Abracadaver

When a magician dies suddenly, unexplained happenings occur in the funeral home responsible for his funeral.

Terence couldn’t tell whether or not he was being pranked. He had never been particularly good at reading people.  The widow’s eyes were glittering with tears and her face was a bright cherry red. The blue, iridescent eyeliner that she was wearing was smudged beneath her eyes and made it appear as though she was a performer in a traveling circus. Terence took a deep breath; the woman’s father was with her. His withered and aged arm was hooked around her neck in what Terence assumed was supposed to be a gesture of comfort toward his daughter.

                “Let me get this straight,” Terence said, interlocking his fingers in front of him, “your husband was a magician and was bitten by a rabbit that had contracted rabies?”  Now the tears were flowing down the woman’s heavily concealed face, leaving streaks of pale skin beneath the mask of dark cosmetics. Her father cradled her head in his arms and patted her on the back while she sobbed convulsively.  Terence was glad for the father’s appearance. Mucus disgusted Terence. The last thing he wanted was to become a human handkerchief. Even the sight of the exudate made Terence uncomfortable. He shuffled awkwardly in the elaborately upholstered chair and cleared his throat to gain the attention of the woman’s father.

                “Mr. Jinx was found dead in his trick store later that night?” Terence asked him. The old man closed his eyes and nodded.

When his daughter finished her bout of crying, he dusted himself off and said, “When Jazzy here found poor Jasper keeled over in his shop, she called for the ambulance, but he was already dead. The coroner  performed an autopsy, and confirmed that Jasper died of rabies.  If you ask me they didn’t have to cut him all open like that to figure out that he died of rabies. It was damn obvious from the start!” The widow, Jazzy, weaved her hand through her coloured red hair.  The wild tendrils of her mane had become plastered to her tear stained face.

                “I told Jasper not to use wild bunnies in his tricks!” she cried. “Stupid dunce wouldn’t listen!” Jazzy buried her face in the crook of her father’s arm and continued her wailing. Terence thought about mentioning the fact that ‘stupid dunce’ was a redundant word pairing, but decided against it. Another question crossed Terence’s mind just then.

                “Why did you believe it was obvious that Jasper died from rabies?” he asked. The question was directed toward Jazzy’s father, however, Jazzy answered it before he could open his mouth.

                “Because, stupid, the same rabbit that bit him was found dead beside him!!” It was obvious that Jazzy’s grief was making her hostile.

                Terence walked out of the arrangement room an hour later wishing he had let his coworker Ash Wilson make the arrangements. After the tenacious woman and her evidently patient father had left, Terence was confronted by one of his nosey assistants.

                “So, Tallman Sam, what was up with all that hoopla in there?” The assistant was Mr. Ruben. He was especially chatty as well as prone to gossiping; two traits that were in direct relation with each other. Terence began to tell Mr. Ruben that what went on in the arrangement room was none of his concern, when the man cut him off. “Wilson and I picked up that magician guy from the slice and dice room today. You should of seen poor Ash Hole’s face! Some of that body juice got on his gloves and he near blacked out!” Terence rubbed his eyes in exhaustion as Mr. Ruben’s belly bounced with laughter.

                “MR. RUBEN!” Terence raised his voice, finally unable to tolerate the man’s irritating laughter. “You will not refer to the forensic lab as the ‘slice and dice room’ nor will you harass a member of my staff behind his back! As punishment for your flippancy, you can clean the embalming room after I’ve dry packed and embalmed the subject!” Mr. Ruben hung his head and staggered up the stairs mumbling curse words under his breath the entire way.

                Terence found Ash washing out the coach in the garage. Upon Terence’s sudden arrival, he smashed his head against the roof of the vehicle in surprise.

                “Ouch!” he exclaimed. “Good thing I have this helmet of curly hair to protect my skull, eh Terence?!” Ash was known in the community of St. Louis du HA! HA! for his curly afro-like hair. He was also known for his irresistible charm and smile.

                “Yes. Perhaps you should have it trimmed. Yesterday, during the funeral, an elderly woman mistook you for Richard Simmons,” Terence added. Ash laughed at this comment.  His reaction confused Terence. Ash then went on to verbally surmise the option of quitting the funeral industry to film personal exercise videos in a leotard. Terence made it clear that he was very much against this postulation.

