The Aniverse

A Funeral To The Damned

          I hate these events. Funerals have always made me uneasy. I am no stranger to death being from a wealthy family, but the recent passing of my beloved father has left me quite unsure of myself and my situation moving forward.
          My dad has never been the religious sort, so this gathering has only a few of his closer friends. He's always kept me out of his more private affairs, so I only recognize the face of our butler Henry Monroe of the fifteen in attendance. No priest is present as a result of my father's beliefs, and no words have been or will be uttered.

          As the gravediggers lower my father into the darkened pit I question how things came to this point. A man of shadows, dead as a result of mysterious causes that simply cannot be determined by modern science, only to be lowered into a quiet hole of yet more shadow. Leaving behind a fortune and a mystery that has left me clueless as to my caregiver's real identity.

          As I stare blankly at the slowly lowering pulley and casket, thoughts of the man inside's will overturn in my skull "I, Sir Archivald Daemont, leave behind my fortune, house, and everything contained inside to my only living relative, Booker Daemont. On a personal note to my dear child: Life here is not what it seems. Continue in my footsteps if you wish, but beware of the Snake in the Garden. He seeks warmth."

          We, well I suppose I now, have no garden. My father always did love riddles, but this last bit was more than likely the rumblings of an old and decrepit madman. Pictures of his withered and crooked frame, graying full head of hair, steely green eyes, deadpan smile, and pinched face loom near his grave as if imposing his dominance upon the gathered. He always did have a way of making those around him seem inferior, but I suppose that's of no importance now.

          As the two gravediggers set to shoveling dirt upon my father's casket the party disperses towards their carriages parked in a perfect line down the crooked drive. Like an army of ants heading towards their next source of food, or more correctly, an army of vultures and businessmen looking to capitalize upon the grieving.

          Each man and woman that passed me gave their condolences in differing ways. A nod of the head, tip of the hat, bow or curtsy, and even a few grumbles of "My apologies Sir."

          The last to leave is Henry. A frown seems to set upon his face as he passes me. I've never really had an informal conversation with him as he was always close to my father's more private affairs, but the furrowing of his brow now more than likely is because I fired the man earlier in the day. I've never been one for friends or help where not necessary, so the decision to hand him three months pay in advance and a notice of immediate termination was not a difficult one.

          I watch, devoid of emotion, as the auburn sun begins to set across the watery horizon. A sign that the need to get inside and light a candle draws near. I have been caught out at night before on this island, and it's an experience that I do not wish to repeat again in my lifetime. Although, the arcane and mystical is something I do not believe in fully, doubt begins to seep into one's mind when the wind carries whispers upon it.

          I nod to the gravediggers as they light lanterns on their waistbands in preparation for the tiring work to come, and I myself head back towards the spiraling mansion behind me. A flicker seems to pass by one of the windows, but I know it's simply a trick of the sun's dying rays.

          I'm eager for sleep after the events of the day as I'm too exhausted for food. I know I'll be lying awake for a few hours to come still. Product of my perpetual problem sleeping. This night will be a long one.