

The banging continued as Noah unlocked the door. No sooner had the latch disengaged than a man barged his way in. He pushed past Noah before immediately spinning on his heels and slamming the door shut.

“Is anyone else here with you?”

“No. Why?”

Phil stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall. He sank to the ground, his palms pressed into his eyes as he choked back a sob.

Phil Schraeder was one of Noah’s closest friends. They had attended the same school, played on the same football team, and even worked a summer job at the same restaurant together. After graduation, both had applied for and were accepted to the local community college. Noah went on to receive his Associates Degree in Mortuary Science, and found employment in Hyde Funeral Home, Antonine’s only mortuary service. Phil transferred to a state school, and eventually became a licensed medical examiner. He worked at a series of regional hospitals before being voted in as Bond County Coroner ten years prior, with Noah assisting his campaign. In his capacity as a mortuary technician, Noah often found himself working directly with Phil, and yet in all that time, he had never seen his friend like this.

“Phil, what’s going on?”

The pungent odor of booze wafted into Noah’s nose as he stood over the sobbing man.

“I hit a kid,” said Phil, his hands still over his eyes.

“What?!”

“I hit a kid!” Phil shouted. His hands dropped from his eyes, and he looked up at his friend, his face twisted in anguish.

“Where?”

“Over on Woodburn Avenue.”

Phil wiped his face with his shirt, and he continued in a string of choppy sentences.

“It’s that Geeseman kid. It was dark. He was trick-or-treating. I didn’t see him in time.”

“Is he dead?!” asked Noah, not bothering to hide his alarm.

“Yeah…he’s dead,” Phil stammered.

“Are you sure?!”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, are you really sure? Maybe he…”

“Noah, he’s in my truck.”

Noah found himself recoiling, too stunned to speak.

“I need your help,” Phil muttered.

“No…”

“Yes, Noah!”

All at once, Phil leapt from the floor and grabbed Noah by the shoulders.

“Otherwise I lose everything! Everything! The wife, the kids, the job…all gone unless you help me!”

Overwhelmed and astonished, Noah could do nothing but stare into Phil’s face. His pleading eyes, still wet with tears and glazed from the effects of the booze, stared back at Noah.

“I’m not asking for you to fix this, Noah. It can’t be fixed.”

“Then what are you asking?”

“I’m asking for you to make it disappear.”

*****

The mortuary that appeared so nondescript during the daytime took on the shadowy embellishments of the shroud of night, so much so that even though Noah had grown accustomed to his nighttime shift any unexpected disturbance in his routine was enough to give him the jitters. This was true on the most average of nights, but the effect was magnified a hundredfold given the horrible circumstances that surrounded him. The multiple lights in the parking lot threw shadows in various directions, and the clattering of the gurney wheels on the cracked concrete echoed off of the building and rang in Noah’s ears. To him, it felt as if these shadowy witnesses were passing judgment over his actions, and were sucking their teeth in disappointment.

Noah and Phil pushed the gurney towards the bed of Phil’s truck. As they arrived, Phil undid the latch, and the tailgate fell open. Noah felt an immediate sense of disgust that he couldn’t contain.

“Jesus, Phil.”

Lying in the bed of Phil’s pickup truck was the body of Eric Geeseman. His crumpled frame, bearing the black Grim Reaper cloak he had worn for Halloween, was splayed out awkwardly, a testament to the ferocity of the collision. His eyes, open and cloudy, gazed into infinity. They seemed to pop from his skull, an effect enhanced by his black face paint. Here and there, scattered bits of Eric’s plastic scythe could be found. It had shattered upon impact, and Phil had been careful to collect the pieces.

“Jesus, Phil,” Noah repeated. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Phil hastily jumped into the truck bed and positioned himself to move the body.

“Let’s just get him inside before someone sees,” he said tensely. “Then we can talk about it.”

Phil sat at the far end of the bed, resting his feet on Eric’s shoulders. Noah positioned the gurney at the edge of the tailgate so that Eric’s body would slide on top of it, then grabbed hold of Eric’s ankles. Noah could feel Eric’s ankle bones even through the thick pair of gloves he had donned for the occasion. That and the fact that his hands wrapped so easily around them underscored Eric’s smallness and fragility. For Noah, it was a tactile reminder of his complicity and his guilt.

“Okay. One, two, three,” Phil counted.

Phil pushed with his feet, and the tiny body slid easily across the smooth ridges of the truck bed. Noah did his best to guide the corpse as it tumbled over the side of the tailgate, landing on the gurney mat with a sickening thwack. He adjusted the body as best he could, securing the broken remains with a restraining strap. As he was doing this, Phil hopped over the sidewall and out of the truck.

“I’m going to move the car to a safer spot. You take him inside.”

“Phil!” hissed Noah. Even in the empty lot, he still worried about being overheard.

“I’m only gonna be a minute. Just get inside.”

“Don’t leave me with him!”

But it was too late. Phil had jumped into the cab. The engine started, and the crimson tail lights added their own ominous shadows to the collection of judgmental figures Noah had been haunted with before. These reddened ghouls seemed to swirl around him as the truck pulled away and out of the parking lot.

