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Wake Up Call

Allan Onik

    The undertaker finished polishing the bell. It was made of pure gold, and glinted under the full moon.
    A priest was finishing a funeral in the middle of the cemetery:
    “And so we know, as mortals, that our lives in our bodies are only a mask of our spirits. We know that there is a deeper one reality, in which we live with God—our surface lives covered with layers of experiences and emotions, trials and victories, loves and losses. Let us not fear for our friend, for he is with The Creator — his sins forgiven, and bliss found.”
    A woman wearing a dark veil threw a rose on the coffin. The crowd began to shuffle toward the cemetery exit. The undertaker could still hear crying as the last few drove away.
    He locked the parlor and headed for the light switch, but paused as he noticed a red pick up truck pull into the parking lot. It was blasting Heavy Metal Music from the 90’s, and two large men got out. The undertaker cringed. Both men were wearing jeans and flannel shirts. One was carrying a spiked bat, the other a sawed off shotgun. They walked to the parlor and knocked on its door after realizing it was locked.
    “We know you’re in there Edgar, you rat! We’ve come for what’s ours!” The one with the bat said. He was fat and wore a shaggy gray beard.
    “I don’t owe you fools anything. Do you think this town belongs to you and your thugs?”
    “Everyone’s gotta pay their dues to Mr. Larson. We all know that.”
    “Leave or I’ll call the police.”
    “Then someone will be back tomorrow for one of your thumbs.”
    “You know that God protects us all, right? That he, The Creator, watches all his children from afar, while they walk the earth in his name. That he performed miracles through his holy men—and still more miracles to this day.”
    “Mr. Larson didn’t send us here for a sermon. We came for your protection dues. Why don’t you just hand over the cemetery bell? That’ll cover you for a while.” The man with the shotgun licked his chapped lips.
    Edgar smiled. “God is watching you, and judgment shall come in his name.” The undertaker walked to the bell and rang it three times slowly. A wolf could be heard howling in the distance, and he could just barely hear a strange cackling.
    “Jesus Christ Almighty!!” The one with the bat yelled, “let us in!! Now!!”
    Hands with rotted flesh began to reach up from the cemetery graves. Moaning could be heard throughout the property. A small demon with a spear emerged from a crypt, and a flurry of bats silhouetted the full moon.
    The men stopped banging on the parlor doors and ran for their truck, but as they reached the exit the cemetery gates swung shut and firmly locked. A large, black rat bit one of the men in the ankle. He staggered and a walking dead grabbed him in the midsection and gnawed at his neck, sending blood spraying in all directions. He fell on the ground and was consumed by oversized cockroaches.
    “Come back here!” Edgar yelled to other. “It’s evil out there.”
    He ran back to the parlor and Edgar opened the door for him. The grown man dropped his spiked back and sat on his hands, whimpering.
    “It’s ok,” Edgar said softly, “I’ll be quick.” He tore off his face to reveal a smiling skull, with red glowing eyes.

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