                “We have a rather unique funeral to plan,” Terence informed him. “Instead of a casket, the family wishes for Mr. Jinx to be buried in the case he placed  his assistants in during the performances where he sawed them in half.”  Ash raised his eyebrows attentively. “I want you to get a hold of this apparatus. I will provide you with the widow’s contact information later today.” Ash nodded his head and saluted as though he was in cadet school. Terence raised an eyebrow at this behavior and proceeded to the embalming room where he found Jaune supervising Miss Fairweather. Miss Fairweather was in the midst of performing a lower musculature mouth closure.

                “Jaune, I would like for Miss Fairweather to observe how an autopsied body is embalmed,” he declared, slipping into the personal protective gown.  Jaune clucked her tongue in excitement.

                “Now won’t that be an interesting learning experience! You run along deary. I’ll finish up over here,” Jaune smiled.

                Miss Fairweather was almost as squeamish as Ash.

 As soon as Terence unshrouded the filayed body of Mr. Jinx, she gasped, “His brain is missing!” Terence informed her that the man’s brain, along with the rest of his viscera, was contained in a bag that had been placed in the exposed cavities.

“Your job will be to mix the viscera in a pail of cavity fluid and then cut them into tiny bits which will then be returned to the body between layers of hardening compound,” Terence notified her. He removed the slimy bag of viscera for her to see and carefully slit it open using a scalpel. The morbid contents spilled into a bucket of potent smelling cavity fluid, creating a grisly stew. “This process is called dry packing,” Terence finished.  Terence gave the white-faced Miss Fairweather a stirring utensil and left her while he rinsed the excess body fluid from the prep table. “Oh yes,” Terence suddenly remembered a crucial step, “Miss Fairweather, when you begin digesting the viscera into smaller fragments, be sure to squeeze all the contents from them.” Jaune cleared her throat; it was her way of gaining Terence’s attention. Terence turned to find that Miss Fairweather was not dry packing, but dry heaving in the sink. Jaune escorted the young intern out to mellow in Ash’s famous ‘pass out throne’ while Terence completed the embalming. 

When Terence finished the case, he exited the preparation room and went to check on how the set-up was going in the visitation centre. As he entered the room, he saw a peculiar sight. At the front  was a bold, shining black and red, wooden box stacked on top of a matching black table with golden legs. It was, undoubtedly, the box Mr. Jinx had placed his assistants in during his shows. Ash entered the room behind Terence.

“Wilson,” said Terence, having sensed the man’s presence, “ how did you―”

“It wasn’t me!” Ash stated. “The family must have wheeled it in under our noses, some how.” Terence still wasn’t one hundred percent sure this Jasper character’s funeral wasn’t all some sort of hoax.  “By the way, Terence,” Ash added, “you smell rather strongly of formaldehyde.”  Terence glared at his coworker from the corner of his eye.

“Thank-you.”

The next day, Terence asked every one of his employees if they knew anything about the mysterious appearance of the ornate box. They did not.  Confused, and suspicious, Terence selected his least aggravating assistant, Paul, to help him dress Mr. Jinx. Terence flicked the switch. A harsh light illuminated the stark embalming room. Terence gasped when he saw the colour of Mr. Jinx. The body had turned a florescent pink overnight. 

“Wow. Boss what did you use to embalm this guy? Pepto bismol?!” Paul  exclaimed. Terence frantically ran his shaking fingers through his hair. What was the family going to say?

“This―this isn’t possible! I didn’t use an accessory tint! What’s more, the arterial fluid I selected had a pale tint. This isn’t possible! How?! How is this possible!?” Terence inhaled sharply; his heart was fluttering and his chest felt tight. “Somebody must have deliberately emptied out a bottle of arterial fluid and filled it with tint!” he concluded.

“But boss who would do―” Terence answered Paul’s question before he had even finished asking it.

“Somebody who is out to destroy me.”  

Once Mr. Jinx was dressed in his magician's cloak and top hat, Terence began cosmetizing over top of the man’s  highlighter pink face. 

