The doors to the Garden Hills Funeral Chapel swung open allowing the blinding rays of sunlight to sting the eyes of Mrs. Hesner – the Chapel secretary – who was sitting peacefully at her desk with a stack of new invitation catalogues and writing down reference numbers.

She looked up at the sudden surprise of the hot summer light. The doorway was empty with the exception of the slightly cooling breeze. It swept past her sweat dampened and cooled it that much more. Realizing that she was staring out an open door, Mrs. Hesner went back to her highlighting and reference writing. As the door closed and its shutting shadow once again crossing the eyes of the aged yet warming woman, it was stopped. The shoe swinging into the solid oak door made a sound like a deep clunk.

Just the wind, she thought as the door once again swung open making her squint with the twice round burning light. This time the shadow had cast far too quickly to have been the door closing, and Mrs. Hesner looked up slowly with a curiously apathetic expression. She was surprised by the sight of a silhouetted man. The man took a step into the building as the door slowly closed behind him.

It took a moment for Mrs. Hesner’s eyes to re-adjust to the dim lamp bulbs of the quaint and cozy Chapel lobby. When the green glare in her eyes had worn off and the man came into focus. He was a short man, an old man. His feet wearing their best dress topped with the aged touch of clean crisp spats. The crease of his black pressed dress pants was wrinkled slightly around the ankles, but otherwise were in perfect order, straight to the pleat. Whether or not the man wore a bet or preferred the lifting sensation of suspenders was a mystery hidden by the waist of his suit jacket.

In his hands gripped a smooth metal cane with a silver knob handle. He leaned forward on the cane slightly, to balance himself, Mrs. Hesner thought hesitantly. The open lapels of his black dress jacket revealed a white dress shirt strapped down by a bright red tie. To top it all off was a delightful ole time Bowler’s hat –black of course.

The man stepped forward toward the desk and Mrs. Hesner squared off the loose pages on her desk.

“How can I help you?” She asked with a Pavlovian response to an approaching guest.

The man removed hit Bowler’s hat and held it across his heart. “Yes Mrs,” He paused on the word as he read – with squinting eye – the name on the desk, “Hesner?” He paused again awaiting her approval to the name. She nodded and he went on. “My name is Anthony Renolds and I’m interesting in your services. You see, my wife died and I need some help in planning her funeral.” Mrs. Hesner felt a wave of unease as Anthony’s words drifted into the dark tunnels of her ears, not from the news of his wife’s departure but from the cold and emotionless expression cast upon his face, the haunting vibration of his tone was it filled the small and quiet lobby. It sent chills down her spine.

“Alright, Mr. Renolds, if you’ll have a seat I’ll get the consultant for you.” Anthony only nodded and walked with a gentle limp to the three chairs against the light ash gray, almost pale blue wall beside the stained oak door. He sat in the middle of the three, putting one hand on the seat before bracing himself with his cane, lowering himself down to comfort. He let out a stiff sigh has he half-fell onto the generic black waiting-room chairs. He leaned his cane on the seat to his right, and placed his Bowler’s hat on the chair to his left, all-the-while watching Mrs. Hesner with a seemingly unblinking eye.

“I’ll be just a moment.” Mrs. Hesner said as she shied away from eye contact for the first time in her professional career. Leaning on the desk to help heave her weight up onto unsteady knees, Mrs. Hesner had a brief thought that she herself could use a cane like that. She tried to steal glances at Mr. Renolds only to find herself once again looking into his seemingly unblinking eyes, causing more uneasiness to rise on her mind.

She walked to the edge of her desk and walked down the almost endless hallway that had unfolded beyond, checking over her shoulder several times to see if Anthony was still looking, still staring, at her. His relentless gaze fixed upon her worried eyes, seeming to pierce through the back of her. Mrs. Hesner reached the end of the hallway and another solid oak door with brass fixings. She put one hand on the shining knob, and the other hand on the door itself. She paused briefly, checking over her shoulder for one last shuddering glance at the ominous Mr. Anthony Renolds still perched on the edge of the generic chair, still staring deep within her with almost lidless eyes, still there.

