Frankie & Formaldehyde

Chapter Three: Family Is Forever

"Only YOU can prevent accidental contamination!"

"Though EXTREMELY RARE there have been cases of accidental reanimation in the general populace due to counterfeit exposure of the Osmosis 37 enzyme. This is a risk that is almost EXCLUSIVELY restricted to comatose patients and those in palliative care. Though most cases have occurred in hospitals*, ONLY 1% of the general population is believed to be at risk**.

Use of the Osmosis 37 enzyme is a chemical process that is to be distributed to deceased loved ones in a controlled laboratory environment owned and operated by Osmosis Industries, Inc. Unsanctioned reanimations are considered a copyright violation of the Osmosis brand and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

If you suspect someone you know is harbouring a dead loved one, call our hotline at 1-800-GET-DEAD

(*based on Osmosis statistical surveys conducted prior to the commercial use of Osmosis 37

**as surveyed in the town of New Hope, population 1579)

A long day suddenly became longer. She'd wanted to go home over an hour ago, and every second that ticked past her working hours was a tortuous one. George was at home alone, at risk of being exposed if he so much as glanced out the window with raw bits of bacon fat stuck to his cheeks. Mrs. Dolores Granger, the neighbour to their left, was notoriously nosey, and that young fellow, the loud one on their right who blared Pink Floyd albums all day and night—He was an Osmosis CEO. Frankie fidgeted where she stood, her hands wringing impatiently.

She had to get home.

But they were all trapped at the Happy Restful thanks to the furious Mrs. Crone. They had thought her visit would at least wait until morning, but she had arrived unannounced, and was shocked to discover that her husband was now missing a lower mandible and a sizeable portion of the upper left side of his skull.

"I pay good money to keep him here!" she shouted. "The least you people can do is make sure his head is kept on!"

Mrs. Crone shook where she stood, an elderly woman in her early eighties as fragile as a pile of dried, thin sticks draped in a sharply cut black skirt and matching jacket, a shimmer of beige silk frills poking out around the thick sinews of her neck. Shirley was uncharacteristically soft with her, her booming voice brought down a few octaves to keep Mrs. Crone at ease. "We can fix him, Mrs. Crone. If you bring us a photograph of him from before the Osmosis treatment we can attempt to reconstruct his head with a prosthetic." Shirley waited for a few sniffles from Mrs. Crone to pass before continuing. "Be warned, however, this isn't a permanent fix. He may not keep it on and we'll only be able to use it during visiting hours when he's properly sedated."

They all knew what properly sedated meant. A bucket full of tranquilizers that could drop an average Clydesdale horse dead in its tracks. But Mrs. Crone, like many of her contemporaries, was not to be daunted by these unpleasant realities. Her tinny voice took on a wavering quality as she continued to reprimand them: "I made him take that treatment because we were promised permanence! It's right there in the contract, what part of it do you people not understand!"

At this, Shirley toughened, unmoved by the elderly woman's fury. Her voice remained low, but her assurance was firm. "Every human being, living or dead, suffers eventual wear and tear. That's just how things are."

Mrs. Crone's tiny, pinched face turned chalk white. "What did you say to me?" she shrieked, her voice so high pitched it hurt Frankie's ears. Her gnarled white fists curled into tiny fists, the size of a child's. "How dare you!"

"I'm sorry if I offended you, but it is what it is," Shirley said.

"I want permanence!" Mrs. Crone shouted, her cane banging the floor as a replacement for her foot. "You people promised me!"