The Undertaker's Tale

By Norman Tyrrell

Eli Grey discovered as a young boy that he could communicate with the dead. His ability led him to his profession as an undertaker. Spirits remain for several reasons. Either they have a mission that they did not complete,or they left someone behind that needs guidance, or they need to right a wrong done. These are the tales of Eli Grey in his many encounters. The tales I share are entertaining, not scary, so feel free to let your young teens read them. Many young people I have shared them with found them to be captivating. The tales take place in a small town in Northwest Florida. And although many towns are named that do exist the tales themselves are purely fictional.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Norman Tyrrell
• Release date: Apr 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370973774

Norman Tyrrell

I was born in upstate N.Y. in a town called Ticonderoga. At the age of 5 we moved to Crestview, Florida (Oh my! You do not think perhaps the undertaker, Eli Grey was from a small country town like this do you?) I started writing poetry in my elementary years and in my senior year I was even writing articles and doing cartoons for the school newspaper. About 10 years ago I began a project to write a novel. I called it The Kings Request; I asked my son to read what I had written (he was very honest and began asking questions. Hey Dad, Why did they make him King? For each question I was surprised I had an answer. I thought perhaps I needed an introduction. After 45 pages and more questions, I came to the realization that there was a lot more to this story than I had first thought. I am now working on The Kingdom of Shadowcast and the second book is entitled The Kings Request and the third is called Mirror Image. Lord, give me enough time on this earth to be able to finish this work (I am 66) and answer all of my sons questions.

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THE UNDERTAKER'S TALE

Norman Tyrrell

Copyright © 2017 Norman Tyrrell

All rights reserved.

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Table of Contents

Chapter One: Halloween Dare

Chapter Two: Sleight of Hands

Chapter Three: Joshua's Necklace

Chapter Four: A Question of Honor

Chapter Five: The Legend of the Tinker's Bell

Chapter Six: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Chapter Seven: The Long Journey Home

Bonus Material

Ghost Writer

Jamie Lynn

The Cold Wooden Bench

CHAPTER ONE

Halloween Dare

I remember that Halloween as if it were yesterday. The year, if I remember, was 1964. I was 16 going on 21. My best friend back then was a kid named Jim, tall, skinny, and country as they come. His jeans never fit him right since his legs were too long. The pants legs ended above the ankle. Heck, boys do not much care about that sort of stuff, but I figured I would mention it anyway.

I remember the knock on the door that day. I was upstairs in my room. My mother answered the door and after short pleasantries, Jim bound up the stairs. It was Saturday morning. I remember looking at the clock and thinking it was early for him. Jim usually liked to sleep later on Saturday.

Without so much as a Morning, he rushed in and pulled the Superman® comic I was reading out of my hand. After a quick glance at the cover, he tossed it on the bed.

You know what today is? he asked in a rather spooky tone.

I did not need a reminder.

Halloween, my favorite day of the year, Jim said with a sly smile.

Now, I must tell ya, Jim and me did some daring things on Halloween. Kids do just about anything when they are dared and Jim was the best darer ever. He got Paul Moody to eat a worm on a dare and Peggy Sue to kiss him. One Halloween he dared me to walk from one end of Harper’s Cemetery to the other after dark. My heart was beating so hard I thought it would jump right out of my chest, and my legs got rubbery, but I did it. Jim, Taylor and Bobby were all witnesses.

Boys, come down to breakfast, Mom’s voice broke the silence.

Jim and I sat to double helpings of scrambled eggs, bacon and grits.

So what you boys gonna wear for Halloween? Mom asked.

Now Jim and I had used the excuse of trick or treatin to get us out of the house for the night, but to be honest we had stopped bumming’ candy years before. I forgot all about the costume.

I got an old bed sheet, and I cut a few holes in it, so I can see out, Jim volunteered.

That’s nice, Jim and what about you?

There I was on the spot. As Jim sat with his fake angelic smile looking at me and my Mom leaning forward waiting on an answer, I tried to come up with an answer.