Mrs. Hesner opened the solid oak door and walked in, closing it with a shiver at what could be watching her from the other side. She exhaled in great relief, bracing herself against the door.

“Is everything alright Patty?” The voice of a concerned funeral director, Mr. Lumbridge coming from behind her as he sat at his desk pushing his own pencil to a stack of paperwork for upcoming services.

“I… I think so Sir. It’s just…” Mrs. Hesner shook her head and cleared her throat, “It’s just that this man came in about his wife.” Mr. Lumbridge could hear the anxiety in her voice, hear the thought behind her voice.

“Doesn’t sound out of the ordinary to me.”

“It’s not that he came in, or even why he came in that’s got me feeling like… like…” She couldn’t put her finger on exactly how she had felt hearing the cold ominous tone of Anthony’s voice. “I don’t know Sir, it’s just that he’s… well, he keeps staring at me and it is starting to really give me the heebie-jeebies.” She looked at Mr. Lumbridge from across the room, and even through the already creased face of Mrs. Hesner, Mr. Lumbridge could see the worry in her face.

“Alright, send him in and go to lunch. By the time you get back I’ll see to it that he is gone, okay?” She could only nod and look down in shame for how she felt towards a man that had recently lost his wife, but his relentless stare had been hiding something that the sensitive Mrs. Hesner could feel.

She turned back to the door, put one hand on the door knob and paused, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves before stepping into the uncomfortable line of sight of a short man in a Bowler’s hat.

She opened the door to find that Anthony had left his chair and was now standing at the other end of that hallway. His Bowler’s hat was once again on his head, slightly tipped forward, hiding the frontier of his staring eyes. His cane held firmly in both hands as he leaned on it.

“Mr. Lumbridge will see you now.” She said with a trembling voice.

“Thank you kindly.” Anthony said in the same cold tone he had used before. Thay walked towards one another, Anthony limping with his cane and Mrs. Hesner with a building sense of uneasiness the closer they got.

“The door at the end of the hall, just walk in, he’s expecting you.” It was all she could say as she pressed against the wall to allow the hobbling man to pass.

“Thank you.” Anthony said while tipping his Bowler’s hat towards her as a kind gesture. He walked to the end of the hall as Mrs. Hesner stayed pressed against the wall, watching him limp to the door, as he put his hand on the knob and finally opening the door, disappearing behind it.

Mrs. Hesner let out a large sigh of relief as the strange little man fell into the able hands of a young Mr. Lumbridge. She gathered herself, brushing the wrinkles out of her blouse and adjusting her bra to feel more comfortable, cleaner from the close encounter of an unnatural aura. She walked back to her desk, shaking off the last of the unwanted vibrations as she gathered her cataloguing and grabbing her lunch out of the mini-fridge under her desk. She decided that the day was too nice to spend her hour lunch indoors, so she pulled her light knitted sweater from the back of her chair and casting it around her shoulders. The whole experience had left her by the time the mid-July sun had hit her face.

She turned her closed eyes to the sky and took a deep breath of the fresh air that carried the scent of roses, tulips, and daisies from the well manicured gardens of the Chapel. She was free, free from the dim and dreary lights of work, and free from the penetrating gaze of a disturbing little man. With her lungs full and her noise satisfied, Mrs. Hesner walked down the stone path of the Chapel walkway to the crossing sidewalk, turning left towards a small children’s park at the end of the road.

Back in Mr. Lumbridge’s office at the core of the Garden Hill’s Funeral Chapel, Mr. Lumbridge and Anthony Renolds where introducing one another.

“Hello Sir. My name is Jonathan Lumbridge, I’m the funeral director her and Garden Hill’s.” He reached out his hand to greet the small man.

“Hello Mr. Lumbridge. My name is Anthony Renolds.” Anthony put out his hand and they shook on the introduction. Mr. Lumbridge could feel the coldness that was Anthony.