“Is that stuff really gonna make his face look less like an easter egg?”  Paul asked while carefully observing Terence layer the concealer on.  The ghastly pink colouration of the man’s skin was the least of Terence’s worries. The magician often wore dark makeup for his performances and his hands were concealed by a pair of white gloves.  What troubled Terence was the poor preservation that had likely been achieved. Based on the man’s weight, at least three bottles of arterial fluid should have been administered. Given that at least one of the bottles had been swapped for a bottle of tint, the decomposition of Mr. Jinx’s body could become evident during the funeral! A wave of panicked nausea swept over Terence and he suddenly became very dizzy. He grabbed hold of Paul’s shoulder for stability.

“You okay, Boss?” Paul asked.

“Paul, pray that this man doesn’t change from pink to green,” Terence responded.  

Come noon, Terence was approached by Jaune while reading a dismally realistic fortune in a fortune cookie.

“Death is in your future,” Terence read.

“Beg your pardon?” Jaune said. Terence showed her the fortune.

“Death was in my past, is in my present time, and will be in my future,” Terence corrected it. “Still, it’s the most accurate fortune, I’ve ever read.” Jaune helped herself to a seat across from Terence, raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms in her disappointed mother sort of way. Perhaps she was expecting Terence to share his chicken ka-pow. “Well, go on then,” he said, gesturing for her to help herself to the plate of untouched chicken, “there’s not enough pow in it anyway. It’s just chicken ka. The whole dish is anticlimactic. I’m not sure it’s even chicken.” Jaune ignored Terence’s criticisms of the cuisine.

“Please tell me you didn’t do what people are saying you did,” she said. Terence picked up a week old newspaper and flipped to the obituaries.

“That depends on what people are saying I did,” Terence answered. Jaune ripped the newspaper from Terence’s long fingered grip and stabbed her own finger dangerously close to the tip of his nose.

“Oh, I’ll tell you what they’re sayin! They sayin you turned poor Mr. Jinx into the pink panther! I told em’ Lord knows it ain’t so! Turnin a man pink!? I don’t think so!” Terence raised his hands in defeat. He explained to Jaune how some poltergeist had swapped his fluids. She slowly lowered her finger and shook her head as though Terence was a silly little boy.

“Jaune, I’m an artist. I comsetized over top of the colour. Trust me. He doesn’t look like the pink panther!” Terence reassured her. Jaune pinched her eyebrows together and subconsciously began picking at Terence’s inadequate chicken. Terence concluded that eating was Jaune’s way of coping with a stressor. 

“What happens if he starts stinkin in the middle of the funeral! What are you gonna tell the family!” Jaune demanded. Terence sighed.

“I’ll tell them the truth,” he said. Jaune shot out of the chair like a rocket. Her sudden movement knocked the saucy chicken shreds from the plate.

“THE TRUTH!?” she cried. Terence was losing his patience.

“OF COURSE I’LL TELL THEM THE TRUTH! WHAT AM I SUPPOSE TO SAY?! THE PRIEST LET ONE RIP?!” Ash walked in and ducked just as a juicy chunk of chicken came sailing toward his face. A look of exasperation spread across his features.

“Are you two having some sort of a food fight?” he inquired, placing his hands on his hips. Terence hid the scrap of meat he was holding behind his back. “The magician’s family is here to see him,” Ash announced. Terence’s eyes grew three sizes; his dark brows furrowed with uneasiness.  The family wasn’t supposed to view Mr. Jinx until tomorrow before the funeral! He swallowed hard, causing the knob of thyroid cartilage to protrude from his throat.

“I, uh, haven’t positioned Mr. Jinx in his trick box yet,” he admitted. Ash was shaking his head so fervently, Terence thought his fluffy hair would float from his head like a cloud.

“He’s not in the prep room, Terence, I was just down there this morning, stocking the shelves,” Ash explained. Terence made a worrisome whimper―the sort of sound a dog makes when it’s owner has left.