I was going to ask for a sheet too, but I forgot, I finally blurted out.

I think I can find one for you, Mom said standing and began clearing the dishes.

Jim you wash and you dry, Mom said turning to me.

After doing the dishes, Jim and I headed out. The clay road leading from the house was looking like a washboard, and our bikes let us feel every bump, but I did not care. Although the sun shone in a bluebird sky, it was a bit chilly for a northwest Florida morning. My aunt in Georgia had called the night before and said they got snow. We rarely even got a frost much less snow, but that chill went right through me today. I had left my windbreaker, and I asked Jim to wait for me to get it. When I went back into the house, Mom sat at the sewing machine with one of the white bed sheets. She had cut two holes in the center, and she stitched them. She always was a stickler for detail. I ran upstairs, got my jacket, and hurried back down. Unfortunately, I was not fast enough. Mom stood near the foot of the stairs, sheet in hand and requested I try it on. Figurin’ it would take longer to argue about it than do it I chose the latter. Mom put it over my head and surprise, surprise the eye holes were just right.

Thanks, Mom, I said throwing the sheet on the stuffed chair. Putting on my jacket, I headed back out.

Jim sat with his elbow planted on the handlebar and his head resting on his palm as if he had been there all day.

Your Mom make you take a bath and redress you? he chided.

I just glared at him and let it slide.

Jim just laughed.

Normally, we bike all over town just for fun. Side by side, we just pedaled with no purpose, rhyme, or reason, but today Jim seemed to have something on his mind. Its best, when Jim is thinking, to let it play out so I followed along not saying a word or questioning him.

The clay road wound around for about half a mile to the main road. The stop sign at the end still lay doubled over where somebody had hit it. There were no bike paths in those days. We pedaled against the traffic on the left side. As Jim said, I’d rather see what’s gonna hit us than waking up in the hospital wondering what hit us. Luckily, on the mile and a half to town, we didn't see many cars and trucks on the road, and the few we did see gave us space by moving over to the other lane a bit. I will say this for the town I lived by; the folks, for the most part, were courteous.

The first sign of town was the First Baptist Church on the left. Reverend Strickland stood out front putting letters on his new billboard pronouncing the sermon he intended to deliver Sunday. The finished sign read, Don’t Go Looking for The Devil. He Will Find You.

Jim and I stopped our bikes and read it. Jim let out a maniacal laugh that sent chills up my spine. He was never much of a churchgoer. Mom always took me on Sunday. She said, You need to have a good foundation, and though I did not understand at the time what she meant, I can say I do now.

Mom gave me my allowance for chores I did around the house. I took out the garbage cleaned my room and did the dishes. It was not much by today’s standards but for a boy it was more than enough.

Back on the road, the next place we passed was the hardware store. Business must have been a bit slow because old man Rollins was outside cleaning the large picture window that showed all the newest tools and stuff he had for sale. The small stepladder creaked and swayed from his weight. He was a big man, broad at the shoulders and heavy in the belly. His grey hair was a bit scraggly, and his mustache and beard seemed too large for his face. He wore his spectacles down low on the bridge of his nose, and you always felt when he looked at you as if he was studying you. He called us over and Jim, and I parked our bikes in the convenient bike stand he had in the front.

You boys want to make a little money today? he asked.

I looked at Jim and he just shrugged his shoulders.

Old man Rollins motioned at us to come inside and lead us to through the store to the rear. The back room opened up into a large work area complete with a table saw. Sawdust covered the floor as if someone had recently labored on a project and our eyes both fell on that project. On two, sawhorses sat a freshly made coffin. Chills ran up my back. I had figured he just wanted us to sweep up after him or finish washing the picture window or something. I could not have been more wrong.

Mr. Grey is expecting this today, and my helper called in with the flu. I cannot leave the store. If you boys will deliver it to him, it is worth $5.00 apiece. Will you help me? He asked.

