Author: phantasma@evildeadclowns.com

This is a story my grandmother told me on why we should always respect the dead.

Pablo was a young, fresh-faced man from Aguaprietha, a small town that exists right on the border of Mexico and the United States. Though he was not a rich man, Pablo was very happy. He was very handsome and cheerful, and he was soon to marry Maribel, the most beautiful woman in town. They loved eachother dearly.

About two weeks before the wedding, Pablo's aunt Eva died of a sunstroke. Pablo had loved his aunt dearly, and mourned for her, but his joy for his upcoming wedding to Maribel far outweighed his sadness upon her death.

The funeral service was held on a sunny day. Even in the cemetary the grass was green, the birds were chirping, squirrels were playing tag with eachother. As much as he tried, Pablo could not keep a small smile from forming on his lips each time he thought of Maribel, which was quite often. It was beyond his control. He was in love!

The graveside service seemed to last for hours, but finally, the priest offered a final blessing, the casket was lowered, and the service was over. Pablo was fidgety to get out of the cemetary, which was dreary despite its spring appearance, and he hurried down the trail to start his walk back to town. On passing an old tombstone, Pablo tripped and almost fell. Looking down, he saw that he had stepped on an old skull, blackened with age.

Instead of moving it out of harm's way and apologizing to the spirit, which was what would have been proper, Pablo leaned down and told the skull, in a taunting voice, "What were you doing in my way? No matter, why don't you come to my wedding in two weeks? Everyone else will be there!" And with that said, Pablo leaned back and gave the skull a quick kick, sending it flying into the old tombstone it had rested near.

"Goodbye!" Pablo called out loudly, and while some of the people who walked behind him grinned and shook their heads (Pablo was just a young man in love, after all), his grandmother looked towards the skull, and then back to him in fear. She thought for a few moments about his invitation, shook her head, and resumed walking.

After much anticipation, the day of the wedding finally arrived. Pablo was dressed in his best suit, and Maribel walking down the aisle was a vision of loveliness. He smiled and thought how no one could ever take the joy he felt today away.

Looking past Maribel, all the way to the back row, he noticed a small, stooped woman dressed in black, with a veil covering her entire face. He was a little angry; the nerve of someone dressed in mourning on his wedding day. Besides, there was something strange about the old woman. Though he couldn't see her face through the veil, he could swear her eyes were boring into his, and that brought upon him a wave of fear. Though he began to sweat and stutter, Pablo and his new wife finally made it through the ceremony. When he looked back one more time, the old woman was gone.

The reception ensued, with people dancing merrily to the upbeat music of a mariachi band, and Pablo quickly forgot the old woman and the feeling of dread that accompanied her. Soon came time for the bride's dance, and men lined up to dance with the beautiful Maribel, each one ready with a gift of money to pin upon her dress. Pablo watched her laughing face as she was spun around the room by various partners when suddenly a cold, bony hand grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around.

It was his grandmother.

"Pablo, I must speak with you," she said, pointing to two chairs at the far end of the room.

They sat, and Pablo turned to the old woman expectantly. When, after several moments, his grandmother said nothing, he asked her, "Abuela, what is this about?"

"It is...." she said slowly, trembling and pointing across the room and behind the dance floor, "it is about her!"

Pablo turned his head, straining to see who the offensive person might be, and his eyes once again encountered the woman in black, seated alone in a dark corner.

His mouth worked silently for several moments, trying to form the words, and finally, "Wh-who is she?"

"Ay, mijo, I have told you so many times, but you never listen, you are too young and stubborn. You know who she is, you asked her to come."

And he did know. He did.

"What...what does she want from me?" he asked, nervously eyeing the woman, a fresh wave of fear rolling over him, threatening to drown him. His collar was too tight, the room was too hot. It was a struggle for him to breathe.

"That, I do not know. Only that you owe her. Whatever she asks of you, you must give to her, or she will never leave your side. You will go with your wife to your honeymoon, and she will be there. You will wake up screaming in the middle of the night, and she will be there. She will take from you all that she can, until you repay your debt. You must go and speak with her, now."

With trembling legs Pablo stood up face what he must. He could never let this wretch of an old hag bother his sweet Maribel.

