Amour Macabre

He hovered above the wet clay track, the remnants of his shredded dark robe gliding onto the dirt and rocks. His skeletal feet did not move at all, as if frozen in time amongst the tombs. It was the night before the first snowfall, his last chance to awake them before Persephone retreated for her winter slumber. The grim figure stopped in front of the tallest tree in the graveyard, now bare of any leaf. Its knotty branches reached for the dark clouds covering the night sky as an old man reaches for the heavens before his final breath.

Slowly, Death drew his violin from under his robe, and played.

As the bow jumped from one string to the other, they rose. Fleshless hands crawled out from the depths of the earth, disturbing the peace that reigned over the cemetery mere moments ago. They climbed out of their lots, one limb at a time, and joined their leader in his danse macabre, waltzing in perfect unison as only those liberated from the shackles of mortality could.

Some glanced at the village on the other side of the rusted fence that separated the dead from the living. They reminisced of their lives before the shadowy concertmaster had come to claim them, or at least tried to. Most had completely forgotten they ever had a heartbeat, the memory of it buried deeper than their coffin. None of it mattered, for as Death completed his piece and hovered away, they all went back to the earth.

All, but one.

Ulric hid behind the crypt, escaping Death’s stare. He had died young, only a year ago, and his memory of life transcended his everlasting sleep. The skeleton waited for his master to be out of sight and walked past the fence, venturing into the village that once was his.

He walked down the main street of cobblestone, peering into the windows of his old neighbors. All seemed fast asleep. There wasn’t a soul to wander and notice his presence. As he made his way into the heart of town, soft snowflakes fell down from the clouds, coating his surroundings with pure white.

How he missed the winter and its frozen beauty. How he missed cold, and heat, and everything in between. How he missed his skin, and the feeling of snow settling onto its surface. How he missed the sound of bells, and carols, and the cries of sorrow and joy!

Lo and behold! Lost in thought, Ulric almost came head to head with his master. The grim figure waited patiently in front of a wooden door, and the lost skeleton barely had time to conceal himself by the corner of an alleyway. He watched patiently, eager to see who was being claimed.

To his surprise, the ghostly soul of the Mayor phased through the door, accepting Death’s handshake with uncharacteristic powerlessness. Ulric remembered the thirtysomething politician used to brag in many speeches he would preserve the zeal of youth forever and lead the town for decades to come. All, young and old, were equal in front of Death, this the skeleton knew all too well.

Death released his grasp, and the soul vanished into thin air, leaving a trail of smoke behind. Then, the concertmaster made his way further down the road. There were more souls to claim that night. Ulric panicked. Could he be coming for her?

Surreptitiously, he meandered through the maze of alleyways adjacent to Main Street, keeping a close eye on his master. It couldn’t be. She was way too young, but then so was he. The prospect fostered in him complex, contradictory feelings. He loved her and wanted her to live. Yet, he thought, perhaps they could finally be reunited in death.

The Master came to a stop. The house wasn’t hers. The soul of an old man phased through the door and shook hands with Death, vanishing into thin air as well. This time, the Master disappeared along with him, his work completed for the night.

A selfish wave of disappointment washed over Ulric. Although he was deeply ashamed of it, he secretly wished for Theresa to join him in the afterlife. This would not happen tonight.

Unless he joined her in life instead. His skeletal body could technically function, invigorated by the sound of Death’s instrument. He knew she loved him just as much as he loved her. Surely, she could accept him in any state, shape or form, even devoid of flesh.

His tarsal bones dashed across the white-coated cobblestone, guiding him towards the house where their love had blossomed. For a moment, he felt the snow against his skin again. He felt cold and heat. He heard the distant sound of bells. The phantom beat of his heart echoed inside his empty ribcage.

The house drew near. A light glimmered through the window. She was still awake. Why was she still awake so late into the night? Perhaps she felt his presence. Perhaps she was waiting for him to come to her.

Alas, Ulric came to realized Theresa wasn’t alone. Peering through the window, he saw his cherished lover flip her raven hair as she laughed from another man’s wit. The strapping gentleman looked eerily like him back when flesh covered his bones. With hair of gold and a radiant smile, he beamed at her from the other side of the kitchen table, then reached out and kissed her. She had moved on, with someone whose heart still pumped blood.

The skeleton backed away from the window and feel into the snow. It didn’t feel cold anymore. It felt like void, like vacuum. Once back on his feet, his tarsal bones moved again, this time guiding him towards his true. Just as blades of grass could still be seen through the thickening layer of snow, Ulric crawled back into the earth where he belonged. The memories sank into the plot as well, this time deeper than his coffin, never to be seen again. Ulric had no earthly shackles anymore. The snow grew thick over his tomb, and Persephone retreated for her winter slumber, separating the dead from the living once again.