Noah had extensive experience handling human corpses. From time to time, he had taken care of the corpses of those that had been friends and acquaintances, a necessity given Antonine’s size. There were even a few episodes in which he had worked with the bodies of children, though these occasions were fortunately very rare and usually the tragic result of a childhood illness. In all of these situations, he found himself able to dissociate his contemplative self from his pragmatic self. It was as if he were viewing his experiences not through his own eyes, but from the perspective of someone floating just over his shoulder. This perspective gave him the much needed objectivity in which to treat the body as “a subject”, and allowed him to perform duties that people unable to disentangle their emotions from their work would view as grisly.

However, this ability to detach his sense of self from his actions utterly failed under the weight of the moral dilemma Noah faced. He jogged back to the mortuary door, eager to return to the relative safety of the building. As he did so, the gurney bounced and vibrated over the patchy cement, and Eric Geeseman’s body quivered and convulsed in turn, enough so that Noah was convinced the young boy was fighting against the restraining strap. Noah paused, allowing both the corpse and his nerves to settle before continuing the rest of the way at a walk. He reached the door, cast one last glance into the deserted parking lot, and entered the building, gurney in tow.

*****

The crematorium was located near the center of the complex, far from the side entrance that Noah had used. Normally, the deep, throaty roar of a crematory oven would be enough to drown out anything below a normal speaking voice, but Noah’s nerves were such that he jumped at the sound of Phil opening and closing the door behind him. He looked up from Eric’s body just as Phil marched into the room.

“Okay,” said Phil in a tense, no-nonsense tone. “What do we need to do now?”

“I don’t know, Phil.”

“Of course you know.”

Phil paced around the room, looking here and there, his eyes searching for anything useful. He rubbed his hand on his chin, apparently contemplating his past experiences for any knowledge of the cremation process should he need to go it alone.

“Where are the cardboard liners? You know the ones.”

“In the supply closet,” Noah found himself muttering.

“Where?” Phil shouted over the sound of the burners, their pilot flames glowing intensely from inside the open oven shaft.

“Behind you,” Noah shouted, gesturing to a door on the opposite end of the room.

“Right.”

Phil ran through the door, flipping on the light as he entered. Noah could see him scanning the shelves, until he located the folded cardboard sleeves that bodies were placed into before being fed to the flames. He pulled a sleeve down from the upper shelf, then returned to the room.

“Alright,” he said. He unfolded the cardboard and started creasing the edges into the shape of a box. “Let’s move him.”

“I’m not doing this,” said Noah resolutely.

At this utterance, Phil froze. Slowly, he stood, and his fearsome, intense gaze was accompanied by a formidable sneer.

“Yes, we are.”

Phil paced forward, each step amplifying his intimidating features, until he stood nearly nose to nose with Noah.

“You’re already in too deep. If we don’t finish this, they get us both, and you know it.”

He rested a heavy hand on Noah’s shoulder. Noah could feel himself shrinking away, and he lowered his gaze to the floor.

“Don’t worry. We put him in there, and it’s all over. Alright?”

The hand on his shoulder began to squeeze, until Noah regained himself and pushed his arm aside.

“No.”

“Noah, don’t be stupid.”

“This is ridiculous! I haven’t done anything! You’re dragging me into this to save your ass!”

Phil reached out again, but Noah pushed him away.

“I said no!”

Noah pushed him again, and Phil stumbled back, nearly tripping over the cardboard coffin.

“I’m calling the cops!”

Noah turned and bolted for the door. Just as his hand reached the knob, he felt an intense pain in the center of his skull. The last thing he remembered was the polished concrete floor rising up to meet him as he tumbled forward, followed by blackness.

*****

The first faculty that returned to Noah was his sense of touch. As he tried to shake the excruciating pain from his head, he became aware of the powerful whine of the crematory burners on full blast. He raised his head slowly, his eyelids peeled themselves apart, and irritatingly bright fluorescent light flooded in. Gradually, the image of his surroundings resolved itself.

Noah was sitting on the floor, propped up against the wall across from the crematory oven. His hands had been secured behind his back with what felt like duct tape. The same tape covered his mouth, and the saliva that pooled inside his mouth was tinged with the taste of his own blood. Looming over him was Phil. He gazed down at Noah, arms crossed in front of his chest as if expecting some kind of response.

“It’s done, Noah. There’s nothing you can do.”

Phil gestured to the crematory oven. The loading door was shut tightly, and Noah could see from the display screen that the automatic cycle had been started. Phil kneeled down.

“I’m sorry, man.”

Phil pulled the tape from Noah’s mouth.

“You bastard,” Noah spat, and a stream of viscous, blood-streaked saliva followed his words.

Phil looked genuinely hurt.

“It’s not your fault. I just had to. But there’s nothing to worry about now. You’ll see.”

“What did you hit me with?”

Phil gestured to the clean-out brush, the long metal pole with a steel-bristled brush on the end.

“I didn’t want to do that, either. But I couldn’t talk any sense into you.”

