The Haunted Traveler Vol. 1 Issue 1

72
Death Rattle
Miranda Stone
Irene breathed in the scent of freshly cut wood. The little
chestnut coffin holding her younger brother sat in the
middle of the front room. Norman, not yet four years old,
lay in the box with his hands folded over his chest. As Irene
gazed down at his face, she thought he wore a faint frown, as
though he found the scene around him bewildering. He was
dressed in a pristine white shirt and matching pants, made
by the skilled hand of Mrs. Howard. All evening, neighbors
had appeared at the door with offerings of food and words of
comfort. Now it was close to midnight, and only the family
remained.
Stella and Agnes, Irene’s younger sisters, huddled on a
bench that had been carried in from the kitchen. They wept
and wiped their faces with stained handkerchiefs. Irene’s
older brother Russell stood near the door. Occasionally he
slipped out onto the porch to smoke. Now he met Irene’s
stare and averted his eyes. Grief carved sharp lines into his
face, and he swayed with exhaustion. Earlier in the day he
went with their father to the small family cemetery behind
the house, and with the help of a few neighbor men, they dug
Norman’s grave.
Irene’s mother knelt by the coffin, her hands folded under
her chin as she prayed. She was a stout woman, and her hair
was drawn into a severe bun at the back of her neck. The
dress she wore had once been black but was now so faded it
was the same color as the dark gray mountains surrounding
their house.