The Funeral

“To my daughter Catherine, I leave you, my house. I hope the walls will remind you of the safety of childhood in these uncertain times.”

My mother sat next to me, etching nail marks in my hand as she wept. Each tear slicing through the core of me.

“And to my two beautiful grandchildren, Mark and Sofia, I leave you ten thousand pounds each. I hope you use this money to make something beautiful in a world so dark.”

My stomach dropped at the mention of my name.

The executor continued “unfortunately as you know, Dorothea’s house was broken into on the night of her passing. Most of her precious and valuable belongings were taken, we could not find any evidence of the money she had promised to you both.”

---

I awoke, cold and sweating, a dull ache throughout my bones. I knew something was wrong. There was a voice in my head screaming at me. My phone shook the table next to me like a fly in my ear, that horrible, irritating, buzzing sound. My mother’s name displayed on the screen along with a photo we had taken together at my aunties 50th birthday. Her smug smile stared back at me.

I heaved the phone to my ear and flinched as it erupted.

“Mark, where are you?!” she shouted through the phone, the speaker popped and crackled as the decibels poured out of it. Sniffing and crying, her words were interlaced with incoherent blubbering.

“Mum? What's gone on?” I questioned.

“It's...It's your nan. She’s... dead Mark. Someone broke into her house last night and she had a heart attack. She’s gone Mark, she’s... she’s gone!”

I rose and peeled the covers from my body, replying “I’ll be right over mum, just give me 20 minutes. I love you.”

The phone dropped to the floor as my head dropped in to my hands.

---

I picked my ghostly skin, revealing violent pink pockmarks and scabs. The tracks up my arms howled at me to ride upon them once more. My wallet was empty and battered, every couch cushion was strewn across the living room, not a penny in sight.

I walked out the door, thinking maybe the cool night would clear my head. The buildings in the village were dark spectres, looking down on me, judging me. Street after street, each one felt more hostile than the last. I turned a corner and I felt a wave of ease and nostalgia roll over me. I knew this road, I remembered playing on here as a child; falling onto the cobbles and scraping my knees, playing football in the park, sledding in the winter.

It was Elm street; this is where my nan lives.

A dark voice repeated back to me, “This is Elm street; this is where your nan lives”

I knew what it meant. My nan had always been fairly well off, not rich but I know she wouldn’t exactly miss a couple hundred quid. When I opened my eyes, I was already climbing through the back window. Each step creaked on her old wooden floors, the drawers on her dining room dresser screamed as they extended. A small wooden box lay inside one of the drawers which opened to reveal some jewellery and a bundle of cash wrapped in a few rubber bands.

“That will do nicely,” said the voice “now let's get out of here and have some fun!”

Heading towards the exit, I slipped on a small black book that lay on the floor. Picture frames tumbled and cracked as I crashed into the dresser. The house rumbled as I hit the floor. I didn’t wait to see if I had been heard, the darkness was already chasing me, I had no time to check.

---

I awoke, cold and sweating.