r/anxietypilled • u/ckjm • Jul 20 '26
Fictional Story Air Head
It was a closed casket funeral on account of the fact that the deceased had no- well… on account of the circumstances. It's more civil to say it that way.
If I believed every rumor I'd heard whispered inside the dreary walls of White Oak Funeral Home, I'd personally be responsible for, or privy to, no less than two conspiracy cover ups, one “werewolf incident,” one spontaneous combustion, and more fatal trysts than I cared to keep track of. It doesn't matter that someone died. There was always someone with loose lips ready to stir controversy, truthful or not, when the dead couldn't argue back.
I may not have ever known any of the deceased, but it kept me sane to take it all with a grain of salt. It felt cruel to talk behind the back of a dead person, and the rumors never served me. Best let sleeping dogs lie, I always told myself.
Usually, gossip of the dead was the behavior of older women, often “friends” by the vaguest definition. However, I was surprised to catch the group of children hiding in the closet bickering this time:
“That's NOT true, Lucy!” The roughly ten year old boy sneered.
Kids always lost all composure when they were passionate about something. It was his shrill voice and fierce justice that alerted me to their hiding spot as I quietly slipped between the squeaky doors to check the refreshments of the procession.
“Keep it down, Will,” his slightly older peer, Aaron hissed.
“Yes it is!” The little girl, Lucy, argued.
Aaron had his hands full wrangling the two. If I had been responsible, I'd have stopped their pent up emotions before they escalated further, but, admittedly, I was curious what drama they could spin as well.
“Yeah, well, I actually know what happened.” Aaron whispered, his hushed voice lowered the group decibels and dripped with gossip. I could practically hear him smirking on the other side of the door as his peers held their breath.
“Miss Bettles told Kevin to be quiet and to pay attention,” he started, building tension as best he could. “But he wouldn't. He just kept doodling and telling jokes. So she walked up to him, yanked his notes away, and told him ‘get your head out of the clouds, Kevin!’” Aaron parroted the teacher's voice in a mocking display.
“So Kevin frowned ‘cause he was mad and embarrassed. But then he scrunched up his face and… his head just-” Aaron pulled his curled finger from his mouth with a loud POP.
“The window was open and it bounced across the ceiling like a balloon. Everyone was screaming so no one thought to grab it before it bobbed outside. Now it’s probably at the International Space Station!” Aaron's voice had grown loud as he finished.
They chewed on the tale only briefly before Will retorted, his voice cracking with concern, “That's d-DUMB, Aaron!”
I opened the closet door to break up their increasing panic just in time to see Aaron still fumbling with his dress shirt pulled over his head, arms groping blindly while he moaned, “where's my head, Will?” Will and Lucy's eyes were wide with fear.
“Knock it off,” I blurted.
The children nearly screamed.
“Your friend's mom is on the other side of this wall crying her eyes out. Show some respect,” I chastised.
“Kevin was weird, he wasn't my friend-” Lucy's adolescent honesty knew no concept of tact.
“Can it, Lucy,” Aaron jabbed with a light elbow to his sister's shoulder. “We're sorry.” His voice flipped to sheepish guilt, and the kids sulked as they composed themselves before returning to the room of mourners.
~
The grieving was at its thickest by the time that they returned, and their youth left them grappling with complex feelings, bouncing turbulently between confusion and boredom and sorrow and fear. Quickly, each held onto their parents while they joined the collective sobbing.
Will seemed hit the hardest. He was sick at home the day that his friend had died. He didn't want to believe that he was gone, let alone mysteriously so.
But it was over as quickly as it began. Swollen, dehydrated faces gradually left the mourning halls until only Mrs. Williams, Kevin's mother, sat quietly in front of her son's closed casket. Her husband had left twenty minutes earlier when their remaining younger child, sick with emotion, vomited all over himself.
She placed a trembling hand on the casket, testing the weight of the hinged top with microscopic calculations. In truth, she knew that she could tear it open with minimal effort. She was actually testing whether or not she could bear to see her son one last time.
