Master of Cemeteries: A Short Story

Master of Cemeteries: A Short Story.

I roam the land from the opening gates down to the last stone and rotting tree. I’ve been doing this for so long that I’ve lost count of exactly how long it’s been. You’d think this would be the same old routine and boring ass job, but not for me. I own my craft, I appreciate it every day, and I love my job. Some take on this job, and they get scared shitless because they think it’ll be “cool,” but they don’t know, they don’t have a goddamn clue how to truly take this job seriously. I love this job because I don’t always work at the same place, no, I travel and go where I’m needed. Sometimes I do return to places I’ve worked before, sure, the land is the same, but the work is different. Ghastly and inhuman, some would say, but righteous and spectacular for me.

I marvel at the opportunity to dig a hole six feet deep and bury a body in the fresh Earth. Sure, there are maggots, worms, and other creatures and insects you’ve never even heard of in the ground below, but after a while, you don’t even notice them there. Sometimes I go lower than six feet. I know it’s a bit unorthodox, but I feel it’s a sign of appreciation and honor. Some I bury above six feet because I don’t think they were good in life, so why should they have it good in death? What’s the big deal about not digging a body six feet and only digging it 2-4? Well, let’s just say man’s best friend and Mother Nature usually show up to make sure they don’t enjoy their eternal slumber.

My first gig was over in Tucson. They had me bury a ruthless outlaw for gunning down eight people simply for looking at him wrong. Talk about talk being cheap. Well, I don’t rightfully condone pointless killing, but I felt if I didn’t bury this guy six feet, that he was gonna rise up and bury my ass, so I made sure he was given a proper burial. I’ve buried every sort of person, you name it. Outlaw, clown, lawyer, garbage man, mafioso, zoo keeper, heck, even celebrities. Personally, I could give two shits as to what their job was when they were alive, but I know some people like to know, so I throw it in. I used to be a bounty hunter part-time time but I didn’t see the point, really. Bounty hunting became extinct, and it got in the way of this job, which has many, many parts to it.

I remember the first day I ever worked in New Orleans. They had me over at the St. Louis Cemetery. They told me it would be a bit different than what I may be used to, but they had no idea who they were talking to. IF you don’t know, St. Louis is below sea level like most of the city, so when there’s a massive storm or flood, the bodies go a washin’. I did my best fisherman and Charon impression and took their bodies out of the water and back into their crypts. Now, for as long as I’d been on the job at that point, I thought nothing could upset me, but the cleanup I did that day would have given a slaughterhouse janitor nightmares. There were bodies, limbs, morbid-looking faces, and some of the grimiest, slimiest, and slippery stench skin you’ve ever seen. Imagine putting Play-Doh under water and then rubbing it with olive oil and dead meat.

My job isn’t always that messy, as I usually just patrol normal ones and do my usual maintenance. I do landscaping of the area, mow the open grass areas, and keep the graves looking fresh and up to code. You always know if you're at a cemetery that I’ve been to because it’s so clean and peaceful. It’s practically a garden, only instead of flowers, there are gravestones, so it’s pretty much a garden of the dead, if you will. So in some ways I’d like to consider myself a gardener, only I don’t make stuff grow...or do I? In all seriousness, I make sure no stone is unturned, no grass gets weeds, and no grave is unfilled. I don’t just harvest the land of the dead and dig their beds; I also chisel their tombstones and layer the bricks and concrete in their crypts. Find me another person who does that, and I’ll start digging my own grave. I just did it for fun one day when I got done early once, and seeing as my stone was good and the family enjoyed it, I decided to add it to my repertoire.

Once, I had to bury a famous pianist, so I crafted a giant tombstone that looked like a piano. The family loved it, but the people of the cemetery and the townspeople thought it was too much. They learned to appreciate it..After I told them I could make some for them when they died. I haven’t worked there too much since. As I said, though I travel a lot, going from graveyard to graveyard in hopes of making each one greater than the next one. I should have my own show on HGTV called “Flipping Graveyards” because I mean, I’m that good at what I’d do.

I won’t need another job for as long as I live, heck, I’ll probably still be doing this when I’m dead if they let me, you know, the guy upstairs or the guy down below? I mean, I am helping them, at least I think I am. If you need someone to take care of the deceased, I’m the one you call. I have a list of titles on my resume: gravedigger, undertaker, mortician, gravestone carver, crypt builder, gardener, landscaper, embalmer, among many others. When you need a person to care for your loved ones, I’m your woman, the master of cemeteries.

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