Die Like the Asleep

Like most people in Hauntumn, Prunella Brewer had a loved one die on her birthday.

She sat in the church, squished between Mum and Dad, whilst the vicar prattled on about the nature of life and death. Up ahead, Nanna Muriel lay, as if asleep, in her open casket. Her hands folded over her breast, her hair curled, her lipstick and eyeshadow flawless. She’d never looked like that a day in her life. But, then again, those days had since gone, so it followed that she would look different.

‘…rest assured that once we inter Muriel’s corpse to the ground, the worms will soon have at her. Her flesh. Her muscles. Even the very skin of her face will become food.’ The vicar—a red-faced man named Harold Howard—gesticulated like a mad scientist. ‘And these creatures will excrete what they eat, paving the way for the microorganisms. And thus, Muriel will return to that from which she came—dust!’

Prunella sighed. Typical banalities adults told children to comfort them in the face of mortality. That couldn’t explain the entire picture. Parents liked to shovel worn platitudes to keep kids quiet. Kids understood this. Parents understood that kids understood this. But that didn’t stop them from shovelling, all the same. Mum elbowed her in the ribs and whispered to her to stop slouching.

The vicar carried on. ‘But, as much as it pains us now, time will erase all grief, as sure as time will erase us from the face of Octobria. Yes, yes!’ He swung his arms around. ‘Time will strip away the grief from our hearts, like the worms will strip away the features from Muriel’s face. As October passes into October, and autumn gives way to autumn, the pain will ease.’

And so, the vicar droned on until he thanked them all for coming. The townsfolk of Hauntumn rose to their feet like zombies and shuffled out the doors. Mum guided her out of the pew towards the flow of foot traffic, headed for their home for the wake. Prunella resisted. ‘I want some minutes alone with Nanna.’ She glanced in Nanna Muriel’s direction.

‘She’s dead, Prune. Let it go.’

Prunella bit her tongue. Mum always insisted on using that nickname despite her protests. ‘Five minutes. Please. As a birthday present?’

Mum’s eyes darted to the coffin atop its wooden bier. ‘Don’t be late.’ She turned and clip-clopped her way out of the church like a horse in a pantsuit. Dad held the door open for her. He stared at Prunella a moment longer. The world beyond glowed in its burnt-orange brilliance.

And then the door slammed shut, and they left Prunella alone with the corpse.

The stillness of the church stifled her. Motes drifted through the light beams, imbued with colours from the stained-glass windows. No sound penetrated through the thick wooden doors. God—or whatever you called that winged creature watching them from above—had put His fingers in His ears. Nell turned to face Nanna for the last time.

‘Child, what have they painted me face with?’

Prunella blinked.

Nanna had her eyes open.

‘Are yer deaf, girl?’

Prunella shook her head. ‘No, I—’ She leaned closer so nobody could overhear their conversation. But they had the church to themselves. Even Mrs Heptinstall, the half-deaf organist, had left them to it. ‘Nanna, I thought you were dead.’

Nanna Muriel raised an eyebrow. The skin creaked. ‘Oh. I am, child, I am. But right now I was restin’ me eyes.’

Prunella’s heart rose an inch. ‘So, um, does this mean you’re hanging around for a bit longer?’

Nanna pulled a face that distorted the makeup. ‘I’m ‘fraid not, child, ‘fraid not. I—’ her stiff joints clicked as she scratched her head ‘—can’t quite seem to drift off. Me mind keeps racin’, y’know? I’ve always slept like the dead. When I was a baby, I used to scared the life outta me mum. But, now that me time is up, I can’t quite seem to die like the asleep.’

‘Well—’ Nell kicked at the ground ‘—when I can’t fall asleep, I like to count upwards. I can never remember counting beyond 200, so I must fall asleep some time before then.’

‘I tried that, child. I got into the thousands when that no-good vicar started talkin’ ‘bout insects eatin’ me face. That put an end to any calm I felt.’

‘Oh. Well, what about counting sheep, then?’

‘And have them taunt me with their jumpin’, bouncin’ aliveness? No thank you, child. I’d rather lie here and contemplate existence, thank you very much.’

‘Okay then.’

Nanna Muriel appraised Prunella. ‘How old are you now, child? I always forget. Seems only yesterday you got born.’

‘Um, ninety-six.’

Nanna rolled her eyes, and the right one got caught in the socket. She had to coax it back down like a woman blinking an eyelash out of her vision. ‘No, not in that newfangled moon countin’. I’m talking about yer proper age—in years. I’m ninety-six, child! Or at least I was before I popped me clogs.’

Nanna Muriel had come from a long line of rebels and eccentrics. September had never happened, and November would never come. Despite that, Muriel scratched off her age in years. Like the sane people in town, Prunella ticked off every October cycle as another mark on the grand tally of life. She chewed her inner cheek, squinted at the high rafters of the church, and did the maths. ‘Eight, Nanna. I’m eight years old.’

Nanna nodded as if that held all the wisdom of the world. ‘I know things is tough now, girl. But things will get better. Then they’ll get worse. Then they’ll get better again. At least, they usually do.’

