Family Business

“Get up” I tell the corpse. Nothing. I stare down at the body. Olive Barkley. She’s been dead for a few hours now, and has already gone stiff. We’d cleaned her body of the urine and excrement, and released gas to prevent bloating. I did this so she wouldn’t be embarrassed, which is usually the reason that they refuse to re-enter. Of course she’s a little purpleish, but that’s no reason to stay dead. Her finger twitches, and I immediately grow alert, but no. Sometimes they move a bit after death, but it’s just left over jolts of energy. Her blood is beginning to pool and clot at the lowest points of her body. This doesn’t make any difference to the process of course, but I still like it.  

My sister bounds into the room, her young face covered in jam and mud. She peers over the table at Mrs. Barkley.  

“Still dead huh?” 

“Still dead” I sigh.  

“Sabine,” I say, turning my full attention to her, “take these to the shed, will ya?”  

“ Yeah, but--”  

“Later Sabine, I’m working.”  

She crinkles her nose at me, but takes the jar. I see her golden curls bounce out of the room haphazardly on the way to the shed. My own hair is a mud brown, tied back into a sensible ponytail. Father says that, despite my discontentment, brown has its virtues. I do not want my hair to be virtuous, I would mutter, I want it to look like Sabine's.   

Father, Sabine, and I live on Prewitt Estate. Anyway, they call it Prewitt estate. I am not a Prewitt, and my Sister is not a Prewitt, but my father says it is best to humor them. My family has lived on these lands as long as there have been these lands, and I know these sprawling grey fields like I know my mother’s eyes. Well, I mean that's the saying isn't it? I never knew my mother, or Sabine’s.  

I Turn my attention back to Olive. Nothing. Sometimes they like to have some privacy, so they can get comfortable, but Olive remains stubbornly dead. I know she could not have gone far from her body, I have blocked any exits. Ones like Olive are always the most difficult. She was old, content, and died around family. That last one is probably why we’re getting paid so much for this, so I probably shouldn’t complain.  

The gaping holes where her eyes used to be are now fully drained of blood. These sockets are always bigger than you think, even once you’ve completed the process a hundred times over. Like little caves. I picked up the eyes from the table, placed them in the glass jar, sealed it, and called for Sabine.  

“You know Olive, you are going to have to come back at some point.” I try to explain. “The exits are blocked.” 

 Nothing.  

“If you’re mad at me or something, then you should know it’s not my fault, I was commissioned by your family.”  

Nothing. 

“All of you come to us once you die, what did you expect?’ 

Nothing.  

“Well if you’re going to be like that fine, wait until your body has decomposed, I don’t care.”  

I do care. Alot. Every once in a while they wait until their bodies are nice and broken before they are too exhausted and have to return. Their families always make a big stink about it.  

“It's not my fault,” I would always say. “You should have debriefed them better.” 

Sabine walks in and I hand her the jar. “Shed, please.”  

She huffs with all the force her little thirty-nine inch body could muster.  

She’s only five years old, I tell myself, she shouldn’t have to help around the house as much. But even as I think it I know I'm wrong. I helped at five, and as soon as she’s done bringing the jar to the shed, she can resume playing in the field. 

I turn back to Olive. “She’s so cute, Isn’t she?” I smile. “You had grandchildren about her age didn’t you?”  

The eye sockets begin filling with blood. Yes.  

“They were sweet. I remember, the oldest drowned and I had to fetch him.”  

The blood reaches higher, halfway up the holes in her grey head.  

“Wouldn’t you like to see them again?”  

The blood fully fills the sockets, congealing into the reddish stain glass I know so well. The 83 year old woman's body begins to relax, and she blinks. She lets out a long suffering groan before her eyes close again. She will be asleep for several days, but then, she’ll be awake for good. Or at least for another eighty three years or so.  

