Till Death Do Us Part

*For acts I, II and II click here (~2m each)

House of Frozen Brides

A Tragicomedy 

Final Act: Till Death Do Us Part 

 

“Well, this sucks,” N muses, standing over our second grave stone of the night.

I light a cigarette and look up at the stars.

“Maybe it isn’t all bad,” N says.

I look at him. “Yep, you’re right. All bad,” he agrees.

“Wait, I have an idea.”

I pull out my phone to call M.

He picks up.

“Hey, do you have The Water of Life?”

“Yeah, about that, I have something to tell you,” M says.

“Do you have it or not? We need it.”

There is a pause.

“Yeah, I’ve got it.”

“Good. I’ll send you a ping. Bring it here.”

“But—“

I hang up.

N looks at me. “Bad idea to mess with that stuff. Especially if they’ve been dead this long.”

“I’m too young, too stupid and too irresponsible for a wife, never mind a baby. I’ll take the risk.”

N shrugs. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Probably not, but, at least I’ll be something other than married. Now, where can we get a shovel?”

“This way.”

I follow N out of the graveyard.

Two hours later we stand over two fetid corpses. I take a seat and let my feet dangle into one of the graves. N sits next to me and pulls a bottle of vodka from somewhere.

We drink in silence.

M comes running out of the darkness. I stand up.

“Yes!” I walk to him. “Let me see.”

He holds up a vial of light blue liquid. I snatch it.

“But, dude—“ he starts. I’m not listening. I walk over to the corpses and sprinkle the water of life on their chests. Just a few drops. I close the vial and toss it back to M. We stand and watch. The process is revolting. Like watching vomit transform into a crisp salad.

One of the men opens his eyes, then the other. One starts screaming. I reach down and put my hand over his mouth. I turn to N.

“Tell them what is going on.”

N nods. He starts speaking in Russian. He tells our story to the dead men. The dead men stay silent, listening. When he finishes, one man smiles, the other frowns.

“Well, problem solved,” I say, smiling.

M gives me a strange look. I glare at him.

“What?”

“Well, I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

He looks to N, then back to me.

“Your wives are gone.”

N and I stare at him a moment.

“What?”

“Yeah, they watched a few episodes of Orange is the New Black with me and then stood up and said something in Russian, then, just, left.”

M shrugs guiltily.

“What did they say,” N asks.

M says something in Russian. N laughs.

“What?” I ask.

“They said,” he smirks, “men are weak now.”

I look at M. “Couldn’t have told us before?”

“I tried,” M says, “you didn’t want to listen. You were so desperate to raise this guy.”

He motions to the air right beside me. I turn. One of the dead men stands right beside me. He grabs hold of my hand. He says something in Russian I don’t catch. His breath is awful. He smiles.

I turn to N. “What did he say?”

N gives me a pitying look.

“What did he say?” I repeat.

“He said,” N swallows, “since you brought him back to life, he is bound to you now.”

“Oh, come on!”

M steps forward. He places his hand on my shoulder, comfortingly.

“At least he isn’t pregnant.”

THE END

5 comments

  1. A quality piece of writing from start to finish. The line about standing over two fetid corpses even took me back to nights out in Leeds in the late 80’s. Just brilliant, flash365. Well done 🙂

    Like

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