The thunder rumbled again, only this time it was closer. A flash of lightning exploded overhead and the dimly lit office flickered as the electricity buckled momentarily.

Duane checked his watch; it was close to midnight and he decided to call it a night. Maybe he could bring in sales staff to work the home and he could take care of the practical side of the business. Maybe he could stop offering burials altogether and concentrate on the cremations.

He was pondering such things when he heard a noise from above. He initially dismissed it as just Hardman shuffling around until he remembered that Hardman was dead and buried out the back underneath Mrs. Lincoln. He strained his ears to listen for the noise but there was nothing. The funeral home was still and dead, for want of a better word, he smiled to himself. This might be the place, but it wasn't the time to start getting jumpy and it wasn't in his nature for flights of fanciful imagination. This was an old building and they had a habit of settling their bones when the nights were cold. The overhead lights flickered worryingly again and Duane figured that it was time to get going.

He had one foot out of the office door when he heard the thump again from upstairs in Hardman's apartment. This time it was unmistakable and the implication was unavoidable, someone was up there.

He drew his courage up and refused to be scared as he stood in a dimply lit funeral home in the middle of the night with his murder victim buried out back and a storm raging overhead. He looked around the office for some kind of weapon, but there was nothing of any use. Soft and slow footsteps crept across the ceiling and his heart almost stopped.

Just kids, that's all, he thought to himself, or maybe just a couple of winos sneaking in out of the rain. His logic was sound enough, but there was something in his mind that was trying to get around the corners and out of the shadows. He stamped down hard on the nervous thoughts of a child. There were no bogeymen here, there were no shuffling monsters creeping from open graves, just b.u.ms looking to get out of the rain.

He headed up the stairs to Hardman's apartment one at a time. The wooden stairs creaked under his weight and the noise from above stopped. Duane stood on the stairs, one foot up and foot down, waiting for something. Eventually reason took over and he headed back down. If there were b.u.ms up there or maybe junkies, then stumbling into them made little sense. f.u.c.k it, he thought as he strode purposefully back into the office. He s.n.a.t.c.hed up the phone to call the police when his hand got stuck halfway. Three days ago he had murdered Hardman in this very office. As clean as he had scrubbed the floor, surely there were still traces there. Hardman seemed to have no family or friends and no-one had asked about him, but did he really want to bring the police in? Did he want a couple of cops poking around and maybe asking a few questions? Like just who did live in the apartment above and where was he now?

He replaced the phone and stood there helpless. He didn't fancy investigating who was moving around up there, but he couldn't call the cops for help either. The slow dragging footsteps moved across the ceiling again and his will broke. Screw it, he thought, I'm going home.

He was down the corridor, through the service room and out through the reception door when another thought hit him. What if whoever was up there came downstairs? What if they started poking around in the office? What if he came in tomorrow and found his records missing?

The lightning flashed again outside and through the main double gla.s.s doors he could see the rain falling heavier now. A rumble of thunder shook the window frames and he felt like he was the last man alive on the planet. A second flash of lightning lit up the whole reception area and for a flashing moment his shadow was joined on the wall by a second silhouette. He spun around in terror to find himself alone. He wanted to leave, but somehow he knew that he couldn't risk it. Suddenly something fell and broke in the office and he turned and ran to the noise, determined to gain the upper hand and stop jumping at shadows.

He ran back through the service room towards the rear with his heart pounding and his blood pumping through fear and adrenaline. Footsteps rattled overhead again from Hardman's apartment and he stopped in his tracks.

"Who's up there?" He suddenly shouted and shocked himself with his volume. "Who's there?" He demanded again.

He ran at the stairs taking them two at a time until he reached the top. Hardman's door stood in front of him and he pounded hard on the surface. He kicked it hard and the frame shook. "WHO'S IN THERE?" He roared, but the only answer was the sound of soft dragging footsteps coming towards the door.

"Hardman?" Duane whispered in spite of himself. "Is that you?"

The footsteps stopped on the other side of the door and suddenly Duane didn't want to know the answer, suddenly the last thing in the world that he wanted was to see what was on the other side of that door.

