13 Mink Street

Chapter 8: The Coming

Dawn crept in, pale and uncertain.

“Who is it? Who the hell is it!” Aunt Mary’s shrill voice rose from the cellar, sharp and furious. A moment later, her footsteps pounded up the ramp. She stopped when she saw Tiz waiting above her, shrouded in his priestly robe.

“Father, someone tampered with Mr. Mossan’s body down there! I don’t know which damned person it was...”

“I performed a rite for him.”

“Oh. I see. Praise your mercy. May Mr. Mossan rest in peace.” Aunt Mary immediately lowered her head in prayer.

She quickly returned to her workshop and quietly started retouching Mr. Mossan’s face. Such things had happened before; bodies brought in would sometimes be disturbed, due to her father-in-law performing a rite, undoing her cosmetics. Yet, because it was the old man causing her more work, Aunt Mary never dared object. Not even a little.

The previous night, before going upstairs, Karon had carefully placed Mr. Mossan back on the gurney, cleaned his own fresh blood from the floor, and then straightened the corpse’s clothing. Still, Karon lacked the skill needed to repair the face and makeup. After washing up for a second time, he had simply gone to bed.

When he woke, his cousin Lent was already absent from the room. Karon sat up and pressed a hand to his brow. He had to admit that his new body was striking. Even by his own standards, that was hard to deny. Still, it was so frail.

In his last life, even with cigarettes and late nights, he had kept in shape by running and working out. He had always enjoyed robust health.

“I’ll have to fit in some exercise,” he told himself.

He washed up, went downstairs, and found milk and bread to set on the table. He poured himself a glass of milk and dipped in the bread. After eating a couple of slices as best he could, he drank the dregs from the cup, fixed his collar and cuffs, and then headed down to the first floor.

There, the gramophone played Departed Ones, a solemn piano piece which was one of the most common choices for mourning halls across Roja City and nearby towns. Karon paused beside the gramophone. The hall was prepared, each detail steeping it in gravity and respect.

Ron and Paul were hefting a coffin onto the raised platform. Mina and Clarice lit candles while Lent mopped the floor, erasing every footprint. Aunt Mary sat slumped in a corner with a glass of water, looking exhausted. Karon understood. Her tasks from yesterday had spilled into the morning, leaving her worn out.

Aunt Winnie moved about with her ledger, quietly checking the house’s supplies. Every adornment in the room, save for the fresh flowers, was an old part of the household’s staging. Everything was reused, as replacing any loss cost them dearly.

Tiz stood by the platform, overseeing Ron and Paul as they set the coffin in place. Though Karon had been downstairs for a while, Tiz hadn’t glanced his way even once. The entire family moved with purpose. Only Karon had slept late and been left alone. Perhaps that, too, was a unique sort of privilege.

“Please, you are welcome. Thank you for coming so early.”

“No trouble at all, just doing my job, haha.”

At the door, Uncle Mason greeted a balding, middle-aged man. He was shabbily dressed, yet carried himself with an air of self-importance.

Karon searched his memory. The man was Mr. Malmer, deputy director of some district office. Aunt Mary, as Karon remembered, could not stand the man; greedy, coarse, and obsessed with his title. Everyone in that office, it seemed, was a “deputy director.” Most of them had bought or inherited their posts, which left Mr. Malmer alone to do the work. Even so, he was little more than an errand boy.

Mr. Malmer spotted Karon and reached out, as though to ruffle the young man’s hair, but Karon stepped back, avoiding the touch.

“I heard you were sick last time,” Mr. Malmer commented. “Feeling better now?”

“Yes, thank you for asking.”

“Good, good.”

Mr. Malmer then lost interest and went over to the platform. He then lifted an old Wofford camera and took a photograph of the body: Jeff. That done, he stepped down.

Tiz, in his priest’s garb, bowed his head beside the coffin and murmured a prayer.

Click. Mr. Malmer took another picture. Finally, the man retreated to the entrance. After finding a spot with brighter light, he turned the camera upon the room as a whole.

Karon saw Aunt Mary stand, and everyone, even his younger cousins, lowered their heads in a formal mourning position.

“Ready, everyone, take your places...”

Karon straightened while bowing his head.

Click.

“That’s all,” Mr. Malmer announced, lowering his camera.

Uncle Mason handed the man a black notebook, which was accepted with a silent nod.

Inside, as always, was a tip. That was how such deaths worked. On paper, the funds from the city for charity cases were generous, but by the time the financial help reached its intended destination, each step of the process had drained things.

Today’s tip was larger than usual, given that Mr. Malmer had woken up early.

He took the three requisite photographs for the record, and then moved on without delay. Camera and notebook in hand, he left, Uncle Mason seeing him out so that the family minded their manners. Even if they wished to offer Mr. Malmer a ride back to his office, it wasn’t possible. The Immers family didn’t own a private car, only the hearse.