“Into me?!” Noah shouted indignantly.

The strength of his words increased the pounding in his head, and he winced before continuing.

“That’s bullshit, Phil! You killed a kid! You can’t just make him disappear!

Noah squirmed as he talked, wrestling to free his hands from the tape.

“This is Antonine! People are going to notice!”

Phil grabbed Noah’s shoulders and shoved him forcefully against the wall.

“Yeah! They’ll notice! They’ll notice a kid is missing. But they’ll never know it was us.”

“It wasn’t us, it was you!”

Phil’s grip tightened.

“Nobody knows that either! Listen…”

Noah continued to squirm, until Phil slapped him hard across the face.

“Listen! You need to keep quiet about this whole mess, because if you tell anyone…”

Phil slapped him again, and Noah’s vision burst into a kaleidoscope of colorful, dancing spots.

“I’m going to tell them you helped me. Your word against mine. If I go down, you go down. Understand?”

Noah rested heavily against the wall supporting him. His body seemed to sink into the concrete behind him, and the last bits of resistance he could muster ebbed with it. He felt drained of all energy and powerless against the horrible logic of Phil’s threat. The emotional weight of the situation overcame his ability to control himself, and hot tears poured from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.

“Go ahead and cry,” Phil stated flatly. “Get it all out now, and then it will be over. Then we can pretend this whole thing never happened, and nobody will ever know.”

As Phil finished his sentence, a tremulous whine reverberated from the oven behind him. This strange, unprecedented sound captured Noah’s attention, and he immediately stopped crying. Phil jumped to his feet and ran to the oven display panel.

“What the fuck is it?” he screamed to Noah as his fingers mashed the keyboard.

“I don’t know!” Noah shouted. “The burners must be jammed!”

Phil lunged at Noah and pulled him to his feet. Noah could feel him ripping the tape from his hands as he shoved him roughly to the controls.

“Fix it!” he screamed. “Now!”

Noah’s eyes skimmed over the display readout.

“Nothing’s wrong!”

“What do you mean ‘Nothing’s wrong’!?”

“All of the readouts are normal!”

“Then what the hell is that sound!?”

As suddenly as it had begun, the terrible screeching ceased, replaced with the familiar loud hum of the burners in operation.

“Something could be wrong with the sensors,” warned Noah. “We need to override it.”

“And stop the burn?” spat Phil. “No!”

Phil pushed Noah backwards. Unprepared for the force, Noah tripped over his feet and hit the ground roughly.

“We don’t stop!” Phil said, pointing an assertive finger at Noah. “For anything!”

A massive bang emanated from within the oven. The sheer force of the sound was enough to send Phil tumbling to the floor beside Noah. They both scrambled to the far end of the room, their eyes never leaving the furnace.

“What the fuck was that!?” shouted Phil as he covered his ears with his hands.

A second bang, just as forceful as the first, rocked through the room. This second explosion buckled the crematory oven’s loading door, and its smooth steel pane bent outward. A series of explosive sounds continued, each one punching another dent into the door, until finally, it gave way. The room was filled with fierce blue-yellow light, a product of the intense fire still burning within.

Noah and Phil slunk back in horror as a shrouded figure clambered its way out from the roiling flames. Bony hands threaded with charred tendons gripped the sides of the oven and pulled, and a blazing mass tumbled to the floor. Too dumbfounded to move, they could only watch as the still smoldering pile of flesh and bone slowly struggled to its feet, its back to them, its horrible form assuming human proportions.

The creature turned. Standing before them was Eric Geeseman, his scorched remains an intermingled mass of bone, cauterized flesh, and ash, all still wrapped inside his Grim Reaper cloak. His eyes had boiled away, and yet he moved towards them as if still able to see. With each step, his skinless, blackened mandible opened, and a screeching hiss emanated from the leatherized flesh around his throat. Phil screamed as this terrible ghoulish form leapt onto him, its fingers tearing at his skin, its burning hot body searing every place it touched.

Shaken from his horrible trance, Noah instantly bolted past them and out of the room. He burst through the outer door and into the parking lot, not daring to turn and look behind him. He ran until he reached his car, unlocked it, and jumped in. He sped away from the mortuary and into the blackness of an unlit country road while his shaking fingers struggled to tap out 911 on his phone.

*****

To this day, the people of Antonine still don’t know what to make of the Hyde Funeral Home incident. The fire that broke out at the facility had burnt the structure to its foundations, leaving little for investigators to sift through. Two disarticulated skeletons were recovered from the site, and subsequently identified as Phil Schraeder and Eric Geeseman based on dental records.

The tamest of rumors still in active circulation had Eric breaking into the funeral home on a dare, toying with the oven controls, and inadvertently igniting the fire that killed both him and Phil. Noah had attempted to save them, but the flames pushed him back, and his subsequent ravings were delusions brought about by such a traumatic experience. This scenario was the most flattering to all parties involved, and was generally accepted to be true by the inhabitants of Antonine. After all, the mentality “Born here, bound here.” applied just as much to the memory of the dead as it did to the living.