“I―I didn’t…..pardon me,” Terence pushed past Ash and skipped down the stairs, still clutching the bland chicken bit. In the visitation centre, the family was linked together like a chain, supporting one another’s weight. Their faces were laden with sadness and their bodies seemed to sag as though they had no muscle to keep themselves upright. Their grief seemed to be floating heavy in the air like a greasy plume of smoke after a house fire. Terence immediately felt a weight pressing in on all sides of him. It wasn’t until Jazzy’s father stepped forward to shake Terence’s hand, that Terence remembered the sticky chicken nugget plastered to his palm. He coughed nervously and placed the chicken hand in his pocket.

“Sorry,” Terence apologized. “My, uh, hand is cold.” The man narrowed his eyes at Terence and backed off. Terence’s breath caught in the back of his throat. He was so anxious he could feel himself vibrating. Mr. Jinx was gone! The family had traveled to the funeral home to say goodbye to an empty box! There was a long, unpleasant silence in which Terence locked everyone of his muscles in an attempt to still his quaking body. The family stood piercing him with their heartbroken eyes.

“Screw this!” Jazzy finally caved and flung open the lid of the box. There was a loud whooshing sound, followed by the coo of a dozen white doves. The birds flapped their graceful feathers and exited the intricately painted container. The family oohed and awed, gazing up at the elegant creatures soaring above their heads.  Terence blinked. His head felt foggy. In the case, Mr. Jinx was perfectly positioned. His makeup was flawless, his costume was free of wrinkles, and his beard was freshly combed. A pair of arms encapsulated Terence’s thorax and he yelped in surprise.

“Oh, thank-you!” Jazzy bawled.

“Y-your welcome,” Terence choked. The woman was practically asphyxiating him! Another woman, who was likely her mother, peeled her daughter from Terence’s reedy frame.

“How did you do that?!” Jazzy’s father asked in astonishment. Terence hadn’t done anything. He was as perplexed as the family members. Nevertheless, Terence couldn’t let the family see his bewilderment; that would be unprofessional.

“A mortician never reveals his secrets,” he responded.

The funeral took place the following afternoon. The service was followed by a graveside ceremony. The day was overcast and the graves seemed to jut from the ground like granite teeth. The bereaved came in large numbers and sat, in their black and their lace, before the grave like phantoms. Terence stationed himself toward the back of the crowd, where the rest of his staff was standing. The day was both hot and cold at the same time. Terence could feel the murkiness seeping through his coat and gnawing at his bones. His hair was damp with humidity and his skin seemed to crawl from the clamminess.  Something was awry with this man’s funeral. The preparation process had been riddled with anomalous events: the sudden arrival of the trick box, the devious switch of the chemicals, the enigmatic transportation of Mr. Jinx’s body, and the supernatural eruption of doves from inside his trick box. Terence was growing more paranoid by the second. What if this whole process had been nothing but an elaborate prank to make him look bad? A horrible sense of dread fell over Terence like an illness. His gut wrenched and he doubled over in agony. A moan escaped his lips and Ash turned his head to see his employer clutching at his stomach as though his appendix had just ruptured.

“What’s the matter?” Ash whispered. The sickness left as quickly as it had come and was replaced with an intense chill that froze Terence in his place. 

“Nothing,” Terence whispered back, straightening himself. A rotten odor suddenly swept through the cemetery filling everyone’s nostrils. The priest chuckled, uneasily, and lit the incense burner.

“My apologies for the smell,” he said, “I seem to be having some stomach problems today.” The dismal gathering shuffled in their seats to get a whiff of the incense. Terence looked toward Jaune. She smiled dubiously at him and winked. Terence averted his eyes in disgust; it hadn’t been the first time she’d bribed a priest. The priest recited the psalms over the sounds of soft weeping and sharp sniffling in the crowd. People seemed to be producing tissues from every nook and cranny of their apparels. Terence witnessed one woman swipe a tissue from the protuberant pair of bosoms bursting from her blouse. It often amazed Terence what woman hid down there. At one point during the priest’s sermon, a second voice rose above him. It was the voice of a young girl, frightened.

“Help! Somebody, get me out of here!” Terence didn’t know how, but the voice sounded as though it was coming from beneath them. Heads whipped back and forth amongst the sea of black, desperately searching for the source of the voice. Terence sprung forward. The voice was coming from inside the grave. His shoes squelched against the mushy carpet of leaves glued to the cemetery floor. Terence elbowed his way past the flummoxed priest and gazed down into the waterlogged pit that was intended for Mr. Jinx. A shivering woman gazed back at him in her nightgown.