Next, Paul and Ron worked together to lift Jeff’s body out of the coffin and settle him back onto a stretcher that they wheeled down to the basement. They then brought Mr. Mossan up and placed him in the coffin. Aunt Mary stepped forward to arrange the body, settling the limbs and positioning Mr. Mossan just so to make him appear at ease, as though truly at rest.

Nothing else in the room changed. The decorations remained as they were. This was the turnover, a quick transition from one client to the next. Even though Mr. Mossan’s children were tightfisted in most things, a few of their relatives lived far away, which had led to them reserving the space for an entire day, rather than just half. If it was possible to book by the hour, they might have chosen that.

So, in the end, Jeff had simply tagged along for a ride. His ritual was done, so he now waited in the basement, while Mr. Mossan took his place.

Paul and Ron set out new mourning signs in the parlor and at the front gate, marking the day for Mr. Mossan.

Karon, unoccupied on the first floor, wandered out to the flower beds and picked a handful of patchouli leaves. He then climbed back to the second floor and into the kitchen. Lunch was his responsibility today. Sometimes, mourning halls would prepare simple meals for visiting relatives and friends, though only if the family paid for such a service. The Immers family ate whatever was made, sharing a staff lunch of sorts.

But this time, Mr. Mossan’s children hadn’t even ordered the cheapest refreshments, not even lemonade. The Immers needed to manage on their own.

Karon felt at home in the kitchen. He’d often cooked for himself and took some pleasure in it. He was no chef, but was comfortable enough at the level of an experienced home cook.

He washed the patchouli leaves, set a few in a cup, and poured hot water over them.

He proceeded to gather his ingredients. He had no plan for anything extravagant, but the pantry was well stocked. The refrigerator, despite being new, struck Karon as oddly old-fashioned.

As he started his preparations, sounds drifted up from below. The first guests for Mr. Mossan’s wake had arrived.

Mina and Clarice went upstairs, the two girls pausing in the kitchen to watch Karon knead dough. Usually, if work was underway, the family would run tea and water for the guests, but there was none of that today.

“Big Brother, when did you learn to cook?” Mina asked.

“Yeah, and what’s that stick for?” Clarice craned her neck to peer over.

“Just wait and see,” Karon replied with a smile. The rolling pin he was using was just a table leg pried from his nightstand. He could have found better tools in the basement, but dared not touch them, nor even clean them.

He poured oil into the pan and fried the spring rolls until their wrappers turned crisp and golden. They were filled with chives and a bit of minced meat.

Next, he made eggplant patties, pressing a patchouli leaf to the center of each. The leaves would crisp as they fried, adding a gentle bitterness that would cut through the oil.

Since his family was large, and Ron and Paul would also be joining for lunch, Karon prepared two platters each of the spring rolls and the patties.

He then moved on to the main dish, sautéing as he thought about the next trip to the market. There was plentiful storage available, but the family’s spice supply was beginning to run thin.

He tossed in marinated chicken, covered the pot, and let it stew. He intended to serve braised chicken.

He lifted his cup, tasted the patchouli tea, and let out a long breath. Karon liked it here. Back home, he had once craved a simple, familiar dish called “tea-soaked rice.” It was prepared with the same exact tea, poured over leftover rice and pickled vegetables; humble and addictive, if a little rough on the stomach.

He made a mental note to get more pickles. There were jars in the basement, but he’d rather buy something fresh.

When the chicken was nearly ready, he added cubes of potato, sliced mushrooms, and green peppers before reducing the sauce from a high heat. He set another pot to boil, starting a simple tomato-egg soup.

By the time the soup was ready, the chicken would also be done.

"Mina, Clarice, come help bring the dishes."

"Okay, Karon."

"Mmm, it smells amazing!"

Mina and Clarice entered, and then carried the platters to the table. Once everything was put out, Clarice ran to call the others for lunch. She returned quickly, promptly grabbing a spring roll which she stuffed into her mouth.

There was no sense of rudeness. In their family, everyone worked through mealtimes. Whoever was free would eat, and those who finished early would go to attend to the guests downstairs.

"It's so good!" Clarice said, speaking around a mouthful of food.

"Clarice, use a fork," Mina chided, frowning.

"It's fine, just use your hands," Karon interjected. He was eating with his hands as well, dipping his spring roll in a bowl of fruit vinegar.

Karon had found that the local fruit vinegar was almost like white vinegar; sharp and thin, and nothing like the black vinegar he missed from before. Mina ladled a bit of soup for him. He usually liked to stir a splash of vinegar into his tomato-egg soup, but the vinegar available gave him pause.

He sipped his soup slowly, drawing in a careful breath. He felt the sting of tears threaten.