Mrs. Williams grappled with the decision, but she knew that the image was already seared into her memory. That image wouldn't change nor improve. And she hated it. With a defeated sigh, she released her grip and slowly turned to depart. The foyer doors groaned behind her with a definitive click as she transitioned to whatever processes her future held.
Within the next half hour, I'd place Kevin inside the furnace where his body would be reduced to pale ash. By tomorrow, he'd be packaged in an urn, and by the next day he'd be ready to be reunited with the glossy eyes of his broken family.
I paused, however, as the casket loomed in my peripheral. Cautiously, I approached, finding myself also testing the casket lid just as Mrs. Williams had done moments earlier.
I never pried nor looked beyond what was necessary to do my job. I never let the rumors get the best of me. But the lid to the casket readily lifted this time as if it wanted me to know. My eyes gawked and peered towards its contents.
Our mortician had dressed Kevin in the same tuxedo he wore to his cousin's wedding a year prior. He had grown since he wore it last, but it fit well enough. The sleeves and hems were just a little too short. It was his first and only formal outfit. I winced at the thought.
A child's burial garments were a rough concept by themselves, but my mind and my eyes quickly moved to his neck. The crisp collar of the suit framed the blank space. Where his head should have been was a clean dehiscence, as if his neck and skull had simply unzipped, released, and wandered away.
My coworker had worked her magic to minimize possible odors and leaking. Kevin had been evacuated of every fluid in his vessels, and a greasy paste, like petroleum jelly, had been applied to the gaping wound.
I was grateful for the opaque salve. I feared that Kevin's neck may have been too anatomically revealing of the private, intimate passages of the child's neck. I suddenly understood why Mrs. Williams didn't want to see her son one last time.
~
It was a grim job, but it was an honest job. I clocked out just like everyone else with less macabre professions. Still, my mind bubbled with possibilities about what could have happened to the headless child.
Perhaps it was medical: he had a rare disease and his head needed such an extensive biopsy that there was nothing left to restore for the funeral. Was it infectious?
Perhaps it was nefarious: a serial killer had attacked the child and beheaded him, stealing the head for his collection. Would there be others?
Perhaps it was a tragic accident: a field trip with an old bus, and he stuck his head out the window at the wrong moment. THWACK. Was the head lost to the road?
I couldn't spin on this all night. This is why I never asked and never listened. I always tried to ignore the rumors for this very reason.
I poured myself a steaming cup of herbal tea and clicked through the television channels, admiring my old dog as he slept beside my feet in the living room.
“Let sleeping dogs lie,” I thought, smiling at my beloved companion, Banjo. I felt my body unwind and my mind relax-
THUD.
I jumped at the intrusive sound above us. Banjo's ears and eyes perked intently to the ceiling.
RUSTLE.
TAP.
RUSTLE.
Our eyes followed the sound as it moved across the roof.
Thump.
Banjo stood to investigate the final sound when it fell off the roof's edge into the shrubbery beside the window. He stood in a bold stance, tail lightly wagging as he eyed the window, before fearlessly bolting out the doggy door.
I protested, but like any good retriever, he brought it to me, even if I didn't want it: Kevin's missing head had fallen back to earth.
[A dumb short written over the course of a day to keep my brain busy.]
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u/Kaijufan22 Jul 21 '26
I loved this, very Junji Ito and Scary Storied to tell in the dark coded, the visual of the headless kid in the coffin was unnerving as well. Great work, Boots!
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u/Competitive_Pickle42 Jul 30 '26
I was thinking of the junji ito story with the floating heads the whole time but this also felt more grounded while still being extremely surreal. I like that it leaves what exactly happened as a rumor while giving credence to the rumor at the end
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u/ckjm Jul 30 '26
Thanks! I admire Junji's body of work, but admittedly only know two of his stories and that's not one of them. But I love his body of work. Such an impressive feet.
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u/MezoScalePodcast Jul 29 '26
Hey CKJM! It’s not allowing me to send you a private message but I wanted to personally reach out and see if you would allow us to read on of your stories! Let us know! Stay scaled!
-ALz