I can only repeat this process twice, but they will pay through the nose for triple the lifetime. At least half of them roamed around with red, cloudy eyes. A few of the rich ones try to “cut into” our business-- and complain that we have a monopoly. I mean, we do, but that’s isn't changing anytime soon. They would just have to continue getting rich by more trivial means 

I stretch, and leave the office. The estate is significant, stretching on for 200 acres. We have the house--a large Chateau, the barn, the servant house, the shed-- which is poorly named as it is the size of a small house, and the altar.  

My sister is playing outside the shed, flitting around the stone edifice and weaving flowers around it’s pillars. I smile.  

“Come on Sabine, It’s late.” I say. 

“But-”  

“It’s late, Sabine.”  

Her small hand grabs on to mine and we walk toward the house. She puts on our favorite record as I telephone Olive’s family about our success. They’ll pick her up tomorrow.  

I sit down at the dining table, with my sister across from me. A servant puts a plate in front of me. Its naked body is made of mud and stone but it leaves no mark where it walks. I smile at it, but I don't see. It doesn’t have any eyes.  

“Sabine, we are going to see father tonight.” 

“Really?” Her blue eyes light up, and she bounces in her chair. 

“Yes. I’m going to need you to clean yourself up.”  

“Can you help me?”  

“Yes. Did you ask a servant to do your laundry?”  

“I dunno. Hey, I made him a present!” She holds up a piece of paper, with three scribbled figures and a flower taped on.  

“...it's lovely. And how do you not know?” 

“I dunno” 

I finish my potatoes in silence, as she prattles on about the wonderful day she's had in the fields.  

When supper is finished, I take her upstairs. We put on our nice dresses, mine a light blue and hers a bright yellow. I tie a starched apron around her waist and a bow in her hair.  

“You look wonderful.” I say. She beams and struts in front of the mirror.  

I brush my long brown hair straight and run a braid down my back. I smooth my blue dress over my petticoats, and tie my own ruffled apron tightly about my waist. I look nice.  

On the way to the altar we stop by the shed, collecting the week’s jars in a wicker basket.The cool night air kisses my cheeks, giving them a pink glow. The leaves rustle as we walk into the birch forest. I hear Owls and coyotes, but I am not afraid. This land belongs to my father. My sister grips my hand tightly.  

 I see the altar with its polished stone and blood-red roses, glowing faintly in the night. My father is behind it.  

“Girls, you don’t know how i’ve missed you this week.” He smiles warmly and walks over to my sister, pulling her into an embrace. His hooves clack against the stone walkway around the altar.  

“Now what do we have here?” he asks as Sabine holds her picture out to him. He runs his finger along the drawing, asking “What is this, what is this?”  

She tells him how the scribbles really look just like him, and that green blotch in the corner couldn’t better resemble a bird.  

 “I love it.” he says.  

His legs are covered in black fur and he wears nothing but a small vine circlet. I am often self-conscious of how different we are, but when I am here next to him, I don't worry.  

 I clear my throat. “Um, we brought back four of them this week. One woman named Olive gave me trouble--”  

He hugs me. “Yes, Olive. I heard about her. Didn’t want to come back, did she?”  

“Not really.”  

He sighs. “Well, it is the family’s choice after all, eternity or a few more years.” 

I chuckle. “My kingdom for a horse.”  

He smiles at me. “Exactly” 

He places a goat on the altar table. It’s stomach is cut wide open and it’s organs are removed. My sister and I bury the jars within it’s skin.  

“Are you ready?” he asks.  

We nod and step back. He drops a match onto the altar and the goat bursts into flame, and a shrill scream fills the forest. No lighter fluid or kindling is necessary. The altar has rules of its own. 

I sit with my father and my sister lays in his lap. By the light of the fire we talk about the week, about the souls, and about the land. My sister falls asleep in his arms. He walks us to the edge of the forest and waves as I carry my sister back to the house. As soon as I walk in, the phone rings. It seems someone has died.  

I wonder what it will be like for Olive, once she dies her third time. I wonder if she will scream when she goes to live with my father, I bring a match to the estate walls. I won’t have to wonder anymore. From now on, death will be final