“How did I get here!?” she wailed. “I went to sleep last night in my bed and when I woke up I was trapped in here! I thought I was going to be buried alive!” Terence knelt by the grave, soiling the knees of his pants, and reached out his long arm. She pressed her small wet hands in his own  and he hoisted her up. The pair of them were met with a melange of convoluted expressions. Some people appeared relieved, others alarmed, and the rest completely clueless.

“Avangeline!” Jazzy stood at the front. Her face was muddied with tears and runny makeup. “But you’re Jasper’s stage assistant! You’re the one he always sawed in half!” Terence wrapped his coat around the soggy girl. She nodded. Her hair fell to her shoulders in stringy wet tendrils.

“So, he’s dead, then? Jasper’s dead?” Jazzy frowned and hugged Avangeline as she began to join the audience in a round of sobbing.

“I’m not so sure!” Terence articulated, cutting the audience’s lament short. Now Terence understood the unexplained events associated with Mr. Jinx’s death. However, the aghast looks that he was receiving from the mourners indicated that they did not.

“He’s dead, STUPID!” screamed Jazzy. Terence did not acknowledge the woman’s horrid outburst.

“What is the one trick that every magician dreams to achieve?!” Terence asked the crowd. A floppy-haired youth tentatively raised his hand.

“Faking his own death?” The teen speculated. Terence nodded.

“Precisely.” The possibility of Mr. Jinx still being alive aroused the people. Terence grinned when he saw  hope resurface through the zombified masks of the mourners. The cemetery flooded with buoyant chattering.

Terence cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “VERY IMPRESSIVE, MR. JINX! NOW COME OUT AND TELL US HOW YOU MANAGED TO FAKE YOUR OWN DEATH?!” Silence followed Terence’s plea. In the back, Terence could see Ash and Jaune shaking their heads and waving their hands wildly. Why had they never trusted him? “COME ON! WE KNOW THE BODY IN THIS CASE ISN’T YOURS! WHO IS IT THEN? A SECRET IDENTICAL TWIN?” The silence continued. “YOU CAN’T FOOL ME, MR. JINX! I’M A RESTORATIVE ARTIST. I KNOW THAT WITH THE RIGHT TOOLS YOU CAN MAKE ANYONE LOOK LIKE ANYONE!” Terence mustered up his strength and, with a grunt, overturned Mr. Jinx’s trick box. The man’s corpse rolled across the sodden turf. A pestilent odor snaked its way through the crowd, causing a number of members to fall ill. A figure emerged from the graves. It was Mr. Jinx. The magician had an arrogant grin on his sly face and was stroking a white rabbit.

“I got you good, didn’t I?!” he said, cheerfully. Terence whistled loudly. Every vomit encrusted face turned toward him.

“You see! Mr. Jinx is alive and standing beside me,” Terence waved his hands in front of the bowing magician.  But as he looked out into the audience, he saw the majority of their expressions to be unchanged. People glared at him with wide wet fish eyes. One woman was shaking her head and biting her nails. Of course, Terence understood. The people were angry with Mr. Jinx for making them go through the trauma of his death.

“He’s insane!” whimpered Jazzy. Mr. Jinx shrugged and looked to Terence for support.

“Mr. Jinx,” said Terence, “why don’t you explain to everyone how you managed to successfully fake your own death?”

The man chuckled and scratched the red-eyed rabbit behind its ears. He leaned in close to Terence and whispered in his ear, “There was nothing fake about my death, son!”

 

The End

Author's Note

Constructive critisisms are welcome!

Reviews

[Oswald Chesterfield Cob..]

OH MY GOD!!! This was one of the best stories I have ever read, I couldn't stop reading lol. I loved this story soooo much. :) Great write, cant wait to read more by you.

[Margo Seuss]

I'm so glad you enjoyed it!!! Definetly be sure to check out my other stories!!! I'll send you some reccomendations if you like!!

[Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot]

Ok :) did you read my other two poems :) if you didn't I think you may like them

[Margo Seuss]

I'll take a look!

[Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot]

Ok :) sounds great