《Selling Closure》


 Prologue

    Prologue


    I''m a salesman, but I deal in something different than most other people. Other guys sell pizza, or televisions, or houses. I don''t sell things like that. I sell something a little more rare, something that people pay a lot of money to have.


    I sell closure.


    There are three rules. Every transaction has rules.


    Rule number one: you pay in advance.


    Rule number two: you dig.


    Rule number three: you get ten minutes.


    They''re simple rules. I like keeping things simple. Makes it easier for everyone. The only issue is that not everybody is happy with the rules. Not everyone understands. They think that I can change things, they think that maybe I''m tricking them, or holding back, or lying. The truth is, I''ve never lied to any one of my customers.


    The dead don''t lie.


    She was forty, maybe forty-five years old when she came to me. Blonde hair, red lipstick, polka dots all over her dress and tears running down her face. She held her purse in her lap while she cried in my office. I wish I could say this was an uncommon sight. It''s not.


    She told me that her husband had died three weeks ago. Real sudden. Hit her like a ton of bricks. Thing is, he was around the same age, had no will, no last wishes, no final words.


    She said that the last time she ever spoke to him that they were arguing. She regrets that. She told me that her husband''s sister overheard their fight, thinks that it got ugly.


    "The way my family looks at me, it''s like they think I killed him!" She said to me. I told her I wasn''t in the business of proving innocence.


    "I know¡­ I don''t care what his family thinks of me. I just¡­ want some closure."


    That I could provide.


    I explained to her the rules. Rule one, she pulled out a fat wad, got even me a little excited, rule two, she wasn''t happy but was willing, rule three she said was more than enough.


    We shook on it. Headed out.


    It was an easy ride. I drove. Roads were clear. They always were, driving that late.


    We got to the gate after an hour. "St. Johnathan''s Own" written on the plaque. I was familiar. This was the first part of my job. I break the lock, open the gate and we slip in. No one saw us.


    It was dark out and starting to sprinkle, but that''s the way it goes. Nice thing about this business is that your client knows where to go. These places don''t move around often.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Five minutes later, I''m standing in front of a slab of granite, "E.V. Simmons, Loving Husband." Always kind of funny to me, an entire man, entire person, entire life, boiled down to two words.


    I check with my client that this is the right place. She nods.


    Rule two.


    It took her a while, but we had time. He wasn''t going anywhere, and it was rare for there to be other "visitors" on nights like this.


    I don''t know how long it took. Minutes? Hours? At least half a pack of smokes, though I''m a bit slow.


    There was a "thunk" as the shovel connected with the wood, soft dirt was cleared away.


    My client was tired, covered in muck, cold, wet, but something else too. Excited. They always are. The last bit of work was always easier than the start. Now it was my turn.


    I joined her in the hole, the wooden box on the bottom just clear enough to pry open, more than enough.


    We pull back the lid, and that''s when the stink hits. To me, a familiar, calming, aroma. To her, a stench to gag and throw up.


    He was there, of course, Mr. E.V. Simmons. Right where Mrs. Simmons had left him. He wasn''t as pretty as her, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Three weeks underground isn''t a beauty regime that''s meant for everyone.


    This is the part that customers can''t help but stare at. They want to see the magic, the man behind the curtain, how I do it. The truth is, there isn''t much to see.


    I take the black glove off my right hand and put it on E.V.''s chest. I lean down, and I put my lips on his forehead, give it a little peck. The kiss of death.


    With a gasp and a violent shudder E.V. bolts up, taking his first breath in three weeks. The breath is followed, of course, by the most violent fit of coughing that anyone could experience, living or dead.


    My customer gasps, ready to scream, but I stop her before she can.


    Rule three.


    "Ten minutes." I say before I hop out of the pit. I can''t promise my customers privacy, not one of the rules, but I can afford them the grave to themselves.


    Usually this is when the customer starts talking, and so she did. It was the usual, mostly. How much she missed him, how sorry she was for the fight, how sudden it was, that kind of fluff. It''s not until almost halfway through they think to start asking the important questions.


    "What killed you?" She asked. "The doctors said it was a heart attack, but I know that isn''t true! What killed you, Eric?"


    "It was a heart attack, Lucy. You know I got a weak heart." E.V. replies.


    "But what were you doing? You died in our bedroom, laying in bed?"


    "I was fucking the neighbor, Jessie." E.V. says with a rotten shrug.


    "JESSIE!?" my customer screams. And we''re off to the races.


    The two spend the last five minutes screaming at one another, something else that I wish wasn''t common in my line of work. But it is. This one was more civil than most, if I''m being honest, and I always am. My last cigarette starts to burn out just in time for the final words to be said.


    "I can''t believe I married you, you pig! I''m glad you''re dead!" my customer says just before hauling herself out of the ground. I hear a small thunk as E.V. Simmons goes back to sleep. Perfect timing.


