It was supposed to be a daydream. A real, honestly made, 115% distilled fantasy with no connection to any dreams, entities, or obligations. Just me, my ego, and enough background music to keep me from falling fully asleep.
I wasn’t supposed to leave my head.
And so it went. Until I looked up and saw I was surrounded by ash-white faces with nary an fleshy eye to be seen.
“Please. You must help me. They tell me you can help me.” The woman, dressed in a dark blue folk dress came forward. She was adorned for Los Días De Los Muertos, but I understood her every word.
She carried an infant wrapped in a light blue cloth.
“Please. I know you can see me. Help me! I beg of you!”
Before I could ask her who ‘they’ were or how I could help her, she came and pushed her infant into my arms. She kissed the tiny ashen head and took a few steps back. Her focus began to break, and she started to wring her hands. One of the surrounding men wrapped his arm around her. “Let him go. You can do no more. You must let her take him away.”
I stood there dumbly, holding the still infant, for a few seconds before realizing I was dressed in the dress and fanciful markings from last night. I looked at the infant and uncovered his face. His body was lifeless and gray. His eyelids were closed but sunken. I was holding the spirit of a dead baby.
“My son! Wait! Maybe… maybe I can find another woman, one that is about to give birth! Maybe I can have him birthed again!” The woman tried to come forward but the other surrounding dead grabbed her and held her back.
“You can do nothing more!” “Do you want him to never know rest! Let her do what she must!” “You have done the right thing. Turn away.” They pulled her a little further from me.
Instinct kicked in. I knew what to do. “No! Don’t turn away! Come with him. Come with me.” I held my free hand out to her. I knew I could not approach her, she had to come to me. I kept my voice steady, but I was crying. “You don’t have to wander.”
She gripped her dress as if to lift the hem and run. Most of the other dead released her and cleared the way. Her eyeless face glimmered hope. Until she looked at her dead son in my arm. “No. I deserve this. He…” She shoved her fist into her mouth to keep from wailing. She tried to speak but can only whisper. “Take him away. Please. While I can still stand to watch.”
The fire emerges from within me at once. Enveloping the infant and me in a painless embrace. I keep holding my free hand out towards her. Towards them. Towards any that is willing to let go.
They watch without eyes. Each one adorned for Los Días de Los Muertos. Beautiful colors and patterns reflect the fire’s light back to me. None of them move.
The fire makes quick work of the infant and cloth, consuming them like torn tissue. As soon as the infant is gone, the woman turns away and runs deeper into the crowd, wailing as she went. Slowly the crowd disperses. Some of them bowing to me in respect. Many of them crossing themselves and saying a prayer on behalf of the infant.
I wait until I am alone before surrendering to the fire. It transports me to the Boneyard at once. I open my eyes to find I am in shroud, cloak, and deathmask. I am holding a small bundle of light blue cloth.
A raven flies to my shoulder, curious what is inside. I open it carefully to find the infant’s bones lying dry and smooth. The skull falls apart into pieces as the infant died too young for the bones to fuse. I found I had no sorrow or sadness about him.
I had a job to do.
I wrap the bones back together in the cloth and make for a pile of dry bones. Holding the bundle in one hand, I arrange a cradle of sorts from the other bones. I place the bundle in the cradle and set the pyre alight.
Other ravens come to watch. I kneel before the pyre and sing a lullaby. The cloth burns away at once. The infant’s bones take quickly. I know by the time I have returned to the Waking, he will be gone.
Now, I am sad. But not for him. I worry for his mother, for the added burden she carries. But I am not to chase her down. I must wait for her to come to me, if she comes at all.
My work done, I turn to leave, wondering what other duties will I be surprised at.
Wondering if I’ll ever be able to rest.
I was going to keep this to myself. But it wouldn’t allow me to remain quiet. So now, I have written it, and posted it. And now I go to brew some tea, and hit the books to learn more of that holiday.