Just A Necromantic At Heart

          He had seen every film she ever made. How she lit up the screen, this platinum blonde, this beautiful angel who was giving Jean Harlow a run for her money. But then she killed herself. No one knew why.

          Film Star Mabel Morton Found Dead!

          The headlines made Harold sick. Really ill, no kidding around. He spent six weeks in L.A.'s St. Vincent’s nut ward-- admitting diagnosis: nervous breakdown.

          It was when he was recovering that he got the idea. It was the West Indian orderly who put him on to it.

          “What’s wrong with you man? You look to be pining away.”

          Harold spilled his guts in a manner of speaking telling him all that was in his heart.

          “I loved her. She didn’t know me, naturally but I seen every film she ever made!”

          “Ah you want to raise her up, that’s what you want to do. You need to do necromancy.”

          “And she’ll be alive again; she’ll come back from the dead?”

          “My brother has this shop…”

          He bought himself the necromancer book down on Overa Street and got to work practicing spells. He raised up some dead mice and roaches too. He even raised up a couple of people at the Eternal Rest Funeral home.

He realized he could have gotten into a lot of trouble. But he didn’t care. He was too intent on his purpose.

          Okay, she’s been planted for more than six weeks, but she’d still be sort of okay, he reasoned.

          He drives out to Forest Lawn Cemetery to dig her up. It’s hard, he’s sweating, and gasping too sometimes because there’s a caretaker but miracle of miracles no one bothers him. He gets her dug up.

          There’s a lot to chant and some of it hard to pronounce but he does it.

          The lid finally opens, he can’t believe it, he’s rubbing his hands and crying. His heart is racing he’s got sweat glands he didn’t know about.

          And then it happens. He hears movement from inside the coffin, sure enough the lid opens. Ever the gentleman, he helps her out of the coffin. Then he takes a good look at her in the light of his flashlight.

          He tries not to gasp. There’s been damage. One eye is history, there's just a socket with stuff crawling inside and her face is fucked up--like her muscles are gone.

          “I love you anyway!”

          Suddenly the grave next to hers starts vibrating so much the tombstone dips.

          Harold doesn’t wait around to see what else happens--he’s half carrying her to his car.

          He puts her in the front seat and just as he goes to get in, he sees a man standing at the cemetery gates, a big feller dressed in a suit. But the thing is, he looks peculiar—kind of muddy and half- assed looking and worst of all, he’s looking at them, straight at them!

          Harold slams his foot down on the accelerator.

“We’ll be home before you know it!”

After a few minutes he starts to calm down. It’s then that he notices the stench.

          Rot.

          “It’s okay, Mabel. I’ll get used to it. There is nothing in this world that would deter the love I have for you. I got all sorts of perfume ready."

          Poor Harold.

          They get to his house.

          “I’m going to carry you over the doorstep! Oh I know we're not married yet, but we can pretend, can’t we?”

          He’s really prepared. He’s got champagne and a wedding cake.

          “I haven’t spared any expense.”

          Mabel’s staring at him and it’s enough, even if she's only got one eye now.

          “Mabel! If it is possible I love you more than I ever did! I don’t know what it is. You are mine forever now. Forever and ever. We will never be parted.”

          Just then there’s a major knock at the door and Harold gasps. Mabel turns her head. “Ralph?”

          She doesn’t articulate the name clearly; it’s kind of a mumbled mushy sound. But it’s the first words she’s spoken since she’s been dug up.

          Harold has bolted the door meanwhile. He sees it’s the guy from the cemetery gates. The guy’s dead no doubt about it. He’s got the same slack jaw with bits missing here and there just like Mabel has!

          “Go away!”

          The sound of an animal like roar as the door flies open. The guy sees Mabel and pushes Harold out of the way. “Mabel…!”

          Harold’s heart sinks because she answers!

          “Ralph!”

          They both stumble toward each other and embrace.

          Harold has already begun looking for a weapon, something with which to defend himself against this monstrous interloper.

               But that’s when Ralph rips his heart out, just tears it out of his chest. 

          “Schmuck.”

          If there was one thing in life, Ralph never liked it was a rival. Hence the suicide pact.

          Oh yeah, are you kidding? Ralph and Mabel—high school sweethearts and then she gets famous and he gets left behind.

          It hadn’t been easy to talk her into it, but she finally agreed.

          Only now he sees a look of utter disgust on her face “Look babe, we come back different. Just the way it is.” With that he snaps off one of Harold’s arms. “It ain’t like faggy vampires or nothin’ no sir; the real undead are fucking zombies with a taste for flesh! Here, try it.”

          She turns away, but he’s persistent. “Just take a bite.”

          At last she does.

          Ralph smiles. “Gee Mabel you was always  such a lady, that’s what I loved about you! But that don’t matter no more, come on, dig in!” 

927 words

© Copyright 2011 Carole Gill