    My customer is huffing and puffing, I could almost see the steam coming out of her ears. She looks at me with wild eyes, points with one blistered finger and yells some poorly-constructed words.


    "This is YOUR fault, cocksucker! My Eric would never have cheated on me!"


    I take no offense. Part of the job.


    The rain stopped. The first hint of orange tints the horizon as the morning dawns. I can''t help but smile. I flick my last cigarette butt of the night before telling my customer the same thing I tell all my customers.


    "I''m sorry ma''am," I say, "but the dead don''t lie."

 Chapter 1:

    Chapter 1:


    Dear Diary,


    I lost my job today.


    I don''t mind so much, I don''t like working.


    But food.


    I hope I can find a better job, though. I didn''t like the people at the last one. It''s why I left.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    I didn''t "leave," I guess. Got fired. Tony, you remember tony, right Diary, Tony grabbed my arm today, pushed me against the wall. So I smashed his balls with my steel-toed boot.


    He didn''t like that very much. Neither did Bob.


    Bob didn''t see what happened to me, didn''t care either. He saw Tony crumpled up and crying and put enough pieces to scream two words at me.


    "You''re fired!"


    I wasn''t too broken up, like I said, wasn''t a very fun job, but now I gotta go get another one. That part isn''t ever very fun. At least when you''re not having fun at a job you get paid.


    Maybe my next job will be fun. I hope so. Maybe that one store on GC Street. It''s had a "Help Wanted" sign forever.


    But I won''t start until tomorrow. My shoulder hurts too bad, I should rest.


    Goodnight, Diary.

 Chapter 2:

    Chapter 2:


    It was hot out, not a big fan of the heat. The heat never does me any favors, just makes the work take longer. And boy was it longer.


    I don''t get too many visitors during the day, not that kind of work, but sometimes it just works out that way.


    There was another woman, older this time, maybe bad sixties or good seventies. She came asking about her sister. This and that about things unsaid, things undone, the normal stuff.


    I told her the rules. One and three she had no problem with, but two she said was a bit beyond her. Fair enough. But the rules are rules.


    I stayed firm, she began to cry. Always with the crying. They can''t help it, it''s a big deal for them.


    She said she would get some help, I told her that wasn''t how it worked. It was either she dig, or no job. She called me a name, I''ve been called worse, then she left.


    There was a man, thirty eight, he told me. He brought me something interesting. Said he had heard of me from an old customer, a rarity. Most customers leave less than pleased, even the ones that leave with smiles on their face tend to keep quiet. I heard him out.


    He told me that there was a guy that he knew a while back passed real suddenly, gone in the night. There wasn''t anything that was urgent about it, but he wanted a chance to talk to him one last time, said that he felt he coulda reached out more, maybe spent some more time with him.


    I understand why my previous client told his guy about me. Some people are like this. Low stakes, just missing something, there''s a small hole. Why not patch it up?The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    It was my kind of job. I told him the rules and he seemed happy. I told him the price, not so much.


    Turns out that the value of getting to see someone one more time is able to be written down, and it also turns out that sometimes it''s a little too high for my clients. He said maybe he''d be back a different time, I told him I''ll be here, and he took off.


    There was a regular. Young guy named "Andy." Least that''s what he tells me.


    Andy comes in and out a lot, he''s got a lot of business with the dead, with me. He tells me the time and place, keeps it short while sliding a pack of cigarettes across my table. When my customer keeps it short, I like to as well. I tell him the rules like I always do, but he knows them. He has his wallet out before I''m through rule one.


    We set up the time, that very night. No point wasting time when you know what you want. He pointed a finger gun at me as he walked out the door.


    "Bang," he said.


    There was a boy, maybe fifteen, maybe sixteen, he came in asking some questions. Thing is, they weren''t the questions that a boy like that would be asking. No "what do you do"''s or "where do you work"''s. He was asking grown man questions, like "what time do you leave?" and "do you come back after work?"


    Someone is feeding him questions. I''m not a fan. The way I see it, if you want to ask someone something you oughta do it to their face, right in their gob, but maybe that''s the job talking.


    I tell him what he wants to know and he takes off, sweating.


    Man, was it hot.


    Boy left the door open, so I got up to close it, keep some of the dusty-cool inside air in. As I close it a hand catches the edge and pushes it back in.


    There was someone there, and, for the first time in a while, it was someone interesting. A woman, youngish, maybe mid twenties, maybe a bit more or less. She was short, wild hair, so wild it was almost mangy, and she had a sign in her hand, the one from the window downstairs that said "Hiring." Looked like she was having a hard time holding it, one of her shoulders wasn''t working.


    She had an odd look on her face, one that was hard to describe. Blas¨¦, if I had to pick a word. Maybe it was the heat, but I didn''t think so.


    I don''t know why, but I felt myself smile. I opened the door and let her in.