It wasn’t hunger that moved him. After so much that had happened, this small taste of "home" granted a strange comfort to his heart. No sentimental "chicken soup" saying could ever compare to the relief of genuine hot broth going down.

Mina and Clarice ate with enthusiasm, dipping their rolls and patties into the braised chicken sauce. Karon waved Mina off when she tried to serve him some chicken; he hadn’t cooked rice, and braised chicken without rice felt like an empty, unfinished dish.

"Karon, will you teach me to cook someday?" Mina asked.

"Me too!" Clarice looked up at him, her eyes shining.

"Alright, sure."

Just then, Aunt Mary arrived, surprise in her voice. "Karon, did you make this?"

"Yes, Aunt. Please try some."

She took a spring roll and bit into it. "Delicious. When did you learn to cook?"

"From a book."

"Really? Impressive. Maybe we could add that to our services; meals for the guests."

"Alright," Karon agreed, polite and reserved. This was only the beginning; back when money had been no obstacle, he had traveled for flavors, rather than photographs.

He had a particular knack for Sichuan dishes.

Aunt Mary sat, eating between complaints. "Not many mourners today, and even fewer with cash. One just brought flowers, and I swear they snipped them from Mrs. Mark’s yard."

Customs grew of necessity. Weddings and funerals relied on community support, which was why cash gifts made sense. In Karon’s memories, wedding guests rarely gave money, but gifts instead. Still, people preferred cash.

"Will we even break even?" Karon asked.

"That’s why we booked the afternoon, too, for the out-of-town relatives; some of them are generous. Less money also means less chaos."

Everyone who came up for lunch praised Karon’s cooking. The spring rolls vanished first. During the afternoon, Ron and Paul sneaked back to finish the cold leftovers.

When Tiz came up for lunch, Karon stood beside him.

"Not bad."

"I can make more, but I’ll need more spices," Karon said.

"Ask your aunt for the money."

"Yes, Grandpa."

"If you keep cooking, we’ll raise your allowance, but there's no need to do this every day," Tiz said.

"I enjoy it," Karon answered. Still, an increase in allowance would be welcome.

Down the hall, Pu’er the cat sprawled across a sofa, eyeing the table with an unreadable feline gaze.

Meow... A demonkin that speaks?

Meow... A demonkin that cooks?

Meow... meow... Am I losing my mind, or is the demonkin?

Around three, the last of the mourners arrived from out of town: four elderly men in suits, army medals pinned to their coats. Karon noticed the fat condolence envelopes they handed over.

The four gathered around Mr. Mossan to pay their respects. One of them, Dingell, asked Aunt Mary about the burial. She replied politely, assuring him all matters were settled.

While she scoffed at Mr. Mossan’s children’s stinginess behind closed doors, she would never do so openly. Mr. Mossan’s children hurried forward to see the old men out, the conversations quick and quiet.

Standing by the door and filling a bucket, Karon heard the lack of a graveside burial explained away. The weather was blamed, and the children said that Mr. Mossan had wished not to trouble anyone, asking for simplicity in the end.

Mr. Dingell seemed to sense there was more left unsaid, but didn’t press the matter. As he stepped out, Karon watched him glance back at the parlor, let out a soft sigh, and wipe an eye.

The mourning was over.

Under Aunt Winnie’s direction, everyone began tidying the parlor.

Just then, Paul’s neighbor arrived with word that Paul’s mother had gone to a clinic for a checkup. Still flushed with pride over his recent raise, Paul asked after her, though shame held him back from leaving unless the matter proved truly urgent. There was still work to finish. The burials would not be today, yet both bodies needed to be taken to the Hughes Crematorium at the edge of town.

Aunt Mary looked up from the sofa. “Go see your mother at the clinic, and give her my regards.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Thank you, truly.” Paul gave a quick bow, and then hurried after his neighbor.

After he left, Uncle Mason grimaced, rubbing his lower back while muttering, “This still hurts.”

Aunt Mary shot him a glare. “Always looking for an excuse to slack off!”

Usually Mason kept clear of the bodies. Given that he shunned any kind of manual labor, no one was surprised. Yet this time, Karon believed that his uncle was genuinely injured. Uncle Mason had said that he’d fallen, but Karon suspected someone had beaten him.

“Uncle, let me go with you,” Karon offered.

It was more than diligence. There were some things that couldn’t be hidden. A certain silent understanding had formed in their house. For Karon, staying safe now meant cleanly blending into the existing family. Family. That was Tiz’s only soft spot. Karon knew he was clinging to that weakness, but it was only about survival, not scheming.

Aunt Mary had intended to keep Karon away from heavy work. She still worried about his health after what had happened in her workshop, but there simply weren’t enough hands today.

Tradition dictated that only close kin should accompany bodies to the crematorium. Women and anyone under the age of fifteen were kept away.

