The Mausoleum

I remember my fiancé and I were spending the day in a local cemetery. We had our picnic and list of headstones of the rich and famous we wanted to find; a couple presidents and a rock star were on the top of the list.

We drove around, found a few interesting stones and a huge shade tree to have our picnic under. When we finished, I bundled our picnic trash to toss in the bin next to a row of mausoleums. Always the snoop, I’d begun to look through the windows. Most of the windows here blackened with decades and sometimes a century, of grime.

I came up to one with beautiful colored lead glass windows. Someone paid attention to them, the sun bounced off them creating a rainbow. I walked around the small building, looking in the windows at the brass name plates. I called over to my fiancé to have him come and take a look. I turned to look through the colored glass in the front. That was when she lunged toward me, pressing her rotting face against the glass. Her finger nails missing from scratching to get out. I could read what was left of her lips.

“I’m trapped in here, help me!”

Prying the narrow doors open, I felt her bony fingers grab my shoulders. I’m sure the screams I heard were mine.

I now sit in that room.  My once copper red hair is snow white. My fingernails are gone. I wonder what happened to my fiancé. 

I’m alone and no one comes to look through the beautiful colored lead glass windows.