“Before we get started I’d like to tell you a little bit about us, if that’s alright.” He paused, waiting to proceed. With a simple nod of Anthony’s head he continued. “Well, this is a family owned and operated service, and has been since my great grandfather started it way back in 1948, and since then my grandfather, father, and myself have seen to it that the family’s of the departed have an easy and affordable experience when they need it most.” Another nod from the strange Mr. Anthony Renolds. “Okay, I’d like to ask you a few questions about you wife if that’s alright?”

“What would you like to know?” Anthony asked in an even colder and emotionless tone.

“Well, did you and Mrs. Renolds ever speak about your final wishes?”

“Yes. She had always wanted to be cremated. Nothing too fancy, just a simple service for family and close friends.” Anthony’s voice had dropped another degree, sending chills down the back of the performing Mr. Lumbridge.

“Had you discussed floral arrangements or invitations?” Jonathon was having troubles hiding his own uneasiness and his voice wavered with each word. Jonathon Lumbridge was a young man of only thirty-two that had the fortunate privilege of working in a family owned business at a young age, and taking it over when his father had a stroke four years before he had met the curious Mr. Anthony Renolds.

“No, we haven’t.” Anthony’s answers were getting shorter and shorter, making Mr. Lumbridge feel like sinking deeper into his chair.

“Well, we have a wide variety of invitations and handouts.” And with that Mr. Lumbridge pulled out a stack of folded paper squares and began to lay them out in front of Anthony.

“This one.” Anthony said, pointing at the second invitation style without even looking at it.

“Okay.” Mr. Lumbridge said as he collected the few that he had laid in front of Anthony. “Do you have any floral idea’s in mind, her favourite flower, or colour?” Jonathon asked as he put the stack of invitations back into the drawer of his desk.

“She’s always liked tropical flowers, most blues, reds and purples.” Lumbridge was caught by his choice of words. “I know she likes bird of paradise flowers, and orchids.” There is was again, that simple word suggesting the tense. She likes… Lumbridge thought, she’s always liked…. Jonathon could now see why Mrs. Hesner was so bewildered, could feel the same sense.

“Well, I’m sure that Mrs. Hesner can arrange something for you. A few more questions if it’s alright?” Again Anthony nodded, sending another chill slipped down Lumbridge’s back. “May I ask her name?”

“Ellen.”

“And her date of birth?”

“June 17th, 1949”

“Well, I think that’s all for now. I’ll have Mrs. Hesner call you within the next day or so to let you know when we can hold the service. Is that alright?” One final nod from Anthony made his body visible shiver.

With the conversation over, Anthony rose, leaning of the arm of his chair and his cane to help lift the small man onto his feet. “Thank you for choosing us in this time of need Mr. Renolds.” Lumbridge said rising to his feet and producing his hand to once again touch the cold flesh of Anthony. They shook hands and Anthony turned his back, limping across the room to the solid oak door that he had come in from.

As Anthony turned the door knob and opened the door, Mr. Lumbridge stopped him to ask one final question, one of the most important questions that he had forgotten about in his attempts to rush the meeting along.

“One more question Mr. Renolds.” Anthony paused with his back still facing Jonathon Lumbridge, his black dress coat motionless. “When did Mrs. Renolds pass away? For the invitations and the plaque for her urn.” There was a long moment of silence before the short man with a cane turned slightly to look over his left shoulder. Anthony stared deep into the eyes of Mr. Jonathon Lumbridge, stared deep into the soul of Mr. Lumbridge and said something that would send chills down the spine of Jonathon for months to come.

“When I get home.” Anthony said. The jaw of Jonathon Lumbridge dropped at stayed there while Anthony turned back around, walking out the door. It wasn’t until the door had shut and latched that Jonathon could close is gaping mouth and sit back into his comfortable chair. There he sat, staring blankly at the solid oak door, completely astonished by what had just happened. Some time passed – it was hard to tell how much exactly – when the door opened again, it was Mrs. Hesner.

“Is everything okay Jonathon?”

About the Author

Adam C. Beadle