    She looked around a bit before saying anything, she spent some extra time staring at something on my desk, but then she turned and spoke, and what she said made my smile just a little bigger.


    "What is your name?"

 Chapter 3:

    Chapter 3:


    Dear Diary,


    I got a job.


    It was a bit odd. I got up late. Guess I was more tired than I thought. It was so hot when I woke up, everything felt impossible, but my tummy rumbled and I grumbled and mumbled and stumbled out of the building, because what else is there to do?


    When I got outside, the sun was so high in the sky that I could barely see. I hate the sun. Wish the moon would stick around all the time, not leave us alone with its fiery friend.


    I was still tired, guess it really was worse than I thought. I didn''t even really know where I was going until I got there. It was that shop on GC street, the one with the sign out the window.


    I looked up. Building is two stories, one on the bottom and the other on the top. The bottom is a story about an antique store, but the top one¡­ it had a sign, but it didn''t say, or I guess I couldn''t read it. It looked like it had writing on it, but there was something wrong with it, like whenever I looked at it the words weren''t the same. Guess I really was tired.


    I opened the door and inside it was all wooden and dusty, there was a stairway in front of me and some arches on either side where all the antiques were. I didn''t see anybody around. I grabbed the sign, don''t know why but I shouldn''t of. It was wood, heavier than I thought it was.


    I thought maybe I ought to call out, maybe someone would hear me and take away the plank, but then I heard a door open and some thuds on the staircase. I looked up and saw a man, young guy, maybe around my age, with a big ol'' smile on his face. He saw me and the sign and threw a thumb back up the stairs.


    "Up there is where ya looking for," He said. "My name''s Andy, if you get the job, might be working with ya." Andy held out his hand. I kept mine on the sign. Couldn''t do both. Eventually he put it down.


    "Ah, my bad." He threw both his hands up and slipped behind me to get to the door. "I''ll be seeing you around, miss." Then he was gone.


    I looked up the stairs. Impossible. But what else was there to do? I started climbing. For a building with only two stories, the stairs really felt like a novel, but it wasn''t too bad once I got to the top.


    The stairs ended at a small dusty threshold with a small dusty doorway that seemed quite fitting. It was one of those doors with glass on the top, wood all around. On the glass there were some more letters, but I couldn''t read them either. Why was I so off today?


    The door was open, but started to close as I got near. I stuck my hand in to keep it open and there was a man staring at me from the other side. He was tall, skinny, and wearing a suit. It was a nice pinstripe suit with a fedora on top. I looked at his face but it was hard to see, but he was smiling. He pulled open the door and gestured to come in.


    I looked all around the room, there was a big window on one side with a chair and table in front of it and another chair in front of that. There were bookshelves and books all around, a relaxing green carpeting, ornate vases, glass lamps. It looked like an extension of the antique store from the story beneath, but this time without all the dust.


    On the table there was a nameplate, but I couldn''t read that either. I tried, but it wouldn''t happen. This time I was sure that something was off, because I turned my head and could read the spines on the books, but not the nameplate.


    The sign, the door, and now the nameplate, something was definitely wrong. I turned to the tall man and asked him the first question that popped into my head.


    "What is your name?"


    He didn''t make a sound, he just gestured with a gloved hand towards his nameplate. I didn''t even look.


    "I can''t read that," I said. "And that isn''t to say I can''t read, I love books, and I can read all your books, but I can''t read your name."


    "Not at all?" He asked.


    "Not one bit!" I spat. "I can''t read your name, I can''t read your door, I can''t read your sign! What kind of business are you running that customer''s can''t read the names?"


    He seemed amused by this, he pulled his gesturing hand away and began scratching his chin.


    "Are you here for a job?" He asked, pointing to the sign with his free hand. I had forgotten about it. It was still heavy.


    "I am! Need a new one, got fired from my other one. And don''t call them, cause they don''t like me!" I was finally annoyed. The heat, the pain, the reading, all of it had gotten to me and I was mad. I didn''t even get mad at Andy.


    "You''re hired."


    I thought that maybe my ears weren''t working either anymore, that made me mad too.


    "What do you mean I''m hired?" I almost yell. "Don''t you need references and stuff?"Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    "You said they don''t like you?" The man answered.


    "Well, why are you hiring me?" I asked. The man told me why as though it was the most normal thing in the world.


    "Because you can''t read my signs," he said, and he pointed to the one that I held. I didn''t know what to say about that.


    "Why don''t you take a seat," he said, gesturing to the chair. "You look hungry. I got a cooler with some sandwiches for customers, but I wouldn''t mind giving you a couple. If you''re hungry."


    Bit embarrassing that I didn''t have to answer. My stomach started growling as soon as it heard the word "sandwiches." I don''t even remember walking over to the chair and I was already sitting down.


