Uncle's Ashes

I like to walk in graveyards when I'm troubled. And this morning I'm puzzled about a dead uncle. I'd never known about him, before. But a few officials have confirmed he’s my responsibility as I'm the only living next of kin.

I love how this morning is overcast as I take today's walk. No threat of rain, there's a light grey overlapping the light purples of dawn. It's reflecting my waking mood.

I'm now quite familiar with this graveyard, though my uncle isn't buried here. I've been taking consecutive morning walks since I checked into my motel. I left my uncle's ashes in the linen cupboard of my room. I'm only a macabre tourist among the divine affections carved into stone. 

I discovered this romantic walk when I visited the church attached. My uncle had been part of the congregation here and bequeathed his entire will to it.

I didn't mind not inheriting anything from an uncle I never knew. But I'm troubled to realise there's nothing left of the estate to give. They got everything while the man had lived. 

I didn't want to jump to conclusions, so I visited the church to see what their way of life might be like. They're niche but mundane. The congregation are close-knit in a rural kind of way. So incapable of a sophisticated conspiracy that I stopped thinking my suspicions. Though, never did catch up with any of the priests. 

My meandering takes me past appealing cherubs on the graves of children. There had been one priest who had been calling at inconvenient hours. So there is someone I should try to meet. He kept calling to ask for reconsideration of my uncle's cremation. I suppose it's a religious thing. 

I can tell they're Christians but not the denomination they belong to. It's whichever sect forbids idols and asks anyone of importance to wear a regal deep blue.

I love their dark clothes. My first impression of their deep blue clothing made me think it’s a kind of divine black like the night sky or the deepest universe, as I imagine it to be. I've never seen anything like it and wonder if the town makes this cloth themselves. 

I've noticed the town is self-sustaining and wants-for-nothing in a humble way. It's quaint, but I understand why I only see the elderly and none of the very young. No doubt they've moved away for study or sustainable work. 

It’s full day now and I've reached the furthest corner of the graveyard. I'm about to turn back but a gust of wind dances the tops of the trees revealing something I haven't seen. I saw the top of a stone structure and it had a shape that made me guess it’s Cleopatra's Needle.

I thought I'd investigate since I didn't have anything else to do.

I strolled out of the main graveyard, through the copse of trees, and came to a very ornate mausoleum. There were two Cleopatra's needles flanking a gravel path. That path led through a wrought-iron edge to the classical style building. I don't recognise all the cultural sources of architecture. 

I stood facing the entrance trying to find an inscription for the body it's dedicated to. 

"Morning!" said a gentle man. I near jumped out of my skin.

"Sorry, did I startle you?" the man asked, his tone soft as his greeting. I think, he scared me on purpose. 

"A little. I thought I was the only one about," I replied. 

"I'm the gardener. Just checking things before I start my regular duties," he replied. I note the religious dark blue shirt at his neck under a navy blue woollen jumper. I doubted he did manual labour.

"I'm wondering who's buried here," I didn't say it like a question though I expected him to know. There was an awkward silence from the gardener. He smiled at me.

"I'd been preparing it for an Edgar Abraham," he said. Edgar Abraham is my uncle. And the way the gardener said the name made me think he knew that before he even spoke to me. 

"Is that so?" I didn't know what else to say, so I asked, "why would he be buried in here?"

"Entombed," the gardener corrected me, "strictly, it isn't a burial. And Mr Abraham had been very generous in life. So, he's rewarded."

"What do you mean?" I asked. 

"I mean, I placed his coffin in a fine spot. He was a very active community leader for the church, you know."

I believed him. His face was too open and his voice was too honest. And I believed him when he said he’d entombed my uncle into this strange mausoleum. Which means I’ve got someone else’s ashes. 

"Excuse me," I said rudely. 

I turned on my heel and power walked up through the graveyard directly to the church. I knew which side door was unlocked because one of the congregation had mentioned it. But I hesitated before storming through it. 

This is strange. But did I want to make a fuss over this? I did not know my uncle. I did not know his final wishes. I got him cremated because it was cheaper and not because it was respectful of his religious wishes.

But this also means they stole the body or swapped out the body, at least. I hoped I had the ashes of an animal and not a homeless person. 

As I'm standing there trying to think what I should say I start to hear singing inside the church. I didn't realise they'd have a mass today. But then the priests have to be here and I can talk to somebody about this mess. 

I walk through the door and like the voices singing their praises. I was on the side of their hall when the door swung shut behind me so loudly everyone stopped and turned to me. 

Every. Single. Ghoul, wraith and beast. And, oh look, uncle Edgar, too.