The door handle started to turn and Duane s.n.a.t.c.hed out a hand and grabbed hold of it to stop it from turning. The k.n.o.b tried to turn under his slick and sweaty hand but Duane held fast and placed a foot against the door frame for added purchase. He suddenly realised his predicament, he couldn't stay there all night holding onto one side of a door. The pressure began to increase on the other side and Duane pulled as hard as he could. He waited until the pressure was at its peak and steadying himself he let go. The door flew open and inward and something heavy fell to the floor inside. Duane turned and headed down without checking to see who or what it was. He paused at the bottom of the stairs and couldn't help but look up. Something hard and metallic bounced on the floor and rolled out of the dark apartment. The silver coin rolled neatly until it found the first step. It rolled off the edge and bounced down the stairs one after the other until it settled at his feet. Duane had seen the coin a thousand times before in Hardman's hand.

His paralysis broke and he ran for the phone in the office deciding that he no longer cared about the police discovering his crime. At the end of the corridor there was a large window that opened out onto the cemetery behind the home. A flash of lightning split the sky and for a second he could see that many of the graves were torn open and mounds of earth were expelled from the holes.

He reached the office and felt like he wasn't alone; there was another heavy presence in the room and a medicinal smell mingled with dirt. He reached out for the wall to flick the lights on. He hit the switch but the room remained in darkness. He backed out slowly away from the dim outline that was sitting in his chair that he could just make out as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

The organ from the service room suddenly blared out as clumsy hands jammed the keys together making a horrendous noise. Duane could now hear soft moans accompanying the organ as random notes were struck in a random order. Whoever was in his office suddenly joined in with a groaning noise, devoid of humanity.

The only way out was back through the service room and Duane ran, hoping that perhaps he was only going mad. He stopped at the door as the organ blared and the moaning voices chimed in with low primal noises lacking any rhythm. He stared around the corner of the doors and found that the room was no longer empty. Smart suits sat in rows next to best dresses. Their heads swayed along with the battering of the organ and they grunted along. What had once been a man stood at the front of the unholy congregation directing the service. The air was thick with the stench of embalming fluid and the earth that they'd been buried in.

Suddenly they sensed the intruder in their mix and stiff heads turned to face Duane. He recognised them as the corpses that he'd cheated, the dead whose eternal beds he'd stolen. The corpse banging away on the organ mercifully stopped as she too turned to face their betrayer.

Thick guttural growls came from their throats as their dead black eyes locked onto Duane's. He staggered backwards in disbelief at the grotesque scene before him. His mouth trembled as there were no words to articulate his terror.

The congregation dragged themselves to their feet and shuffled towards him. Their legs were awkward and inefficient as brain synapses failed to fire and their systems relied on distant memory. He looked beyond the dead to the door only for Mrs. Lincoln to block his escape. He did a quick headcount in the room, there were twelve. He did the math in his head, they had done eleven funerals before Mrs. Lincoln, and she made twelve. The front door was blocked so he made his way slowly back towards the office. His immediate thought was to get somewhere safe where he could barricade himself in, but the office was small with no windows and only a flimsy wooden barrier for protection. The mortuary, he suddenly thought. The idea was unappealing as he had rarely set foot down there, but there was a st.u.r.dy door and only one way in.

He broke towards the mortuary door away from the office and prayed that it was unlocked. Shuffling footsteps echoed down the corridor as feet were dragged towards him with vengeance in dead hearts.

He hit the mortuary door and screamed in panic as it refused to open. He pulled and pulled, yanking harder and harder but the door rebuffed his advances. He heard the feet round the corner and pulled harder in panic. Suddenly a moment of clarity struck and he pushed instead of pulled and the door swung open. He laughed aloud and stepped into the darkness, relishing the victory when a pair of hands reached out, grabbed his wrists and pulled him in. He only had time to realise his mistake as he pitched forward, it was twelve funerals plus Hardman.

He was awoken from his slumber by a sharp stabbing pain in his arm. His eyelids fluttered open and he stared up into the faces of the dead gathered around the table. Leathery hands held him down firmly as the tube was jammed into his veins without Hardman's usual careful care and consideration. The old man's face was dead but twisted into an expression of savagery as the embalming machine rumbled into life and the solution began pumping into his system. Duane screamed and screamed as the mixture of formaldehyde, methanol, and other solvents flooded his system. His death was long and excruciating as the dead smiled above him dressed in their Sunday best.

Jeremiah Jones came looking for his son about a week later. The useless boy hadn't been home for a while but more worryingly the funeral home's bank account showed that there had been no deposits for several days. Jeremiah was more concerned about his business than he was about his flesh and blood heir. The boy was a constant disappointment to him and even his initial short term success with the home had now been replaced by an all too familiar feeling of being let down once again. Duane was no doubt shacked up with some girl somewhere while the business suffered.

