Once Upon a Blu Moon Pt 2

Once Upon a Blu Moon Pt 2

 

by

 

Macie Snow

10:13 p.m.

 

                I rock back and forth slowly as the grim reaper covers my sister with a black cloth. He wasn’t really the grim reaper, as I had discovered after throwing a rock at his head. I close my eyes and replay the scene that had occurred not fifteen minutes ago.

 

                Screaming at the top of my lungs, I reach down and grab the first thing I can find, a rock. It fits nicely into my hand; at least it does in the brief moments I hold it.

                I throw the rock at the grim reaper, putting all my fear and panic into the throw. The cloaked head moves to the side, barely dodging the rock in time.

                “Whoa, calm down,” it says as I fling myself over Clair’s immobile form.

                “You can’t have her!” I scream, cradling her head in my arms while leaning over her, shielding her from the view of the grim reaper. “I won’t let you take her!”

                The grim reaper pulls back his hood, revealing a human face, the top half covered by a skull mask. He quickly pulls the mask off, revealing a pale face.

                I stare up at him in horror, my panic ridden mind no longer seeing the grim reaper, but a ghost.

                “She will never join you!” I scream, as new tears stream down my cheeks. “Leave us be you vile apparition!”

                The ghost frowns. “Apparition?” he steps forward and I start screaming again. He steps back and I reluctantly stop screaming.

                He lifts his hand to his face slowly, frowning. When he pulls his hand away he looks down at his fingers and a look of realization crosses his face.

                “Relax, it’s just make-up, see?” he says, holding his hand out. I vaguely see that white now stains his fingers and somewhere in the back of my mind I notice the traits that prove him undeniably human. The footsteps leading up to where he now stands, mud splattering up his pants. The fact that he shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot and the skeleton mask that he now held in his left hand.

                I swallow a thick lump in my throat and reluctantly sit up.

                “I’m going to help you, okay?” He says softly, slowly stepping forward.

                I nod.

                “Why don’t you go ahead and sit over there for now? Give you some time to cool off,” he says, removing his cape. “I can take care of her.”

                I walk away in a daze and plop down on the ground a few feet away and start rocking back and forth, trying to convince myself that this was all a horrible nightmare.

 

 

                “This was your sister I assume?” The man asks, walking over to crouch next to me.

                “Yes,” I say the single syllable breaking. “She is.”

                “What are you going to do?”

I shake my head sadly. “I don’t know.”

“You could tell the police.”

“And cause a panic? Besides, I didn’t get a good look at his face, and if I told the police, he would just go and hide and no one would ever find him.”

“He could kill someone else.”

I drop my head into my hands. “I know.”

“What are you going to do about your sister?”

A sob escapes my throat. “I don’t know.”

“Tell your parents?”

I shake my head. “How could I tell them that I sat here and watched her be murdered? How could I tell them she was murdered? I can’t cause them that pain.”

“Perhaps you could tell them she just went missing.”

I frown “Why would I do that?”

“Well,” he pauses, as if contemplating his answer. “They would never have to know about her murder. They would be frantic for a few years, obviously, but there would be hope. If they knew she was murdered, they would be devastated, and would never be able to let her rest in peace.”

“She was murdered, I don’t think you get to rest in peace if you’re murdered,” I mutter. “But even if I did that, how would they not find out about her?”

“You could, uhm, dispose of her corpse.”

A strangled gasp escapes my throat and I stare at him in disbelief. “What?”

“Well, how else will your parents be able to go on? If you just leave her here then someone will find her. You have to-”

“Bury her,” I say, comprehension coming slowly.

He shakes his head. “No, someone would find her. You can’t throw her in the river either.”

I try to block the image of my sister floating down the river from my mind, but am unsuccessful.

“So what do I do then?” I ask, trying to erase the horrible image from my mind.

“Well I would think it obvious,” he says, staring at me. I dimly realize that he has grey eyes, a rare color in such a small town. “We have to burn her body.”

I grow pale at the thought of having to watch Clair burn.

“It would be no different than her being cremated,” The man assures me.

I shake my head slowly. There were so many ways this night could go. None of them good. Reluctantly, I find myself agreeing.

“Fine. We will burn her.” I whisper, dread gripping my heart.

The man pulls a lighter out of the waistband of his pants.

“Let’s get to work then.”

 

11:23 p.m.

                 I stare at the flames licking at Clair’s face. We had left her on the stone table. It was granite, the mysterious man had said, so it wouldn’t leave scorch marks. What was left could be scrubbed off.

                “We need to stay with her the whole time,” the man says, walking over to stand next to me. “So that we can gather her ashes and clean up the mess from the fire.”

                I nod numbly.

                “You sure you don’t want to sit? It’s going to be a while.”

                I shake my head.

                The man shrugs and plops down next to me, and wraps himself up in his cape, which he had removed from Clair shortly before setting her ablaze. I shudder at the thought of wearing the garment that had soaked up her blood.

                “What’s your name?” I whisper, staring into the flames, trying to remember the bright, vibrant child that Clair had been mere hours earlier.

                The man hesitates before answering. “Ron.”

                I say nothing, but file it away for later use.

                We sit in silence for a few moments before Ron speaks.

                “And… yours?” he asks.

                “Luna.” I answer.

                Neither of us says another word as we stare into my sister’s funeral flames.

 

2:07 a.m.

 

I breathe out slowly as Ron stomps out the last dying embers of Clair’s impromptu crematorium. Neither of us had spoken in the last two and a half hours, and I was extremely grateful to him for not trying to make conversation.

“I want to scatter her ashes in the river,” I say, stepping forward.

Ron shrugs his shoulders. “Sure. Though you realize it won’t be all her ashes right?”

I nod.

He pulls out a Ziploc bag and together we begin gathering her ashes.

 

2:34 a.m.

 

                I shake the plastic bag, dumping its contents into the river. Clair had always lover the river. She would sneak out to swim in it while Zack would stomp around in the mud on the riverbank. During the summer mom and dad could hardly ever get her out of the water. The river seemed like the best resting place for her, everything considered.

                I hand the bag back to Ron, due to my lack of pockets.

                “Now what?” he asks, shoving it into his pants pocket.

                “I find the bastard that did this,” I snarl.

                “And when you find him?”

                “I make him pay.”

                “And how exactly will you go about doing that?” Ron asks a distasteful tone in his voice.

                “I don’t know,” I sigh. “Give him a piece of my mind, maybe take a few swings at him, and then turn him into the police I guess.”

                “For what?” Ron asks, the distasteful tone gone.

                “Murder of course.”

                “We just destroyed the evidence.”

                “Crap!” I scream. I kick angrily at the river bank, my mind racing. “What about the knife?”

                “He’s probably already cleaned it, used bleach to get rid of any traces of DNA, and hidden it.”

                “Well there’s gotta be something!” I cry. “I mean, he drank her blood!”

                “Maybe that’s it.” Ron says softly.

                I pause. Maybe he was right. After all, if police could find alcohol in your bloodstream, or tell if you’d taken drugs two weeks ago, surely they could tell that he had drunk blood. “I think that just may be it,” I grin. “We’ll find him, apprehend him, then have them search for the different blood in his bloodstream or pump his stomach or something.”

                “Great.” Ron says.

                “But I have no idea where to find him,” I moan.

                “I may be able to help with that,” Ron grins, turning to me.