    The tall man walked over to the window behind his desk and adjusted the blinds so that it was darker in the room, reddish glow filled the space, he then reached behind it as he sat down and produced the promised sandwiches. I could barely contain myself. I pulled the "Hiring" sign up to the top of the table, still heavy, and the man put the sandwiches down on it as though it were a plate. I didn''t care, I started eating.


    I thought maybe that he would start asking me questions while I ate, but he didn''t. I appreciated that. It let me get enough in me that I felt human again. Even the heat from the outside felt more distant as I made my way from the first sandwich to the second and then the third. They weren''t very big, but they were nice. I was happy. In the end, I was the one who asked the first question.


    "What do you mean, ''because you can''t read my signs?''" I asked him. "What''s special about the signs?" He shook his head.


    "It''s not the signs that are special, it''s you." He said.


    "I don''t appreciate that," I snapped, "the last time someone called me special I had to start taking extra classes in school."


    "No you didn''t." The man said as if he knew. He was right. I''d never been to school.


    "Well¡­ what do you mean, ''special?''" I asked.


    "Means you couldn''t read my signs." the man said again. This time he held up his hands like he was showing that he wasn''t armed before I got mad again.


    "What did the sign say on the window outside?" The man asked.


    "What? What do you mean?" I asked. Why would he be asking me? It was his sign!


    "Humor me," he said.


    "It said ''hiring,''''" I told him.


    "And that''s the sign that you brought up, right?"


    "Yeah?"


    "Take another look."


    This conversation was odd. I didn''t really know what he expected, but I looked down at the sign again and was met with something of a surprise. It didn''t say "Hiring" anymore. Now it said "Permanently Closed." I flipped it over to make sure that it wasn''t a trick, but it was true. On both sides the words had changed.


    "That''s what the sign actually said." The man said, leaning back in his rolling chair. "You got special eyes. That''s why I''m hiring you."


    Then, Diary, I was really confused. I had a million questions that I had to ask, but none of them actually made any sense. I started with the ones that seemed the easiest.


    "Why did the sign change?"


    "Because it''s a normal sign again." The man said. "I took the whisper off of it."


    More questions.


    "Whisper?"


    "Yeah."


    I moved on.


    "So I couldn''t read the signs because of a ''whisper?''"


    "You got it."


    "What''s the job?" I asked.


    "Disturbing the dead."


    "Like how?"


    "Like with a shovel and a pile of dirt."


    "Grave robbing?"


    "Not exactly."


    It was at this point that I elected to stand up and leave. It wasn''t so much my morals as it was my frustration with the way the man kept saying things that were more confusing and answered less questions than they raised. I got all the way to putting my hand on the doorknob before I stopped.


    "What''s the pay?" I asked.


    "Great." The man said.


    I took my hand off the knob and went and sat back down.


    "So, what will I be doing?"


    "At the start, learning," he said. "After you do some of that, we''ll see how we''re feeling."


    "What if I don''t end up being any good at it?"


    "You will, I can tell." He held out his hand to me from across the table. I looked at it for a moment before I shook it. I winced because he made me use my bad shoulder.


    "When do I start?" I asked. I looked at his face again, this time it was much more clear than before. He had a dark complexion and distant eyes that seemed to glow blue behind his glasses. He wore what looked like a surgical mask over the lower half of his face.


    "Tonight, if you''re free."


    "I am. Would you mind telling me your name now?"


    He gestured towards the nameplate on his desk once more. This time when I read it I could actually understand what it said.


    "Stiff"


    And that was that. He didn''t ask me for my name, but he told me that I was free to go home and get some rest until that night. If only a home were something so easily returned to. As I walked out the door I looked at the words again. This time I could read.


    "Stiff''s Closure Sale."


    On the sign on the second story it said something similar. "Closure Sale."


    I didn''t really know what to think of it and I still don''t. I''m writing this while I''m waiting for the time to pass so I can head back into my new job and actually start figuring what this is all about. The sun is going down and I''m feeling better, my shoulder doesn''t hurt anymore and it isn''t hot. I''ll be back later when I''m done with work.


    Goodbye Diary.

 Chapter 4:

    Chapter 4:


    New hire''s not what I expected today. It isn''t really what I expect anyday.


    What a perfect girl for the job, though. When she told me she couldn''t read the signs I was excited for the first time in a long while. The whispers that I put on those things were special. If you had the gift you would see the wrong thing, or the right thing depending on what sign you looked at. It was a little test to weed out the more appropriate candidates, and she passed with flying colors.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    I was worried for a moment when she made to leave, but I was even more impressed when she came back. It takes a special kind of person to do that, a strange one. Strange is exactly what it takes to do this job.


    It was convenient that Andy came in. Andy''s good starting point for her. If after Andy she still wants the job she''ll be a keeper.


    But it ain''t going to be easy. Andy typically doesn''t come to me with anything simple. We''ll see how it goes. Can''t say that I''m not excited, though. It''s been a long time working alone.


    Maybe a little too long.