Five dollars were a fortune to a kid. Heck, now that I think about it, it was a lot of money to most folks. The average salary was about 50 cents an hour. Here he was going to give us both a $5.00 bill to do something. Jim could not take his eyes away from the coffin. I detected for the first time a sight I will never forget. Jim actually had fear in his eyes. Old man Rollins saw it too.

Now there Jim, there ain’t anybody in there yet, he said with a wry smile.

I could tell it gave Jim little comfort to know that. I was not too pleased about the prospect of carrying a coffin way across town but for five bucks, I would do pretty much anything.

Come on Jim, just think what we can do with all that money, I pleaded.

Jim took a deep sigh and regained his composure. Thinking for a minute, he asked Rollins.

How are we gonna tote it all the way over there? Jim asked.

Rollins smiled and assumed we had taken the job. Going to the back of the workshop, he opened the double doors. There in the alleyway was an old wooden wagon. I had never seen one before, just on the movie screen with Roy Rogers or John Wayne movies. Here Old Man Rollins had one and a horse to pull it. Jim’s family had a ranch, and he rode pretty well. I had never been on a horse much less drove one with a wagon. Jim went right up to the horse and stroked its nose. The mare blinked in approval. Rollins had already hitched the horse, and now it was just the matter of loading the coffin in the wagon.

Jim got on one end the coffin, and I got on the other. I expected it to be heavy but to my surprise, it was not too bad. Rollins supervised the loading and made sure we set it down easy. He did not want any nicks or dents in it. We climbed up, and Jim took the reins. Just then, Rollins patted Jim on the leg.

Mr. Grey will give you an envelope. Bring it back to me and I’ll pay you two, he said and sent us on our way.

Jim navigated the alleyway. Handing me the reins he stepped down to check the road. Holding the bit and patting the horse on the nose to reassure it, he looked both ways until he felt comfortable. Climbing up on the buckboard, he slapped the reins lightly on the horses back and directed the horse left as he went to the right side of the main road running through town. I tried hard to forget the cargo we were carrying, but I must confess I was scared. If Jim was too, I was not sure. I looked at him a few times and now that I think about it; I bet he was, but took his strength from my fear.

Mr. Grey was the owner of Restwell Mortuary the only one in town. Small towns do not need more than one of those things. Heck, there were not that many folks here, much less dying.

Do you think he has a body waiting for it? I finally stuttered.

Jim just glanced over to me, smiled, and returned his focus to guiding the horse.

There was not another word spoken between us on the way. Occasionally, I would look over, and I saw a special look on Jim’s face I knew well. He was formulating something and somehow I knew I was the center of that formulating.

The horse slowly clopped along, and I got into the rhythm to the beat of its hooves on the pavement. It quieted my mind, as we traveled across the business district of town. Thinking back, I found it ironic. Here it was Halloween Day all about demons, skeletons, and such, and we were carrying a coffin to the town’s undertaker.

Restwell Mortuary, Mr. Grey’s establishment was down at the other end of town about half a mile.

The mortuary stood alone. I figure folks do not want something to do with death among their daily shopping spots. Tall pines and scrub oak surrounded this secluded area. Turning the horse onto the clay road leading to our destination, I got a shiver. I passed it off as a weather change rather than fear. I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, and it helped a bit.

Jim directed the horse to the front of the mortuary. Climbing down from the wagon, Jim walked around to the horse and gentle rubbed it on the nose to reassure it but who was reassuring whom I wondered. We both went to the double doors and opened them. They opened with a creepy creaking sound. Soft organ music met our ears. The room reminded me of a church sanctuary with two rows of pews, an aisle through the center, and a raised section at the end with a podium with dark purple curtains hung on the walls. As we walked down the aisle, Mr. Grey came out of a side room to our left. Tall and thin wearing a black suit and a long tie, he slowly strode toward us. I remember his eyes so dark and his tight mustache and goatee. The black top hat he wore made him look even taller, as if he needed to. He towered over us both without it.

May I help your boys? His deep voice echoed through my