Funeral Money

As I awoke that morning at 6:15 A.M. to the sound of my alarm clock blaring in my ears, I remembered a certain obligation I had to fulfill that day: my great aunts funeral. Yes, death is objectively sad, losing someone you love, never to hold them, hear them speak, or laugh with them ever again. But, I had only ever met her once or twice in my youth, so I wasn’t particularly devastated at the loss. But, my mother had called me the prior week to break the news and said that it was the right thing for me to attend. So, I put on my muted black dress and black heels and made my way to the cemetery. I was greeted by my father at the front gate who escorted me to the burial plot, where I was then hugged by twenty or so family members whose names I didn’t know; telling me how much I’d grown as they tried to stifle their tears. It was a lovely day out, a gentle breeze swayed through the air and the sun was partially covered by clouds, fitting the sombre tone of the occasion. At eleven o’clock, me and the rest of my extended family sat in wooden chairs as my great uncle, Tim, walked up to the podium before us. He was a wreck, but used every bit of his strength to hide his emotions and feign composure. He spoke for a few moments and then welcomed up my grandmother, Jude, to speak fondly of her dearly departed sister. After two hours, but what seemed like an eternity, of old stories, tears and weeping, the oak casket was shut and my great aunts wooden tomb was lowered into the dirt. After offering my condolences and hugging what seemed like now forty complete strangers, I was approached by my uncle, Tim. We hugged and I noticed a small black notebook in his right hand which he then promptly handed to me. He went on to say “Your aunt loved you very much, and I know you two didn’t have the closest relationship, but she definitely would’ve wanted you to have this.” He then hugged me once more before walking away. I examined the book, it was just a simple canvass notebook, nothing more, nothing less. I was then ushered over by my parents so I tossed the book in my bag without a second thought. I chatted with them as we walked to our respective cars and parted ways, making plans to have dinner the next evening. I began my drive home, any thought of the book having completely left my mind. Once I returned to my apartment, I rifled through my bag for my keys when my attention was brought back to that book once more. I pulled it out, locating my keys beneath it. When I was finally inside, I went straight to my bedroom and sat on my bed, examining the book’s cover once more, trying to decipher any potential lettering on it. I opened it and saw my great aunts name inscribed on the front cover, but just then, a small envelope fell out of the middle of the book. I picked it up and there was a small note on the front reading “For my great niece, who will do nothing but great things. With love, Aunt Mary.” I opened it and nearly screamed in shock. I then pulled out a check addressed to me, a sum of $20,000. I was in utter disbelief. A million questions bounced through my head. Why me? I barely knew this woman and her dying wish was apparently to gift me $20,000? Where did this money come from? While my great aunt and uncle weren’t poor, they were by no means wealthy. I was dumbfounded as to why this was happening, to me of all people! What should I even do with this money? Should I tell my parents? Now that was a question I quickly reached the answer to, no. They would absolutely make me give it back to my poor grieving uncle, as if it’d do him any good his wife is dead, $20,000 won’t change that. But I on the other hand, am a 19 year old college student, $20,000 can do me a whole lot more good. My god what am I to do? I so desperately want to keep this money but I know it’s wrong, I know I should give it back, but I don’t want to. So, I won’t, my mind’s been made up. As I continue my day after making the arguably selfish decision to keep the money, I begin to feel, off. Nothing in particular is necessarily wrong, I just feel, different. I begin to feel heavy, as if I’m carrying a boulder on my back. My breathing becomes more labored and I feel drained of all energy. “I must just be tired” I think to myself, it has been a long day. I retire a bit earlier that night and fall asleep with ease. As suddenly as I went to sleep, at least it seems so, I am awoken, but by what I’m not sure. I glance to the digital clock on my left, that reads 3:28 A.M. As I register the time, I look over to the corner of my bed and nearly jump out of my skin. There is an elderly woman sitting on the edge of my bed, staring directly at me. I scream, buts she covers my mouth with her old, wrinkled hand, muffling the sound. “Hush now, child, it’s alright.” “WHO ARE YOU?! WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE?!” I yell fearfully at her, my voice cracking. “You really don’t recognize your great aunt?” Any blood that was still in my face I suddenly feel drain, turning me a ghastly pale. “B-but, you’re d-dead.” I say, terrified. “Yes I