The Man at the Funeral
Rain drummed softly against the black umbrellas gathered around the cemetery. North Nelson stood beside her mother’s grave and stared at the polished oak coffin disappearing into the earth.
The sound of the rain on this day should make her feel like it is the final stop, instead, the final felt so distant, it almost felt like rain concealed the way to the end. Not knowing what is coming next. As though she were watching someone else’s life unfold from behind a thick sheet of glass.
A month ago, her mother had been laughing over burnt pancakes in their kitchen. Two weeks ago, she had been complaining about the neighbor’s cat digging up her flowers. Three days ago, she had been gone. Just gone.
The minister continued speaking, his voice carrying through the cold afternoon air, but North couldn’t focus on a single word. She kept staring at the roses resting on top of the coffin. White roses. Her mother’s favorite.
A warm hand squeezed hers. It was Sarah. Thank god it was Sarah. North glanced sideways. Sarah Smith stood beside her wearing a black coat and a fierce expression that suggested she was personally prepared to fight death itself if given the opportunity. Dark circles sat beneath her green eyes. She hadn’t slept much. Neither of them had.
“You okay?” Sarah whispered.
North almost laughed. It was a ridiculous question.
“No.”
Sarah nodded.
“Good.”
North blinked.
“What?”
“If you said yes, I’d know you were having a psychotic break.”
A tiny smile tugged at North’s lips, she tried to hold it but couldn't. The first one she’d managed all day. Sarah seemed relieved to see it.
The service ended shortly afterward. People approached. They offered condolences. Flowers. A lot of "sympathy" and awkward hugs.
North thanked them automatically. Most of their faces blurred anyways. She didn't know who was who.
Until she noticed him.
He stood far away beneath a large oak tree at the edge of the cemetery. Watching her carefully. Not speaking to anyone. Not moving. The only thing he was doing was just watching.
He was tall, broad shouldered, and dressed entirely in black. Rain darkened his hair. Even from a distance, something about him felt wrong. Not wrong in a dangerous way. Wrong in a way she couldn’t explain. Like seeing a wolf standing among a group of innocent sheeps.
Her stomach tightened. She pointed towards the man with her head to Sarah and asked;
“Who’s that?”
Sarah followed her gaze.
“The hot one?”
North rolled her eyes.
“Well, sure, it was very helpful.”
Sarah squinted.
“I don’t know him. I wish I do though.”
The man didn’t look away. Most people would have, but he didn’t. His gray eyes remained fixed on her. He was calm, and almost unsettlingly patient, because he was looking at her without even blinking.
A strange shiver crawled down her spine. Then someone stepped between them to offer her condolences. When North looked again, the man was gone. Just like that. Gone like the rain on the soil, like the wind in the air, he was just gone.
“That’s not creepy at all,” Sarah muttered.
North tried to ignore the unease settling inside her chest. But she couldn’t. For some reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
The house felt empty without her mother. It was way too quiet, and too large to live in it without her. It just felt wrong.
The silence followed North from room to room. Sarah stayed until evening. Long enough to make sure North ate something. Long enough to make sure she showered. Long enough to threaten violence if North tried sleeping on the couch again. Only after extracting several promises did she finally leave.
“Call me if you need anything alright? You know I'm always here for you. Always”
North nodded.
"Thanky ou Sarah, I know."
Sarah hesitated to go. And pulled her into another hug.
“Again, anything.”
After the front door closed, silence returned, the kind that made every room feel haunted.
North wandered upstairs. She wasn’t ready to sleep. Instead, she entered her mother’s bedroom. The scent of lavender still lingered in the air. For a moment, it felt as though her mother might walk through the door carrying a basket of laundry. The thought hurt. North swallowed hard.
She started to walk around the room, touch random objects to feel her mother a little bit longer before letting go. Tears leaked from her eyes one by one, slowly, without any sound. She missed her. She touched her bed sheets, her hair comb, her brushes, her bathrobe, her lipstick. Everything she once owned, they were still carrying a part of her. With every touch, she felt one step closer to her mother, in between every touch, she felt one step away from her. She wanted to call her, tell her that she love her, she wanted to talk to her about her day, about the people at the funeral, about Sarah. She knew she can't, but she just wanted to.
She decided to try to find peace with her mother's scent. She had a very unique scent, it smelled like a garden full of roses and lilies. She opened her wardrobe to smell her clothes. Pulled one of the dresses from its hanger and inhaled her mother's smell that remained on it as long as her lungs let her. With ehr exhale, a big cry came out and she just fell to the floor on her knees crying. Now she is alone, she was feeling her absence more, and it was hurting like hell.
While sitting on the floor crying, she noticed something strange. A loose floorboard beneath the wardrobe. Her mother had lived in this house for over twenty years. North had never seen that floorboard lifted.
She let her curiosity won. She reached out and carefully pried it open. Inside sat a small wooden box. Her pulse quickened. The box looked old, like, very old. She lifted the lid. Inside rested a single sealed envelope. Literally nothing else. No jewelry, no photographs, no money. It was just an envelope. Her name was written across the front.
North.
Her breath caught. Slowly, she opened it. A single folded page waited inside. The handwriting belonged to her mother. North unfolded the paper. The message contained only six words.
If they ever find you, run.
North stared to the note, then read it again, and again. A nervous laugh escaped her.
“What the hell does that even mean?”
It literally had no explanation, it had no names on it, nothing. Just six words.
Outside, thunder rolled across the sky. The lights flickered. It made North jump.
The paper slipped from her fingers. At that exact moment, every dog in the neighborhood began howling. One after another, then another, then dozens. The sound echoed through the darkness.
North slowly turned toward the bedroom window. A cold feeling settled deep in her stomach. Someone was standing across the street. Watching the house, or worse, watching her. He was tall, and motionless. A pair of silver-gray eyes caught the light. The same eyes she had seen at the cemetery. The man from the funeral. And somehow, North knew. He wasn’t there by accident.
