MicroHorror

You’re not supposed to be in here. Some would say it isn’t safe, but you know that’s nonsense–when your family owns the county’s only funeral home and crematorium, you pretty much know how not to get into trouble with the equipment. How many times had you helped your father during summer break? Replacing the cremator’s refractory bricks, compiling the deceased person’s effects into boxes to be returned to families and polishing urns was so normal to you, you thought nothing of it. Death was a business, and no emotional strings were attached.

How different it is when you’re on the other side. The one who burns now is (was, you remind yourself firmly) your best friend, your confidant, your lover, and dare you still say it? Your fiancé. And he’s gone. It’s impossible to look at the cremator with an objective eye anymore.

You shudder, and turn away from the flickering orange light. You feel sick to your stomach, and you rest your head on the cool brick wall by the door. You hear the stealthy squeak of footsteps on the linoleum outside the room, and your breath catches in your throat. No one else should be here. Not now.

The footsteps pause outside the door, and you see a glimmer of shadow through the crack under the door. They pause, and then the swinging door creaks open.

They stop behind you. You don’t look up but you can feel their eyes boring holes into the back of your skull. After a moment, cold hands begin to massage your shoulders.

You don’t know why, but the first thing you say is, “He always wanted to be cremated. His one wish. His only wish for death.”

“I’m so sorry,” they whisper. “No one should have to go through this. No one.”

You can barely talk, but you manage to choke out, “It was so sudden. I had no way of expecting–no way to see…” You shiver, and gulp. “It blindsided me.”

Their clammy hands work their way down your back and wind their way around your waist. They pull you up against them.

Cool breath caresses you when they speak. “I went through something… similar. Many, many years ago, I loved a girl. But she vanished as your Jared did. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of her. I carry her last letter to me always, in remembrance.”

Paper crinkles, and they withdraw a battered piece of folded paper from their coat pocket. “Read it.”

Sam,

I can’t ignore my heart any longer. For the last two months, I’ve been denying what my soul is screaming at me, and I can’t do it anymore, Sam. You’ll always have a special place in my heart, but I love someone else…

You can’t read any more. It’s too much like the one Jared left you, and your eyes cloud up with tears.

Another letter is pressed into your hands. Jared’s letter. The cool voice murmurs, “I found this on your coffee table.” You can’t control yourself anymore, and you begin to cry. “It’s inexcusable, what he did. The fellow bought you a ring and proposed for God’s sake, and what does he do? Runs off with another woman. Inexcusable. I don’t blame you for anything you did.”

You wrench yourself from the embrace and crumple Jared’s letter in your hand. You turn to face the cremator. It’s so hot by now that the heat dries your tears before they even have the chance to fall.

You whisper, “It’s too late to redistribute the blame. What’s done is done. He had his part, I had mine.” You turn to face the person with the cool voice. “He promised to love me until he died, and then I would cremate him after death. He broke his promises. I kept mine.”

You turn to look at the incinerator. “You see, I promised he’d be cremated. But I never promised he’d be dead when it happened.”