Dead or Alive? a Truly Scary Halloween Story

Coming home from school and taking the long, creaky back steps to the apartment upstairs was nothing unusual for me. I preferred to take the back stairs so I would not have to pass the many caskets with their lids open just waiting to crash down upon their stiffened inhabitants. Climbing those old, swaying steps, one by one, with back pack weighing me down was such a better route than passing the "preparation" room where my father hooked tubes to the dearly departed and drained blood from their ashen corpses into a cold, steel sink that reflected every drop of life as it spilled into it. The smell of death permeated the air and the fumes of formaldehyde crushed the lungs with its sulfur scent.
Oh but home sweet home is home sweet home when this is how you are raised. As you can well imagine I've lived a quiet life. I was not the girl who had sleepovers or the house where everyone congregated to play. My playtime consisted of playing dolls in the reception room while my Mom applied make-up to make the dead seem life-like. She would take pride in her work when my Dad would report that the family thought, "Grandma looks like she just fell asleep," or "Uncle Danny looks like he's ready to sit up and talk." Really? Fell asleep with eye shadow or sitting up wearing pancake make-up number 5?
Sometimes I could hear the sobbing of a family, in the other room, who were making "arrangements" for the comfort of their loved one during that transition time of viewing. The time when the body grows cold and stiff and, hopefully; the spirit departs for another place. Cause of death was always the topic of conversation at dinner. I never had friends over for dinner. Somehow lasagna and kidney failure never drew the neighborhood to my dinner table.
Halloween was an especially lonely time in my house. As a child I dreamed of having children ring the doorbell dressed in their costumes, giggling and chirping, "Trick-or-treat." As you can imagine, I never got my wish. Would you ring the doorbell of the local funeral home on Halloween night? I know the answer.
There was that one Halloween however, when I was far from alone. My Dad had to attend to the body of a little boy that had been killed when he was careening down a hill with his bicycle, without the benefit of a helmet. He had turned, momentarily; to yell to his friends and lost control of his bike when he did so. The next thing, as I was told at dinner, "Splat, crack, his neck was broke," reported my Dad. It was always eerie when a child died, especially one I had known. This was no different.
There would be no viewing on Halloween. The family thought it was sacrilegious to spend the night in a funeral home. I found that funny that on the night when the dead are supposed to walk the streets, they did not want to spend the night in the funeral home. They left John alone in his monkey suit, with his mouth sewn shut, to face the darkness of eternity, especially on Halloween. This fact bothered me.
When my parents were engaged with television, I sneaked down the inside staircase to see John. I summoned the courage to pass the embalming room with its giant pump machine and long stainless table, slop sink, and jars of chemicals for that hardened, preserved look. I passed those caskets with the satin interiors and steel hinges. I walked right up to the kneeler in front of the casket and peered in to see John. I touched his chest, over his heart, to feel the stitches from the trocar used for his embalming. Then, it happened.
As if he drew life from me, slowly, I swear to you, his heart started to beat. Warmth filled his body and sunshine seemed to reflect off his face. John sat up and began to speak, asking what had happened. My own body was frozen with fear. I could not feel my legs or hear my own voice. I was more dead than John.
The next morning my mother found me wet with sweat passed out in front of John's casket. She asked me what had happened but I dared not tell her what I saw. When she woke me I blankly stared at John's corpse. From that moment on, only John and I knew what had happened. I never visited any corpse on Halloween again. If you are wise, you will learn from my adventure.