He pushed open the funeral home's door and was displeased not to find anyone to meet him. His son was nowhere to be seen and neither was Hardman. As far as he knew Hardman had never taken a day off and even lived above the home.

Jeremiah angrily flung the front doors open and stormed into the building. His first instinct was to cover his mouth and nose as the smell hit him. The whole place reeked of something dead and rotting.

"HARDMAN? DUANE?" He bellowed as his temperature rose with his disgust.

He headed through the reception and into the service area which were both deserted. He had been planning on tearing the whole place down regardless of Duane's efforts to turn the place around and now he was glad. Hardman would be homeless and it would serve the old b.a.s.t.a.r.d right.

"G.o.dammit where is everyone?" He shouted into the gloom to no avail.

There was a noise from down below in the mortuary and he marched towards the door. Presumably Hardman was at least working whilst his son was no doubt absent. He flung open the door and peered down into the darkness below. Someone was moving around down there but he could only make out a shadow.

"Hardman is that you?" He demanded as he ascended.

Jeremiah was a man built from the ground up by himself. He was rock solid and carved from granite. He was no more afraid of the dark than he was of the light. He stormed down the stairs without a second thought. He reached the bottom angrily before he realised that the stench was stronger down here. He gagged as he stepped towards the metallic preparation table that was under the one hanging light. His son's face was contorted in a silent scream of agony. His flesh had a strange shiny glow and a dark dry liquid had leaked from his eyes, nose and mouth.

"Mr. Jones," a gravelly voice startled him from behind.

He turned to face Hardman who shuffled forward out of the shadows. His face was peeling off the bone and flies buzzed in and around his head. The man was dragging one leg behind him and holding the long sharp needle attached to the embalming machine.

"So nice of you to join us," Hardman slurred. "You're in luck as we're having a two-for-one sale today."

tale 8.

"mommy's little soldier"

The intercom buzzed and Randall cringed. He had just sat down and it was as though Mother had some kind of psychic ability to know when it was the worst time to call.

"Randall? Randall?" Her shrill voice crackled through the system. "Where's mommy's little soldier?"

He cringed again and flushed bright red as Jennifer sat opposite and pretended not to notice. He was 54 years old and n.o.body's little anything. He was a short, stout man with a receding hairline and blotchy skin that flushed at the slightest sense of embarra.s.sment. He wore small round gla.s.ses that gave the air of an intellectual as long as no-one asked him a question. He wasn't overly bright but he wasn't particularly dumb either. He sat in the meaty part of the curve where people knew the a.s.s from their elbow but not a whole lot more.

He looked across the lounge at Jennifer and offered a small smile that didn't come with an explanation as he stood and walked towards the stairs. He cursed his lack of courage and his inability to stand before his mother without looking like he was still 10 years old. He had hoped that Jennifer would finally give him the courage to be a man, and while she had given him the will, he was still hopelessly unarmed for the fight.

One reluctant foot after another climbed the stairs as his mother's shrill voice was accompanied by the thudding on the floor of her cane. He hated himself all over again as his pace quickened and he rushed to her side.

"I'm here Mother," he cooed as he entered her room.

The house was positively a mansion by any standards. Randall's father had been a businessman of some repute and no little skill. He had been a man capable of turning any situation to his advantage and finding the profit anywhere no matter how well hidden. Unfortunately for Randall he had inherited none of his father's ac.u.men.

His mother's bedroom was the pride of the house and decorated with lace and soft linens handcrafted from the furthest corners of the globe. After his father had died of a heart attack when he was 15 Mother had sold all of the companies and had sat on the entire fortune ever since. Randall was an only child and his mother had raised him and trained him like she had the servants. His obedience was second nature and out of his control.

"What took you so long? I could have been dying for all you knew," she snapped angrily.

"I came as quickly as I could," he said hating the desperate sound of pleading in his voice.

"I suppose you were making time with your floozy whilst I was up here suffering all alone," she said sadly dabbing the corner of her dry eye with a lace handkerchief.

"I wasn't Mother, honestly."

"I need you Randall, I need my little soldier. Who's going to take care of me?"

"I am," he answered firmly as the automatic response flowed naturally.

"And who are you?"

"I'm Mommy's little soldier." The words were barely out of his mouth when he noticed that Mother had a long bony finger pressing the intercom b.u.t.ton down. Jennifer was sitting in the lounge downstairs and had just heard the words that he'd spoken.

