A Grave So Cold by CM Tillman

Author:CM Tillman [Tillman, CM]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Independent
Published: 2023-02-24T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

I spent the next few days exploring the manor, familiarizing myself with a home I would know like the back of my hand if I’d been born here. I imagined my mom growing up here, what rooms she would like best, where she would hide from the imposing stare of grandma. Time ticked by with each room, each made-up story, until I’d opened every door and climbed every stair.

Edgar and Alexa gave me space for the most part. Outside of dinner, I barely saw them. While I appreciated the space, I also craved someone to talk to. My friends had been grilling me over the last few days about my new family, and I gave half answers and vague truths, much like I’d been given. At first, I had been excited for them to come, to have familiar people around me. Then I realized I would have to continue with the lies I’d been telling me, and I dreaded the party.

The morning of my birthday, I walked to the crypt on my way to breakfast. Still reeling from Rebecca’s spirit, I hadn’t had the intention of going back anytime soon, but still I found my feet taking me to the golden gates. Palming my mom’s necklace I approached the crypt.

Hesitating, seeing them open, I waited, though I did not know what I was waiting for. Did I think my mom would feel my presence and call me to her? Or my dad- Simon? I stood there, waiting, but nothing happened. After a few moments, I decided to bite the bullet, and took a step inside.

For the first time, the world didn’t spin. I was still in the crypt, the white stone table laid out next to me, fat waxy candles surrounding the melted remnants of others. Colorful light bloomed on the tile before me, cascading down from the stained glass hanging above.

Now that I was inside, I could make out the recesses lining the walls, each with a name, some with little images of the family member entombed.

It was easy to find hers. The stone was clearly newer than the rest, and the image was brighter. She was towards the back of the line, in the middle section, at my eye level. I studied the picture they placed of her, slightly older than the only one I had at home of her standing beneath the manor gates. Her smile was just as big, just as bright.

What was in the urn, then? I wondered, thinking about all the lies Simon had fed me. They lay Mom to rest here, with the rest of her family. So had the urn just been a prop to him? Anger and sadness welled inside me, recalling all the times I’d said silent prayers over an empty urn.

Tracing my fingertips against her name, willing her to feel me standing right there, just inches from her. “Mom.” I breathed, “Mom, please.” It was a plea, a prayer, a whisper against the tides of death. I pressed my palms flat against her stone, laying my head between them.

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