 Chapter 5:

    Chapter 5:


    Dear Diary,


    I have had a rather odd evening. For some it would be a horrific evening, terrifying even, but for me¡­ it was odd.


    I went back to the man''s, I mean Mr. Stiff''s, office when he told me to be there, I had never wandered very far off. He was standing out front underneath a streetlight and tipped his hat when he saw me. He stood in front of an odd looking car. It looked a bit like a hearse, but it wasn''t. It black as the night, the light around us seemed to get sucked into it greedily.


    Mr. Stiff was still dressed in the same suit and seemed happy enough to see me. I wonder if he was surprised that I came back?


    "What''s the job?" I asked him as I joined him in the spotlight.


    "For now it''s waiting." He said.


    "For what?"


    "Client," he said. "Should be by any second now."


    No sooner had he said that than the man from earlier came walking around the bend on the sidewalk. Andy, I think he said his name was. He saw Mr. Stiff and waved, then he saw me and seemed excited.


    "Wow!" He exclaimed as he approached. "Didn''t think ya''d get hired so quick! Ya coming on the job tonight?"


    "Suppose I am," I said.


    "Using me to break in the new girl, huh, Stiff?" Andy said, jabbing an elbow into Mr. Stiff''s side. "Maybe I ought to get a discount for that."


    "You already get a discount, Andy." Mr. Stiff replied. "She''ll be missing a chunk of her first paycheck if I go any lower." I did not appreciate this joke.


    "Can''t have that!" Andy said. I agreed. "Well, why don''t we head off, then, get the ball rolling?"


    Andy flung open the passenger door of the not-hearse and hopped in like he owned it. I looked at Mr. Stiff, now officially my new boss I suppose, and he tilted his head towards the back door. I got in and he joined in the driver''s seat. The key turned and the car started with a roar before we pulled out and drove into the night.


    We drove for a while and I was doing my best to keep track of where we were heading and where we had been, but it was hard. Normally I''m pretty good with directions and places, but it is a bit difficult when you have someone talking your ear off the entire car ride. Mr. Stiff was blissfully quiet the whole way, but Andy on the other hand made a point of it to make all kinds of conversation with me. It must have been my fault. Maybe if I had stayed quiet like Mr. Stiff he would have left me alone.


    "So how long ya known about whispers?" Andy asked.


    "Never," I said, truthfully. Mr. Stiff hadn''t done a good job explaining what it was earlier and I hadn''t had the chance to ask anything else yet. I had a feeling that I wouldn''t need to ask anything as long as Andy was still there with us.


    "Really? Nothing at all?" Andy asked before turning to our driver. "Why''d ya hire this girl then, Stiff? She don''t know nothing about whispers and she''s coming on a job with me?"


    "You''ll see." Mr. Stiff answered simply.


    "Well, I trust ya judgement," Andy said before turning his gab back on me. "So what''d ya do before this? Normal work?"


    "I worked at a butcher shop until last night." I told him. "I got fired."


    "What for?" Andy asked.


    "I kicked a coworker in the balls," I said. "I sent him to the hospital." Surprisingly, Andy laughed at this.


    "Did he deserve it?" He asked between giggles.


    "Yes."


    "Awesome!" He said as he wiped a tear from his eye. "Some dicks don''t deserve dicks, ya know what I mean? Hey Stiff! I think I like this girl!" It felt weird to think, but I was starting to like Andy too.


    Andy filled the air with some more gab as we made our way through the night. A few rights and lefts and ups and downs and ups later it seemed like we were near our destination. We were driving by a graveyard when the car slowed down and I remembered what Mr. Stiff had said earlier.


    "Not exactly graverobbing." I mumbled to myself as we came to a stop in front of the gate. Andy and Mr. Stiff were both quick to hop out and head to the trunk. I followed. They popped it open and I got a look at what was inside.


    Considering the kind of business we seemed to be doing, it was rather sparse. There was a shovel that looked worn and well-used, and there was a set of boltcutters so large that they seemed almost comical. Andy grabbed the shovel and Mr. Stiff grabbed the boltcutters.


    "What do you need me to do?" I asked.


    "Nothing tonight." Mr. Stiff responded with a shrug.


    "Just keep your eyes peeled," Andy added on.


    Mr. Stiff walked over to the gate, which was sealed with a chain. The giant cutters made quick work of it and he quickly returned it to the car while Andy pulled open the gate and made his way into the graveyard.


    I''ve never been one to be easily spooked, and the same applied tonight. After Mr. Stiff put away his tool and waved a hand for me to follow him through the graveyard.


    It was dark out, none of us had any lights. I could just barely make out Andy in the distance, it seemed like he knew where he was going. I thought that I could hear him whistling as he went.


    It was a rather big graveyard, at least for the ones that I had been in, I thought maybe it was full of a lot of important people. I later learned that wasn''t the case, at least not in the way I thought.


