Tansy Undercrypt
Author, Illustrator, Purveyor of Doom & Whimsy


August 7th 2017 in Microfiction

They trudged sullenly to the grave, plopping down a tissue cone of gas station flowers onto the lip of the granite stone. They lulled about for a bit, distracted by thoughts of what they could be doing, when Linda noticed a dusty notecard (addressed to them) was wedged into the edging around the picture at the center of the marker. “What the heck is that? Is it from the cemetery? THAT’S crazy tacky,” the others said, while Linda opened the note and began to read. “Don’t visit,” she said aloud, and everyone fell silent. “I’ve moved on; you should, too. It’s okay. The landscaping staff cares more about my peace and quiet than any of you ever did. In life, we just hovered around each other, bored stiff and disaffected, self-involved and disconnected from actually living. In death, I’m resting and peaceful – taking it all in, and you’re still … well, doing whatever. Just do it somewhere else. I really need this reboot. Grandma.” “Just throw it away; is this vandalism?; I wonder if the other graves have cards,” the others chimed in, stomping off. “It’s Grandma’s handwriting; I’d know it anywhere,” Linda whispered to their backs, and a light breeze out of nowhere caressed her face.

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I’m on it.
If I can sell that piece of crap on Haunted Hill, the ugly squat in Amityville, barren lots in Cuesta Verde, and that bullshit murder house in Japan, I’ll get this done.
“Historic British manor home (recently released from escrow) needs TLC to restore to original splendor; details must be seen to be believed; […]

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