"Oops," Mother smiled coldly.

Randall rushed back out of the room and headed for the stairs. Before he was halfway down he heard the front door close gently and footsteps crunching away down the long gravel drive. He stood there and wondered if his only chance of ever finding happiness and just been scared away.

Jennifer worked at the local library. His mother had a voracious appet.i.te for reading and he was dispatched on a weekly basis. Despite his mother's vast wealth she still insisted on renting rather than buying.

It had been several months before he had even realised that the librarian had been engaging him in conversation. He was so removed from the world around him that he hadn't picked up on her signals. She was pleasant enough looking and he pegged her age at somewhere between 30 and 40. She had a warm smile that touched his lips without him realizing it. Soon he was taking extra trips and borrowing extra books just to talk to her. Slowly he had come out of his sh.e.l.l with her patient c.o.xing to the point where she had suggested that they grab at coffee at the library's cafe and he had shocked himself by agreeing.

She had been the one part of his life that he had kept from his mother. Jennifer was his secret and just the thought of having one made him tingle all over. It was rebellion and an unnoticed one, but he knew it was there and that was enough.

Things had started going wrong a few weeks ago when Jennifer had started wanting to meet his family. He knew every inch of her life and she was growing tired of being the only one talking. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell her about his life; it was just that there wasn't much to tell. He had been home schooled in order for his mother to keep him away from bad influences. He hadn't gone to college and when his father had died, any hopes that he'd had of escaping into the family business had died with him. The rest of life had been dedicated to his mother's side. Over time she had let the domestic staff go until he was the only one left. He was her nurse, her cook, her cleaner, and her companion; he was her life.

When Jennifer had finally grown tired of being kept at arm's length he had ultimately relented. He had spent the better part of two months laying the groundwork with Mother about bringing Jennifer home. At first she had tried to batter him into submission but he had found enough courage to endure. Eventually she had agreed for Jennifer to come for tea. Randall had been lulled into the opinion that Mother was perhaps softening in her old age. She was growing frail as the years pa.s.sed but her spirit was still strong and he had underestimated her cunning. This afternoon's show had been just that, a show. Mother had welcomed Jennifer in warmly enough and shown her kindness. But soon Randall had started to see a slyness in her eyes and a subtle sharp barb in her words. Jennifer was a sweet woman and it had taken her a while to see just what Mother as up to. Randall could see Mother prying around the corners of Jennifer's life and looking to poke holes through it. Mother had no interest in his happiness; she only cared about how the world affected her. Jennifer was a threat to the status quo and he had been too timid to prevent her grilling.

"You must be Jennifer," Mother had greeted them at the door. "Welcome child, welcome."

Randall had breathed a huge internal sigh of relief as the two women in his life had shook hands with no bloodshed. He knew that Jennifer was nervous, not because he had any great insight into women, she had simply said so.

Mother had led them into the parlor where tea was waiting. Mother wasn't very good on her feet these days, but she could still get around the house with the aid of her cane. He had been out fetching Jennifer so he had no idea just where the spread had come from or indeed who had prepared it. Mother was far more used to organizingothers than doing things herself. The only reason that she had allowed him to drive was so that she would have full use of his chauffeur service when she saw fit.

Mother had made small talk about families and backgrounds and she had been pleasant and even a little charming.

"It's so refreshing," Mother had started as she poured the pot, "to see an older woman these days who isn't obsessed with her looks," she smiled.

Randall had felt Jennifer flinch a little at that one and he wasn't sure why; it seemed like a compliment.

"I mean so many pretty girls have to keep up with all that preening and plucking, you're so fortunate not to have to worry. And children, well you've certainly dodged that bullet at your age," Mother had elaborated.

Randall cursed himself for being so naive as to think that Mother would have opened her door and her heart to this possibility. It was just another stage to strip a person down to the bone under the harshest of spotlights. Mother's eyes were a strange steely grey color and he had always wondered if they possessed some kind of ability to peer into everyone's deepest fear at a glance. He was convinced at that point that Mother's acid tongue would finish Jennifer like so many cooks and cleaners before her. But somehow Jennifer's face had gotten tighter, but she did not shy away.

"I suppose some things in life are more important than the superficial," Jennifer had smiled pleasantly back as she looked up and down Mother's elegant outfit, expensively styled hair and high-priced jeweler.