    After about a ten minute walk we found ourselves in front of a particularly plan grave with the name "Jonah Lissenbaum" on it. Andy pointed at the ground dramatically as me and Mr. Stiff caught up.


    "This is the one, Stiff! Ooohhh, I am excited tonight!" Andy exclaimed before slamming the shovel''s sharpened tip into the ground. Mr. Stiff didn''t respond. Chunk after chunk of dirt was moved away as Andy moved the shovel efficiently, almost as if he did this on a regular basis. It was very rhythmic, I almost found myself enjoying the motion.


    "Should we help him?" I asked while the hole grew larger and larger.


    "No, it''s rule two." Mr. Stiff said plainly


    "Rule two?"


    "There are three rules for this job. Customer pays upfront, customer digs, customer gets ten minutes." Mr. Stiff said. He spoke as if everything that he just said should make sense to me innately, that I really ought to know this stuff.


    "What''s ten minutes? Ten minutes for what?" I asked, more confused than ever.


    "You''ll find out," he said. He produced a pack of cigarettes from within his suit jacket and a lighter from his pants pocket, with a flick a puff and a spark we finally had a tiny bit of light flickering in the darkness.


    "You keep saying that. I''m not sure I believe you."


    It was a blissfully warm night compared to the blistering day. Even in the dead darkness I never felt cold or the hint of a shiver. It was nice. I''ve spent too many nights freezing that I don''t mind a warm one now and again.


    Andy made quick work of the grave. It felt like it had barely been an hour when there was a loud "thunk" and Andy''s only slightly winded voice rising up from below.


    "Ah, I think we''ve struck gold!" He said. I saw him stick his hand up out of the ground and grabbed it. Together we hauled him out of the hole. He popped up on his feet as spry as when he started.


    "Your turn, big guy," he said, giving Mr. Stiff a quick slap on the shoulder before resting on a nearby tombstone.


    Mr. Stiff walked over to the edge of the jagged hole withotu a word, hopping down effortlessly. He was quite a bit taller than Andy, so I could still see the top of his head sticking out over the edge. He made a whistling noise to get me to walk over to the edge.


    Standing way above him I could see the bottom of the grave where there was, as one should expect I suppose, a coffin. l It was shoddy, probably the cheapest one that they sold. Barely any more protection than a cardboard box from the dirt surrounding it. Mr. Stiff peeled the boards back easily without any assistance from me or tools.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    From within came a ghastly smell, which I suppose shouldn''t have surprised me either, but I will admit that it caught me a bit off guard. It was at this moment that it hit me for the first time what exactly it was that we were doing. We were defiling a grave. Someone died, was buried in the ground and their flesh began to rot and we, for some reason, are digging that person up. I still didn''t know why and was just doing it for the promise of pay. I was complicit in a crime because I "might" get money. I wasn''t even bothered. Still not.


    Inside the coffin was the corpse of a man who was covered in tattoos. Rotting flesh that was turning all different kinds of colors was exposed and filling the air with a vile stench that turned the stomach. Oddly I felt that I got used to it rather quickly. I barely flinched despite myself.


    This was when something rather¡­ strange¡­ happened.


    Mr. Stiff put one of his hands over the chest of the dead man before leaning down to the man''s face. He got close, but I couldn''t see exactly how close. That wasn''t the strange part. The strange part was when the body, up to moments ago a corpse that was long deceased and unmoving, suddenly shot up as if it had been asleep and given some smelling salts. The corpse immediately started coughing as though it had a particularly bad cold. I''ve never seen something so dead act so alive.


    Mr. Stiff was able to haul himself out of the hole without any help, he walked by me as Andy got up from his tombseat and back over to the hole.


    "Ten minutes," Mr. Stiff said.


    "No problem," Andy replied before returning to the depths.


    Mr. Stiff and I stood a few feet away from the edge and I couldn''t help but ask.


    "What did you do?" I asked.


    "I woke him up."


    "You can wake the dead?"


    "Yes."


    "How?"


    "It''s my whisper." Mr. Stiff said before clamming up. Andy had started talking.


    "Well, well, well. Looky who it is," his voice pierced through the night easily. For the first time I felt a little fear that someone may find us. "Gotta say Jonah, I don''t think I''ve ever seen ya lookin'' any better!"


    "Andy?" The corpse said. "What the fuck are you doing here? Where the fuck am I?"


    "Well, that is the question, ain''t it Jonah." Andy said with what I can only assume was a wicked grin to match the tone of his voice. "You remember what happened?"


    "I remember¡­ I was walking down the street and there was¡­ there was a car¡­ it was following me," the corpse recalled. It was rather eloquent for how bad it looked. I could just barely make out some distinct holes in the darkness. "Was¡­ fucking hell, Andy, was that fucking you?"