am, child, I’m a ghost!” she says cheerily as if it’s normal. “Why, why are you here, why did you give me all that money? I mean, I’m very appreciative, but we weren’t very close.” I say. “You see, my child, you’re a very special girl, who’s destined for great things, that money will help you discover your fate.” “But, what is my fate? I’m not particularly talented at anything, I am studying social sciences in college right now, is th-” I say but she cutes me off. “Oh, no no no my child, you are destined for much greater things than that, don’t worry, you’ll soon see.” “How will I see, how will I know my destiny?” I question. “Read the journal, my child, it will reveal everything to you, goodbye now.” and just like that she vanishes right before my eyes, as if she were never there. I scramble to turn on my lamp and run to my desk, grabbing the black journal that sat atop it. I began flipping through the pages, most of which are just filled with old journal entries dated in the 1960’s, when my aunt was a girl. I then arrive at the page that previously contained the envelope and I notice something peculiar. It is a list of instructions written in my aunts eloquent cursive, instructing me to do the following. 1. Purchase a plane ticket to Paris, France for the next possible flight. 2. Find an apartment, hostel or hotel to stay in. 3. Go to the Parc de La Villette and there is a man who works there as a janitor named Hugo, find him, he will instruct you further. 4. Pack enough clothes for at least 2 months. 5. Finally, do not tell ANYONE where you are going, not even your parents, you will understand soon enough. As I finish reading these instructions, I begin to question my sanity, is this actually happening right now? Am I seriously about to do this, leave my life, family and friends just because my dead aunts ghost told me to? These are thoughts running through my head as I click purchase for my 8:00 A.M. ticket, and furiously pack my belongings. Everything in between getting in the cab and walking into the park is a total blur. I then snap to senses when I see a janitor walking about the park with the name “Hugo” stitched onto his shirt. I tell him why I am here and the moment I mention my great aunts name, his eyes sharpened to a knowing stare and he brings me behind a building to speak privately. The next thing I know, I wake up on a cold concrete floor, hands and feet bound together. I try to scream but my body prevents me from doing so. I look up through heavy eyelids to see Hugo standing over me, and to his left is my great uncle, Tim. “You did good Hugo, I knew she’d fall for it.” I try to scream and cry, but to no avail. “Uncle Tim, why?” I plead to him, but he doesn’t respond. I am then subjected to hours of abuse and torture by a man who I knew and loved, or so I thought. I begin to cry, praying to whatever god there is to save me. After it ends, I begin to bleed out on the cold ground from the various cuts that litter my body. I see a white light and begin to hear a loud buzzing sound, it fills my ears and overwhelms my whole being as my vision begins to fade. This is it, I’m dying. My life flashes before my eyes as my tears begin to pool. I then awake in my own bed to the sound of my alarm blaring in my ears. I shut it off and check the time, 6:15 A.M. I look about, wondering how I got back home and see that everything was in place from the day before my great aunts funeral, my black dress still on the hanger in my closet. I check my phone and the date reads March 11th, the day of my aunts funeral, how could this be? Was that all a dream? I feel an aching pain on my wrists and ankles and look to see deep purple bruises, as if I’d been bound. I begin to tear up, filled with confusion, not being able to tell fiction from reality. I hear my phone chime and see a text from my mother, reminding me of the funeral today. I burst into tears, gently rubbing the bruises that are on my wrists and, just then, I look to the edge of my bed and see my aunts ghost there yet again. “I see you did as I told you.” “Why did you let me go through that?” “You foolish girl, how could you not understand?” “Understand what?” “That was your destiny, staring death in the face only to realize you were strong enough to face your demons. That, my child, is what you were meant to discover.” she says. Then, she disappears, never to be seen again. I then realize what I have to do, I go to the funeral and see my uncle Tim, a look of evil plastered on his face. I spend the next two hours staring my demon in the face, just as my aunt had instructed. My uncle then approaches me after the funeral and hands me the same black book yet again. “Be careful, there’s creeps out there, happy spending.” he says. “Thanks” I respond curtly. He begins to walk away through the now empty cemetery when I yell “Oh wait, I forgot something!” As he begins to turn, I pull out a small handgun from my bag and shoot him dead. As I walk over to his lifeless body, I say “Give Hugo my regards.” My destiny had been fulfilled. I had now faced my demon head on, and won.