For the rest of the afternoon, Mother had become increasingly bitter and less disguised about her jabs, but none seemed to land firmly enough. Eventually she had claimed to be feeling unwell and Jennifer had even helped her upstairs. Once Mother was lying down he had led Jennifer back downstairs to the lounge and they had sat in stony silence. He wanted to be able to offer her words of comfort and support, but he lacked the tools. It wasn't long before Mother had buzzed on the intercom that she'd had installed to be able to call on him any time of day or night and there was a panel in every room of the house.

He had gone when she'd called. It was an automatic response, but he was pleased that it seemed a slower one these days. But then he had been no match for Mother's slyness.

He had always been "mommy's little soldier" it was her pet name for him and it was her way of reducing him to a small child any time that he showed the slightest inkling of rebellion. A 54 year old man might finally discover a backbone, but mommy's little soldier didn't. Jennifer had heard him speak those words and she had left, and he didn't blame her.

It was three weeks later before he finally plucked up enough courage to venture into the library again. Jennifer was on duty but his mouth was dry and barren of ideas.

"h.e.l.lo Randall," she said coolly as he approached the desk.

"h.e.l.lo," he replied sheepishly.

The library was getting ready to close and mercifully it was empty, save for them.

"I wanted to..., that is I wanted to say..." he started but couldn't finish.

"Why Randall, why do you let her treat you that way?"

"I thought that you were angry with me?" He asked confused.

"I am, but not in the way that you think," she answered. "I don't understand how you can put up with her treating you the way she does. I don't care what she says to me, it's the way that you just lie there and take her abuse that I can't stand," she managed to say before her eyes started leaking.

Randall stood there impotent as she cried before him. In his life tears had only ever been a weapon used by Mother; it was her doomsday nuclear warhead when all else failed.

Twenty minutes later they were sipping hot chocolate in the library cafe. The place was closed but Jennifer had a key. Randall was blowing on the hot liquid as the little marshmallows bobbed around as they melted.

They had hugged clumsily and Randall had made promises that he had no idea if he'd ever be able to keep. They had cried tears of regret together and had sworn that it was never too late for love.

"I have to do it slowly," Randall said not daring to look up.

"Slowly? We've been kind of dating for seven months now Randall. Now I've never pressured you before but at my age, as your mother so kindly put it, I need something with a future to it. I can't be wasting my time on a boy when I need a man. I'm sorry to speak so crudely, but there it is," she finished folding her cardigan wearing arms across her chest.

"You don't understand what she's like," he said in a small voice.

Jennifer took his hands. "I've known bullies like her my whole life Randall. All they do is take and take and take until there's nothing left but an empty sh.e.l.l. I don't want her to finish you off Randall. We can have a life together, but you've got to want it badly enough. Do you?"

"Yes," he replied in an even smaller whisper. "Yes I do, I want a life away from her and her petty torments."

"Then you've got to want it like I want you," she said firmly as she pulled him to his feet. "Come with me, there's a private office back here and I want to show you how badly I want to be with you and what love can really be like."

Randall allowed her to lead him through the library and through a small door behind the main desk. He had no idea what she meant, but he was excited and terrified in equal proportions to find out.

Randall drove home slowly. His mind was too distracted to risk driving at anything other than a snail's pace. Jennifer had been true to her word and showed him what love could really be like. He may have been 54, but he had been a virgin until Jennifer had taken him into the small office and then taken his virginity. He had been a terrified and clumsy mess. He had no idea what to touch and what to put where. But Jennifer had been patient and tender and he had soon found his groove after a couple of false starts. Mother had always told him that s.e.x was a dirty business for people with dirty minds. But he had found little of her vivid descriptions in what had transpired only a short while ago. s.e.x had turned out to be a gentle expression of love, and he had Jennifer to thank for her tenderness and her sweet innocent nature.

"Oh go f.u.c.k yourself!" Jennifer snapped as her landlord leered around the corner. She was behind on the rent again and the creep had been willing to take his payment in other ways in the past, but now she had other irons in the fire. Hopefully her days of hooking for a roof over her head were about to be banished to the history bin forever.

She entered the c.r.a.ppy apartment and heard the telltale scuttling of c.o.c.kroach legs across the linoleum floor as the she flicked the light on. "Yeah you'd better run," she growled. Her hands were full of bills from the mailbox and she threw them into the pile with the rest of her growing collection.

She lit a cigarette and wished that it could be something stronger, but she was so close now that it wasn't worth the risk. She had landed a big juicy fat cash cow and nothing was going to stop her.