    "Bingo, Jonah!" Andy exclaimed, he made finger guns with his hand, mimicking shooting Jonah up and down. "We told ya, we fucking told ya that if you kept missing your payments, that this would happen! Gunned ya down in broad daylight because it was just like the bossman said: ''Ain''t nobody going to stick us for a clown like that!''"


    "So I''m¡­ I''m dea-"


    "Dead! Deceased! Kaput! Finito!" Andy said with a laugh. "Till a few minutes ago you were six feet under, and in a few minutes from now you''ll be right back down there?"


    "So¡­ so what? This is it? I''m all done? I get wacked by a loser like you and then I''m just gone?"


    "That''s the gist!" Andy said with a shrug. "Cept there''s one more thing, one more teensie weensie thing I gotta ask ya before you go for good."


    "Fuck you, Andy. You fucking killed me, I ain''t telling you shit."


    "Where''s your stash of money so you can finish paying back the boss?" Andy asked.


    "It''s in the doorframe of my car, underneath the foot railing." Jonah answered instantly and confidently, it was only in the moments after where he suddenly slapped his rotten hands over his mouth that it seemed he realized what had just happened.


    "What the fuck?" He said as Andy started laughing again.


    "Well, thanks for that Jonah, that''s all I''ll be needing from ya tonight. Though there is one more thing I wanted to do, a send off from me to you." Andy rummaged around in the jacket that he wore and suddenly slammed something down over Jonahs'' head.


    It was a clown mask.


    Before Jonah could peel it off, Andy touched his hand to the mask and mumbled something that I couldn''t hear under his breath and the mask suddenly changed. It wasn''t a rubbery analog for a clown anymore, but seemed to be part of Jonah''s flesh. Its lips, bright red, moved with the Jonah''s and its sparkling eyes filled with terror.


    Andy leapt out of the hole with a huff, Jonah cursing his name behind him before everything suddenly became quiet again. Andy picked up the shovel and started moving the mound of dirt from the pile he had made back into the hole. I stood there in silence while he did this and Mr. Stiff worked on his fifth or sixth cigarette.


    I probably ought to have had something to say, some questions to ask or concerns to raise, but I was finding it rather difficult to put any of my thoughts into words, even now I''m not entirely convinced that I saw what I saw. It wasn''t until we got back to the car that the gears in my head started turning again.


    "Was¡­ did you bring that man back to life?" I asked, finally.


    "Yes." Mr. Stiff said.


    "Sure did." Andy agreed.


    "And Andy killed him?"


    "Yes." Mr. Stiff said.


    "Sure did." Andy agreed.


    "So what in the actual fuck is going on?" I asked. Everything had finally reached its boiling point in my mind. I needed answers.


    "It''s our job." Mr. Stiff said with a shrug. I ignored him this time, I realized then and now that I wasn''t ever going to get a clear answer from him.


    "Andy?" I asked, not bothering to hide the annoyance that had been building up for a while now.


    "It''s Stiff''s whisper." Andy said simply, holding up a defensive hand and continuing before I could give him the tongue lashing that he deserves. "Listen, Stiff ain''t the best at explaining what he does, he''s a bit ehhh¡­ enigmatic that way. I don''t mind filling ya in. On everything. Just get in the car and I''ll tell you on the way back."


    I reluctantly listened to him. It probably wasn''t a good look arguing outside a graveyard that we had just defiled, at least it wouldn''t look good to anyone else. Once in the not-hearse Andy did as he promised.


    "So, what do ya wanna know?"


    Everything, I thought.


    "What is a whisper?" I asked. "Is it like magic?"


    "Yeah, yeah¡­ that''s kinda the gist of it." Andy explained. "Whispers are kind of¡­ instructions. They''re this thing that some people can do that make things¡­ work differently than they normally do."


    "Different?"


    "Yeah, different," Andy said. "It ain''t something that is so easy to explain, but like¡­ ya know how electricity makes something like a lightbulb, which is just some wire and gas, light up cause we tell it to? It''s kinda like that. Whispers are like the electricity telling the bulb what to do, but we can tell other things what to do.


    "And I can do that too?" I asked.


    "Sure can!" Andy said. "You had the sign, right? Otherwise Stiff wouldn''t have wanted to hire you."


    "So¡­ that''s what this job is?" I asked, this time addressed towards Mr. Stiff who had been quiet since leaving the graveyard.


    "More or less," he said. "I''ve been meaning to¡­ expand the business. It''s been a long time since somebody came by who actually wanted the job."


    "I''m not even sure that I want it anymore after this!" That was mostly a lie. I was a bit off-kilter from the experience, but in truth I was very interested in what had happened to me that night. I felt an odd sense of curiosity that I hadn''t felt in a long time.


    "Well, why don''t you just hold that thought for a second there, miss. Turn right up here, Stiff!" Andy pointed to a street and Mr. Stiff made the turn.


