The Funeral

Gerry, a young mechanic visiting his old friend's grave, encounters a strange funeral procession, that has some mysterious patrons.

The Funeral

The cool Fall wind blew, making Gerry zip up his sweatshirt as he stood staring at the headstone of his childhood friend, John Caruso. He was a tall and slender man with short light red hair. John had died of an undetected heart problem an hour after showing symptoms the summer after their freshmen year. He found it hard to believe that it had been eight years since he had last seen John, as Gerry and John had been best friends since seventh grade. He closed his eyes, seeing the pair of them jumping into a lake from a quarry one summer. He shook his head, clearing it of the memories, and readied himself to leave when he realized he'd been there for an hour.

He looked up, shielding his eyes from the bright morning sunlight, he guessed it was about 10am by the position of the sun and the slight chill in the morning air. He stuffed his hands in his sweatshirt pockets and began to walk towards the paved roads that lead out of the cemetery. As he walked he began to reflect, and the question he asked himself ran through his head, as it did every time he visited John. “Why John?” he mumbled to himself. John had, had plans to do great things, the first of which was becoming a doctor. Gerry had graduated high school and became a mechanic, always thinking how the world could have been different if it had only been him instead of John.

As he walked something caught his eye. There were six pallbearers carrying an ornately carved coffin. The coffin wasn't what caught his attention, but the huge procession following behind it. Gerry looked in awe, at the at least six hundred people, all clothed in black, walking in rows of five at a steady pace through the graveyard. Though there were so many people, it looked to Gerry as if every person in the procession was genuinely in mourning, as though every one of these people had known the deceased, and counted them as a dear friend.

If the sheer number of people wasn't strange enough, the kinds of people were. He saw what looked like a class of elementary school kids, a military unit in full uniform, people that looked to be from an old fashioned carnival show, men in expensive tuxedos, and many more groups of people, each astronomically different from the others, most of whom were crying with downcast eyes. Not a sound came from the mass of people, save the light padding footsteps on the grass as they walked. “The hell is going on,” Gerry said under his breath. He tried to recall any famous people dying recently but couldn't think of anyone who could have demanded so much respect from such a large group.

They suddenly stopped at an open patch of earth with a blue tarp around it's edges and a large statue of a German Shepherd sitting, staring in front of the grave, as if guarding it. There was a brown cowboy hat on the stone next to the dog.

A man stepped beside the coffin and began to speak, as they began to lower the coffin into the grave. Gerry didn't think he was a priest, from the normal suit he was wearing. He seemed to stick out even amongst the strange procession he was leading. He was tall with broad shoulders and lightning blue eyes that made him seem wise and almost powerful. Gerry was too far away to hear what the man was saying, but he could tell that the whole procession could hear him and that his voice was deep and smooth, carrying across the entirety of the group.

Gerry began to move closer, in an attempt to hear what it was this man was saying, or at least learn something about who it was in the coffin. As he closed in, he noticed that the markings on the coffin were actually runes of some sort. By the time he was within earshot, the man had stopped talking and instead stood facing the coffin, as if speaking to whomever was inside. A line began to form as people began to pass the coffin with flowers to pay their final respects. The man who had been speaking finished and looked directly from the coffin to the exact spot where Gerry was standing and began to walk over. As he got close to Gerry he said, “Hey there, my friend, did you know this man?” Surprised, Gerry took a second to gather himself, then said, “No, I'm sorry, I didn't, but I had to see who and what kind of person could inspire such a procession.”

“You have no idea. This is actually a private funeral, because the amount of people who wished to pay their respects to this man would have exceeded the amount that this cemetery allows,” he said with a small smirk. “By the way my name is McCormick, and may I ask how it is you came to be here?” McCormick asked.

Gerry shook his outstretched hand and said, “I'm Gerry, nice to meet you, and I'm here visiting an old friend's grave.”

“Well Gerry, I believe you and I are here for a similar purpose this day, as solemn as it may be,” McCormick said looking into the distance.

“So, if you don't mind my asking, who in the world was this man?” Gerry gestured towards to the coffin, still pressed with those in mourning.

“Ha, that's more of a complicated question than either of us know but, what I can tell you is who he was to me,” replied McCormick.

“OK, that sounds fair,” said Gerry, a little confused by the response.

“A long time ago, I was living, in a small town in Ohio, when a deadly virus broke out,” McCormick began. “It was horrifying, what it did to people.” “It led to muscle contractions that were severe enough to crack most of the bones in the body leading to death in three days.” “Then he came, he was tall and tended to wear a cowboy hat that went with his neatly trimmed beard. I would use his name but, in the twenty plus years we were friends, he never told it to me.”

“That's pretty weird,” Gerry said, bemused.

“Yeah but, getting back to the story, I was the town doctor, and I was trying to find a cure,” McCormick continued, “ but I wasn't working fast enough for the local gang, so they said they would wait one week, then start killing one person from the town everyday until I found it, as their leader was infected.” He laughed then said, “The day he came into town he handed me a vial that turned out to have the cure inside of it, then spoke with the leader of the gang for five minutes.” He looked Gerry in the eye then said, “The gang left the next morning without a word.”

Gerry looked the man up and down and said somewhat skeptically, “That's a pretty intense story.”

McCormick laughed again and said, not unkindly, “That's the true story: Whether you believe it or not, is up to you, and if you're skeptical, I wouldn't ask any more about his life, cause that's one of his milder adventures.”

Gerry realized it was getting late and said, “I'm sorry I would really love to learn more about this man, but I have to be getting to work soon.”

“Before you go, take this” McCormick said handing Gerry a manuscript that he had been holding, “It's his autobiography and it was in his will that you read it.”

“Excuse me” Gerry had to hold back from laughing now, “I'm in this dead man's will even though I didn't know him?”

McCormick extended his hand for a final handshake and said, “Well it was extremely nice meeting you Gerry... read the book.”

Gerry shook his hand and began to leave, but looked back after he had gotten half way to the gate that marks the exit of the cemetery. The entire procession was gone, but the memorial German Shepherd was still there, and the casket had been buried, the soft fresh dirt closed over the hole. If it hadn't been for the manuscript he was holding, he would not have believed that there had been a funeral. He didn't know what to think. How could 600 people simply vanish?

He decided the only way to make any sense of this was to read the book, so he really examined it for the first time. It seemed unassuming: an inch and a half wide, on white printer paper, with a homemade binding on the left side. He opened the front page to the words Chapter 1: The Funeral and closed the book, unsure if he wanted to read more. He decided to read the rest when he got to work later that day. As he walked by the gate he found a brown cowboy hat and a note that read:

A pleasure as always, my old friend. I look forward to the future.

P.s. I finally know your name.

Author's Note

The first short story that I wrote, just wanted some general feedback.

Reviews

[Marie]

I see what the ending of this is meant to be, but it doesn't quite work. However, the story is very good and could have been written by an experienced writer.

[NoblePariah]

I appreciate the honesty, I had a few reservations about the ending myself, and that's gratifying to hear, thank you.

[Marie]

I hope you post more work; I'd like to read it.