Friday Scary Story, January 16,2015

Coffins.

They are for bodies to rot in.  Disintegrate.  Putrefy.

The coffin at the end of the room is small.

Tiny... like a child's.  It's not.  It's my mother's.


I want to open it.

I want to look inside.


She died before I could see her.  They found her on the street.  She was alone.

No one is here with me.  No one would know if I opened it.

Time is ticking.

I only have an hour.  I only have an hour, before she's taken away and burned.

They say it wasn't pretty.  I should remember how she was, not how she looks right now.  Street people.  No one cares.  They are garbage.

I hear her voice.  She's asking me to help her.  It's a whisper... but, I hear her.

What if she's still alive?  What if she needs me?  What if she's too weak to open the casket, and she's burned alive?

Questions are tearing at my brain.  I feel mad.



I did it.  I opened it.



I should of come earlier.  I should have listened...

The top fabric is torn and shredded.  Her fingernails pushed away from her bone.  I closed her mouth and eyelids.

I'm sorry, Mom.