    It was a normal neighborhood street, just a line of houses with nothing special about them and nothing that looked out of the ordinary, but Andy seemed very intense about something. He looked at the number on the houses that were going by, mouthing the names of them as he wen''t. He kept going until he found the number he wanted


    "Sixty one, two, threeeee, four!" He shouted. "This one, Stiff." We pulled into the driveway of a particularly shabby looking house in the neighborhood. There was a single car, an older one though I didn''t know what type, parked out front.


    "Stiff, ya stay here, but why doesn''t the new girl come out and help?" Andy hopped out of the car and pulled the giant cutters out of the trunk again.


    "Are we going to break into someone''s car?" I asked, a bit more concerned about being seen in town than at a graveyard.


    "You''re such a quick learner," Andy said with a grin. "Here, hold these." He handed me the cutters abruptly, they were much heavier even than they looked and I found myself tumbling backwards and tipping over. Then there was a crash, the sound of shattering glass and me on my ass looking up at Andy.


    "Oh my!" He said. "How could ya just break into somebody''s car like that? Downright deplorable behavior. I dragged myself up and gave Andy a nasty glare as he rummaged in the door, looking for the handle. After he found it, he pulled open the door and motioned for me to hand him the cutters. He then began digging away at the edge of the car where the door met the interior. A few short moments later he produced a bag of some kind.


    "Bingo," he said. "Let''s get the fuck outta here. I''m getting tired."


    We hopped back into the car and made the rest of the trip back to Mr. Stiff''s store. We parked out front right where we had left from initially as though nothing had happened. We stood there on the sidewalk underneath the street light while Andy fiddled with the strange bag that he had.


    "Stupid fucking thing," he said as he struggled with it until there was a pop and one last "bingo."


    Inside the bag there were rolls of cash, dozens of them. They were all in different denominations and in no particularly logical order, but there must have been thousands and thousands of dollars in bills that were hidden in that tiny space of the car. Andy started counting them, his brow creased in an intense focus almost unbecoming of this odd man I had come to know a little better tonight.


    "That bastard¡­" Andy said quietly before raising his voice a little higher to complain to the two of us. "That bastard Jonah has been holding out on us for months. Months! He told us that he didn''t have no money, that he couldn''t pay us back, that he was trying. We kept pushing him and pushing him, the boss doesn''t like giving his clients the whack, but we gave him the last warning and he still didn''t give us anything¡­ There''s five times what he owes us right here¡­ what the fuck was the clown thinking?"


    I don''t know if Andy expected an answer or not.


    "Maybe he wasn''t thinking because he really was a clown?" I asked. Andy looked at me as if he were seeing me standing here for the very first time and laughed.


    "You know miss? You''re alright." Andy grabbed several of the rolls of cash and handed them to me. "Here. I already paid Stiff here tonight, and I''m sure that he''s going to be giving you your due, but a small tip to get you off the ground and maybe incentivize you to stick around!"


    I looked down at the money in my hands and didn''t know what to say. The amount that Andy was more than I had made in several months of working at the butcher shop with pigs. It was more money than I had ever had at any point in my life. And he was giving it to me as a tip!


    A brief thought did pop in my head, and I''m glad it did because it was an important one.


    "Won''t your boss want this money?" I asked. Andy dismissed me with a wave of his hand and one of the rolls of bills.


    "Boss and Stiff have a good working relationship, it''s a special kinda bond, y''know?" Andy explained. "Stiff is worth the money, way more than what we pay him, and if there''s a chance for there to be two Stiffs now? The boss would be happy to part with this whole stack if ya were going to stick around, miss¡­ misssssss¡­?" Andy waited for me to finish his thought.


    "Lyra."


    "Miss Lyra!" Andy said. "I was a bit worried at first, but Miss Lyra? I think ya and me are going to get along just fine!"


    "I was worried too, but I feel the same." I told him honestly. Andy was a bit much, perhaps too flamboyant for me, but he was fun. And who am I to complain the way this night ended up.


    "But with that, I''m off! Boss has a few more errands he needs me to run before the sun comes up! Toodles!" Andy skipped down the street away from us before disappearing around the corner the same way he had come from earlier. Then it was just me and Mr. Stiff once again.


    "You think you''re gonna stick around?" Mr. Stiff asked me after a moment.


    "Yeah¡­ Yeah, I think I will," I said.


    "Good. Take that money and go get some clothes tomorrow." Mr. Stiff produced a business card from his jacket. "This is my tailor. Get whatever you want and tell them that Stiff sent you. Tomorrow evening we''ll start working on your whisper."


    "Yes sir." I said.


    And that was it. I''m still reeling. I''ve never had so much money in my life and barely even know what to do with it! Buying some new clothes feels like such a waste, but the rags that I''m in can only keep me going so long. One thing that was nice about the butcher was the supplied uniform, but this will be even nicer than that!


    A tailor! Me! At a tailor! I''ve never been so excited to spend money before!


    I think I''m going to like this job, Diary! Good night!