Coming Home

Who could that be at this hour?

Marion hardly ever got texts, even during the day, so hearing her phone beep at 10pm startled her.

She read the message.

I need to go potty.

Please let me out.

Marion’s eyes narrowed, her lips pursed. Was this some kind of joke?

I’m hungry.

And it’s cold, Mom. Please, I want to come home. 

Marion grabbed the terri cloth bathrobe off of the hook on the back of her closet door and slid it on as she headed downstairs. She retrieved the black business card from the bulletin board behind the kitchen desk and punched the number into the phone.

“You have reached the Garden of Eden Cemetery. Our office is currently closed. Please call again during regular business hours. Thank you.”

Of course she knew they were closed. She had become well acquainted with the hours of operation over the last week.

I need you.

How could anyone be so inhumane? She started to shut her phone off.

Please, Mom. Please.

Someone was messing with her, a cruel trick. Still, the pleas shredded her empty heart. She had no choice.

Marion slipped on her sneakers and grabbed her car keys as she left the house, not caring that she was in her bathrobe.

The cemetery sat on top of a hill, a lovely view, only five minutes from her house but the drive felt so long, suspended animation.

When she at last arrived, Marion was struck by how lonely the place appeared, no one around, dark and eery. The moonlight barely illuminated the trees, spooky dancing shadows. Shuddering, she ran to the newly minted grave and started digging with her hands. The earth gave easily. After 30 minutes of digging, broken nails and fingers caked with earth, Marion pulled the tiny coffin from its resting spot.

With tears streaming down her face, she undid the latch and opened the lid.

Her faithful companion, Bella, sprang forward and covered her face in wet kisses.

___

I’m linked up with the yeah write speakeasy. The fabulous place for fiction and poetry. This week, we had to use the photo prompt and start with the sentence “Who could that be at this hour?” Such fun! Why don’t you head on over there and check it out!

Tagged as: fiction, pet cemetery, yeah write speakeasy