Pablo noticed a stench that made him gag as he came closer to the old woman. Pulling his handkerchief over his mouth and nose, Pablo sidled up next to the old woman.

"So," he said calmly, a million times more calm than he felt in his racing heart, "what do you want from me, old woman? You have no family or friends here, state your business and let us be done with it."

Brave. Very brave considering the chill that was growing inside.

She slowly turned her head towards him, and a fresh tide of stench rolled out at Pablo, making him gag. The jagged sound of breathing rose from somewhere in the woman's throat, and then--

"No tienes respetar por los muertos!" she hissed, her voice barely audible, but to Pablo's ears it sounded like the cry of a hawk, the scream of a newborn child, the flood of the ocean.

She continued, "You had the right, the right to ignore me, the right to forget me, but never, never the right to disrespect me. You had been warned! And now. Now, you owe me something, and I am ready, ready to ask for it," She nodded, the veil bobbing, up and down, up and down.

The lights flashed in Carlos' face, and the music seemed fast and wild. Dancing couples turned around and around, trying to keep up, like a carousel gone out of control, and the constant bobbing of the small brittle head, up and down, up and down. He could all but see the blackened skull grinning from beneath the veil, and squinted his eyes shut tightly to prevent just that.

He had to turn away from them, and rest his head on the wall, covering his mouth tightly with his handkerchief, afraid to let go. Afraid of the scream that was stuck inside him, of the nausea that tempted his stomach.

Finally, he pulled himself together enough to ask, "What do you want from me? I am sorry, so sorry! Please tell me, what can I do for you?"

"All I ask," she said slowly, "is for you to take me home. This is all that I want from you, but you must do so soon, before I change my mind."

"Okay, I'll be back!" Pablo called out, already halfway across the room, running towards his grandmother.

He excitedly told her of what the woman said, and that giving her a ride home was not such a bad punishment after all.

His grandmother shook her head slowly and frowned, calling to Rita, Pablo's older sister.

Rita walked over, smiling, holding her youngest daughter Josala, who was less than two years old, in her arms.

"Rita, let Pablo take Josala with him for a ride, your arm could use the rest," his grandmother said, eyeing with a smile Rita's four other children. Rita looked slightly confused, but handed the child over, trusting her grandmother and brother.

As Rita walked away, Pablo's grandmother leaned in closely and said, "Go with this child and take the woman home. No matter what she does, or what she may tell you, do not let go of little Josala. I will think of something to tell Maribel. Go. Ahora!"

The grandmother watched as Pablo carried tiny Josala across the room with him and left with the woman clad in black. She was satisfied. She had done all that she could.

Pablo drove along the bumpy road in silence, holding the baby Josala tightly against his chest. He had no idea what his granmother could be thinking! How could he protect this tiny baby when he didn't even know how to protect himself from this old woman?

The woman was quiet, only pointing occasionally to lead Pablo in the direction of her "home." He already knew where they were going. He had been there before. As little as two weeks ago, in fact.

As he rounded a corner and the gates to the cemetary became visible, the old woman told him to slow, and he did. He came to a stop at the front of the gates, and opened his door to come around and help the old woman out. Courtesy.

He pulled on her handle and held her gloved hand while she got out, all the time holding little Josala in his other arm. She paused, and he closed his eyes, expecting the worst.

Finally, she began to speak again.

"So," she said slowly, hoarsely, "you have fooled me then. My fate is your fate, and I could pull you into the cold earth with me, and maggots could have your eyes and worms your intestines."

Pablo was shaking by this time, ready to cry for mercy from anyone who might hear him.

"All but for this innocent," she said, holding her gloved hand to little Josala's cheek. "You were lucky this time, knowing that I cannot take an innocent to the grave with me. Now you have paid your debt to me, by taking me home as I have asked, but you have cheated me in the process. Hasta que encontramos otra vez....."

She turned, and threw back her veil, reveiling the hideous skull Pablo had seen one time, one too many times, before.

And with that, she walked away. Slowly, she opened the gates to the cemetary, and disappeared in the darkness.

Pablo never saw the old woman again, never truly saw her that is, but she was always somewhere in his mind, haunting him, and from that point on he looked over his shoulder, always expecting to find her in a dark corner, just behind him.

This is why we respect the dead.