Southern Gothic Ressurection

You check the time. Perfect. As intended, you’ve arrived fashionably late. One last glance around you assures that no one has seen you before the big entrance. Once inside the atrium of the church you straighten your lapels, breathe a grounding sigh and push open the doors to the sanctuary. 

At first it takes a moment for the preacher to notice you at the back of the room, but once you lock eyes he blanches and stutters over “great man”. Then, the people that had the misfortune of sitting in the back realize who you are when your mother let’s lose the blood curdling scream of the year. 

You smirk as the people closest to the aisle scramble away from you as you walk down to the closed casket decked out in flowers. 

“You know,” you chuckle, “I always hated roses.” 

At that point everyone is too shocked to move from where they landed. Your niece wails from the arms of her mother, oblivious to the events in front of her. 

The room is far from silent.

Your mother is sobbing on the floor, clutching her neck and wailing along with the child. The preacher has decided to recite the first line of the Book of Genesis, his eyes close to falling out of his head and body trembling. One poor, old classmate of yours vomits on the pew in front of them, but can’t compose themselves long enough to apologize to the people in front of them. 

“What? No hello?” You chuckle and approach your mother. Your whisper is like death, “Come on, Ma, you didn’t think a few flames would snuff me out, did you?” 

You watch as she flinches away from your hand approaching her shoulder. It takes everything in you not to reel back your foot and kick her in the stomach. No, this is your mother, the person that gave you life. And took it back, you remind yourself. 

“Alright,” you clasp your hands together, everyone jolts at the sound and goes silent, “here’s what’s going to happen. Everyone except for my immediate family members will leave or there will be dire consequences.” 

No one moves. You grind your teeth and the A/C stops. Your knuckles turn white from how tightly you’re clasping them together. The thermometer by the door ticks up a few degrees.

You breathe a grounding sigh. “I said, ‘everyone except for my immediate family members will leave’. I will now count to ten, if you don’t know what that means then, well, you deserve the consequences.” A smile creeps across your face and your classmate vomits upon the pew again.

 To your delight, the room is cleared of all but you, your brother, and your mother within 7 seconds. 

You take your time observing your family in mourning. The black clothes that awkwardly cling to and hang off their bodies, having just been bought three days prior. Blood rushes in your ears as your brother’s eyes dart from your looming figure to your mother.

“She’s not worth protecting, Benny Boy. She burned me. Me! Her first born.” You scoff and kneel to grip your mother’s chin, forcing her to look you in the eye. “And for what, Ma? I’m back.” 

She jerks her face away from your hand. You don’t hesitate this time, you kick her in the stomach. The feeling is pure ecstasy, but you hold back. You can’t kill her, not yet not like this. 

Your brother stutters, “How- how did you survive? How could you be alive? I saw your body, you were dead!”

Your laughter echoes through the near empty church. “Oh, Benny Boy, now why would I tell you that? So you can send me back?” 

At this point your mother is sitting back up, clutching her stomach. You shove her back to the ground and stride towards your brother. As you stare him in the face you can’t help but feel the heat of phantom flames engulfing your body.

“What y’all did to me, “a dry chuckle, ” I have no words. I mean, absolutely no words.” 

You reach up to brush a piece of lint off of his shoulder - a kind gesture - and he slaps your hand away. Ice hardens in your eyes and veins as you smile and adjust your cufflinks. 

“You, brother, watched me burn and melt and scream from the window.” Without turning, you reach back and grip your mother’s hair to pull her closer to you and Ben. “You, mother, lit the fire and locked the door. Needless to say, I’m a touch angry.”

“We wouldn’t have felt the need to if you weren’t a fucking psychopath.” Your brother doesn’t stutter this time. You wish he had.

Laughter that could be deemed hysterical manages to emit from your mouth instead of a stream of curses. The thermometer goes up another few ticks. A bead of sweat races down the center of your back. 

“Look, “ you stand again, adjusting your jacket and dusting off your pants, “I don’t want to kill you. Believe me, I don’t. But, you’ve left me no choice. Your insubordinate is simply intolerable.” 

You stomp on your mother’s ankle as she attempts to crawl away.

 “A deal’s a deal, and my boss has sent me to collect. You thought this was bad?” A dry laugh tumbles out of your throat. “Try to kill me again and see where that gets ya, eh, Benny Boy?” 

The look on Ben’s face is almost enough to make you wipe it right off his face. How dare he be disgusted by you. You took care of him and your mother when your father left. You protected him from the horrifying habits that your mother practiced. You were there when his first child was born. You were the best man at his wedding. You didn’t deserve the deep scowl, the furrowed brow, the deep hatred that undoubtedly burned in his soul. You were a king among peasants before, you are a god among men now. 

Your vision goes blurry then black. A voice fills your head, kill him, it says. Now, comes the final message before the room returns to you and you, once again, hear the wimpers of your mother and see the defiance on your brother’s face. 

A pang of sympathy warms your gut then fades when you notice Ben’s balled fists and raging eyes. 

“Forgive me, Benny Boy, but you’re not going to like this next bit.” You crack your neck causing Ben’s eyes to go blank and his body to slump awkwardly on the pew.

A choked sob escapes your mother as she tries to protect herself against you. Fruitless though her attempt may be, you can’t help but smile at her effort.

“Oh, Ma, you really have learned nothing from this, have you?” With a light chuckle you take hold of her crushed ankle and drag her through the double doors of the church. 

Once in the mid-afternoon sun you breathe a grounding sigh and melt into the ground with your screaming mother in tow.