Silence passed between them for a moment. Nanna Muriel’s eyes closed, and she sighed. A weight pressed down on Nell’s chest. Tears—unexpected and somehow shameful—threatened to spill over. Her voice came out in a breathless whisper. ‘Nanna?’

Muriel lay there, arms crossed, hair curled, makeup perfect.

Nell closed her eyes, and a teardrop rolled down her cheek.

‘Goodbye, Na—’

‘I ain’t dead yet, girl.’

Prunella gasped and took a step back.

‘I thought if I played dead me brain would think I was dead and would let me die. But it didn’t work.’

Another speechless moment settled over them, and Nell searched for words. Something to give this moment meaning, something profound. Something an adult would say, something with which they’d all agree and nod along. She grasped a topic that suited the moment.

‘Are you afraid of dying, Nanna?’

Muriel did a double take. ‘Afraid? Me? Of dying?’ She laughed—a dry, sawdustlike sound. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Is that ‘cause we’ll all see each other again in Heaven?’

Nanna looked around, then up at the symbol towering over them. ‘I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, child. I don’t think there is a Heaven. I don’t think there’s a Hell, neither. This is it.’

‘You think this is Hell?’ Some adults had described their existence as “Hell on Octobria” before.

‘No, I mean this is everything.’

‘So, you’re saying what we do doesn’t matter? If we’re good, if we’re bad… none of it?’

‘I’m saying it matters even more. We won’t get punished or rewarded for what we do, so we better damn well sure be happy with what we’re doin’. There are no do-overs. No second lives. Live it to the full. Live it like it’s the only one you’ve got. Imagine your favourite movie. You can watch it any time you want, so you don’t got to pick up on all the details the first time. But now imagine you can only ever see it—’ Muriel raised one swollen finger ‘—once? You’re gonna sit up in your seat and pay attention, ain’t ya?’

Nell let the words settle in her mind. Something niggled at the back of her skull. ‘So… we won’t see each other again? Ever?’

‘Doubt it, child, doubt it. Not that I’ve ever been much of a gamblin’ woman.’

‘Well, isn’t that, sort of, sad?’

‘Sad? How so, girl?’

‘Well.’ A red heat rose to Nell’s cheeks. ‘We love you. We’ll miss you.’ And then, a bit quieter: ‘I love you.’

Nanna Muriel softened. ‘You too, child, you too.’ She gave a crooked smile. ‘But, if you had to put up with this old bat for eternity, you wouldn’t love me as much as you do now, girl. No, there being an end gives the bit before the end that much more meanin’. It’s like cake.’

‘Cake?’

‘Yes, cake. Why, a slice is nice, ain’t it? Even two or three. But an entire cake to yourself makes you sick, don’t it?’

‘I suppose so.’ Nell hadn’t scarfed down any of her birthday cake the other day. Something about the loss of her Nanna had dampened any appetite for baked goods.

‘Exactly. Now, imagine if you had to eat nothin’ but cake for all eternity. You’d get pretty bloody tired of cake, wouldn’t you?’

‘I guess so.’

‘So, it’s better to stick to one slice. Or two or three.’

Nell stayed quiet for a moment. ‘But, what if you’re wrong?’

Muriel grinned, and the deathmask fell away, leaving only the kind older woman. ‘Well, then I lived like this was all I was gonna get. Better to live like this is it and then get proved wrong, than to live like you’re gonna get a second go of it and—’ She paused. ‘Well, I suppose you’d never know you was wrong in the other direction. But you know that old chestnut about livin’ each day like it’s yer last? Well, I say live each day like it’s the only time you’ll be alive. Or afteralive. If it turns out I’m wrong, I’ll give God my best apologetic shrug. I never hurt nobody. If he don’t let me in only ‘cause I didn’t believe in nothin’… well, then he’s a bit of an arse, ain’t he?’

Nell gasped and put her hand to her mouth. Nobody ever spoke like that. At least not to the children. But Nanna Muriel always had a looser tongue, and it seemed that kicking the bucket had loosened it some more. She also did something that no other adult did. She didn’t speak to Prunella like an adult talking to a child; she treated her like an equal.

Nanna Muriel yawned and stretched her arms out. Bones clicked, muscles creaked, funeral-drum-dry skin stretched, and joints popped. ‘All this chattin’ is makin’ me tired girl. It’s time I called it a night. Been a lovely sorta day, ain’t it?’ She settled back into her coffin and got herself comfortable. She folded her hands over her chest. Her curled hair and pretty makeup remained perfect. She closed her eyes.

Nell grinned. ‘Nice try, Nanna.’

Dust drifted past in the golden glow of the autumnal day.

‘Nanna.’

The air, thick and still, filled her lungs like syrup.

Nell reached out and rocked Nanna Muriel. Her body shifted from side to side as if nothing more than ornate origami. ‘Nanna?’ The smile faded from her lips, and her heart sunk back into its original position. ‘Oh.’ She pulled back her hand.

The church door thundered open. Dad yelled out to her, shattering the church’s calm. ‘Yer mother wants to know what’s takin’ so long, Prune! She wants you home before November comes.’

Nell sighed.

‘Coming.’

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Tuesday, 10 October, 2023

Written for the October 2023 #BlogBattle: ‘Catafalque’