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Funeral Notes
墨書 Inktalez
Chapter 1: The Woman Who Hanged Herself (Part One)
Before I turned fifteen, I believed that when a person died, they were burned to ashes and buried deep in the ground, and that everything in the world had nothing to do with them anymore.
After I turned fifteen, I began to learn from my grandfather and encountered many things that science could not explain. It was then that I realized that the events occurring in this world were not as simple as I had imagined.
My grandfather had gone out on a job with Fatty, leaving me alone at the Funeral Home. I sold a few sheets of spirit money, some joss paper, and a couple of paper figurines, but not much else.
As night fell, business at the Funeral Home dwindled to almost nothing, yet we could not turn off the lights.
If a Night Wraith came by, it would serve as a reminder that we were open all night.
The wind picked up, slamming against the half-closed door with a creaking sound that was particularly jarring in the dark night.
The wind made the lamp inside sway back and forth, casting flickering shadows on the walls that looked like Evil Spirits lurking, waiting for an opportunity to pounce.
I tightened my collar and peered cautiously outside. Even before autumn officially arrived, the chilly autumn wind was already blowing, cold and eerie.
Inside the shop, the paper figurines were neatly arranged. Under the dim light, they appeared lifelike with noses and eyes, as if they were whispering to each other in secret meetings.
I propped the half-open door with a stool and was about to turn around to rest for a moment when suddenly, there was a loud bang from the door.
Bang! Bang! Bang—
Someone was knocking?
I called out, "Who is it?" and pushed the door open. A figure stood shrouded in darkness at the entrance.
Straining my eyes to see better in the dim light, I finally realized that it was a woman standing at the door.
The woman stood in the shadows like a ghost, her hair disheveled, making it hard to see her face. In a hoarse voice, she asked, "Do you sell ropes?"
What the hell! This blind woman, of all things to buy, she chooses rope? Does she really want to end it all? I couldn't help but think how strange she was.
Well, at Ma Wu Funeral Home, we specialize in selling items for the deceased, renting out Ice Coffins, offering Yin Marriages, and providing Ba Zi readings, but we certainly don't sell ropes.
"I'm sorry, but I don't have any ropes for sale. You should try somewhere else," I said, waving my hand to indicate I was about to close the door.
The woman didn’t move. Even as I began to shut the door, she remained still, like a wooden figure lost in the darkness.
After I closed the door completely and peeked through the crack, I was surprised to find she had vanished in the blink of an eye.
What a peculiar woman to show up at this hour asking for rope.
I muttered to myself and turned back to lie on my bed. But I couldn't relax; not long after, just before 11 o'clock, someone came looking for my grandfather.
Right now, my grandfather was with Fat Yi, miles away from A City.
It would be unrealistic to call him at this moment. Gritting my teeth, I didn’t want to turn away whoever had come. After getting a good look at the person outside, I opened the door.
A stranger stepped inside.
This man looked very plain in every aspect—skinny and short—with particularly prominent eyes and nose. The only thing striking about him was his unusually large mouth.
I let him in.
He kept offering me cigarettes, but I waved my hand. "No thanks..." The visitor scrutinized me with a piercing gaze as he looked around and scratched his head before politely asking, "Is your grandfather not home?"
"Not here, left a while ago."
"Can you... handle this?" He glanced at me with concern, his eyes hurriedly questioning my capability.
I understood what he meant. Besides our family, there was another Funeral Home nearby. If my grandfather couldn't help, he would go to the second one.
In my judgment, it was unlikely he would seek out the second option.
In rural areas, there are many taboos.
Such matters are delicate; various superstitions can easily lead to bad luck. Therefore, once a family settles on a Funeral Home, they cannot look for another, as it is believed to bring good fortune.
I gestured for him to sit down, maintaining a calm demeanor as I pointed to the chair. "If you have something to discuss, please take a seat."
He cleared his throat and nodded. "My wife died... Hanging by a beam."
Normally, death is not unusual; everyone encounters it at some point. However, his wife’s death by hanging left me momentarily stunned. I had learned quite a bit about funerals from my grandfather, but I had never encountered a case like this before. My brow furrowed as I quietly asked, "When did this happen?"
He sized me up before looking away, taking a deep drag of his cigarette before abruptly snuffing it out. "At nine-thirty, she came downstairs for water and then there was no movement. At eleven, I checked on her; she was still asleep. At eleven-thirty, I heard noises from upstairs but didn’t check. This morning we were all busy with our own things and didn’t pay attention to her. In the afternoon, someone came to borrow rope and couldn’t find any. By evening, when the kids noticed she hadn’t come down, they went upstairs and saw her feet... then found her hanging by a beam."
I asked, "Are you sure it was... suicide?"
"Yes... absolutely... it was suicide." His voice was dry as he spoke those words. His gaze wavered; he seemed reluctant to meet my eyes and looked away as he quietly added, "I came to ask your grandfather to take a look."
In truth, he didn’t need to assure me of anything. I wasn’t a police officer or a detective; all he needed to provide were the deceased's birth details and the exact time of death. However, his unnecessary explanations felt excessive.
And then there were his eyes—why did he avoid my gaze? What reason did he have to explain all this to me? Without having seen the deceased, I couldn't jump to conclusions or let my thoughts wander elsewhere.
Perhaps I had watched too many episodes of the Sherlock Holmes Series, which made me suspicious of the stranger's words. The Sherlock Holmes Series was my favorite, and I greatly admired Holmes's exceptional detective skills, especially his nose. With just a tire print, he could determine the type of vehicle and its model year.
I spoke apologetically, "I'm sorry, but my grandfather is out and I can't say when he'll be back. You see..." This was a delaying tactic; if the visitor didn't care about such taboos, he could easily go elsewhere for this job.
"Your grandfather is not here. Where did he go, and when will he return?"
"My grandfather went somewhere far away; it takes a whole night by train. As for where he went, that's classified." This was the rule in our line of work: if outsiders inquired about the whereabouts of someone traveling, we must never disclose it to avoid unforeseen troubles.
I couldn't know the exact reason either, but my grandfather had instructed me to handle it this way.
The visitor hesitated for a moment, looked up at me quickly, and asked, "Can you take the job?" I could sense his distrust and skepticism.
"I can, but only if you trust me. If you have any doubts about me at all, then forget it."
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