Mason’s face lit up as Karon stepped forward. He clapped a warm hand on Karon’s shoulder. “Our Karon’s really grown. Ron! Come, let’s get our ‘guests’ moving.”

Karon and Ron brought Jeff up from the basement, where he had lain alone all day. They lifted him into the battered shell of a hearse. They then did the same for Mr. Mossan. Ron, worried about Karon’s strength, lifted the heavier side—the shoulders—leaving Karon with just the legs.

Once the loading was done, Mason and Aunt Mary said their goodbyes. Mason slipped behind the wheel. The engine struggled to catch, but then the car pulled away, moving through the row of narrow townhouses that lined Mink Street.

As they drove along, Karon noticed that Mason eased off of the gas to allow the hearse to crawl by one particular house. Across the street, a woman sat at a tea table inside a second-story window sill, a glass of water and a book beside her. She leaned back, half of her body hidden by the partially closed curtains. Still, her long legs stretched out into the afternoon light. A red high heel dangled from one foot, swinging slow circles in the gathering dusk. Something uneasy hid beneath the surface of the scene.

Karon felt a wave of dizziness, and a certain gloom settled over him. After his dream, he doubted he’d feel anything but discomfort at the sight of red high heels for a long while.

He turned to Mason, only to discover that his uncle was looking up at the same window. There was a light in Mason’s eyes Karon didn’t know how to interpret. Still, Karon’s memories held firm: for all of Mason’s idleness, he had always been decent to his family, and he loved Aunt Mary deeply. The idea of him playing with someone else so close by seemed absurd. Because of that, Karon asked gently, “First love?”

“What? Nonsense! What are you talking about?” Mason’s foot pressed back onto the gas. He stole one last look at the woman, who had moved on to watering her flowers, her apron pulled tight.

After Mink Street fell behind them, Mason glanced at Karon, a bit sheepish. “There’s really nothing between us.”

“I know, Uncle.”

“I only recently found out that she and her husband moved here. We waved to each other from across the yard, nothing more. Karon, you know me, I care about my family.” He fell silent a moment, then added, “I already ruined my family once. If I wronged them then, how could I ever betray your aunt again? The other day, her family ran into trouble and she asked me for help, so I did. That’s all. They’re moving out soon, anyway.”

As Mason shifted in his seat, his eyes slid back to the space where the two bodies lay. Karon caught the meaning.

So, does this mean that Grandpa beat Mason because of Jeff?

That was the only reasonable explanation. Mr. Mossan had arrived from a nursing home, but Jeff had frozen to death out on the street.

As he thought back, Karon remembered the strange dream he’d had while in Jeff’s presence. He recalled the way Tiz had gone down to the basement, and how, just after that, Aunt Mary had called Mason to return home.

Karon rubbed his brow. Is that really how Jeff died?

“Karon...”

“Don’t worry, Uncle. I won’t say anything to Aunt Mary.”

Karon understood what Mason needed: silence, a promise to keep quiet. Mason had only slowed while rolling down the street in the hope of picking up a bit more gossip.

Mason let out a breath and gave a short laugh.

...

Second floor, bedroom. A single leg rose and, with a hook of the high heel, drew the curtain closed.

The red shoes moved across the floor, stopping at the door. As “she” reached for the knob, the radio beside her erupted with static. There was a hiss, then a fit of coughing, sharp and ragged from deep within the machine. “Where do you think you are going!”

The host’s voice was thin and weak, as if ravaged by illness or pain.

After a moment, the voice from the radio continued, “Oh, you sensed him? He’s dead, you know. You frightened him to death. Do you realize the trouble you’ve caused me? The Church of Order’s Inquisitor has already come to pay me a visit.

“You think an Inquisitor from the Church of Order means anything to me?

“Others might not mean anything at all, but he’s no ordinary Inquisitor. In fact, I can’t imagine why he’s still a local. He’s the one who left me with these wounds. I can’t say if I could win if we have another fight.

“I consider these injuries the payment for your old favor. From now on, keep yourself in check. Besides, something is about to happen in Roja City, I sense a few unusual presences hovering on its outskirts.

“Him, him, him, why do you still care? He was just a foolish thief. You scared him so badly that he died! He’s already on his way to the fire. What more do you want?

“What?

“You mean... he isn’t the one?

“You mean, the one who entered our minds last time?

“Then that’s all the more reason to stay away from him. He’s no ordinary man. Honestly, I suspect he’s a high priest using a holy relic to explore the spirit world, and we were dragged in by accident. Later, I realized just how powerful he was. At first, I thought you’d lured in another clumsy thief, but then you told me that he appeared silently out of nowhere. No, it was more than that; it was a descent.

“You ask why he would do such a thing? To pry, to watch. Such are his amusements, rather than his true goal.

“And that hymn he chanted... it left my soul trembling.”