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Rats scratch at the hollow walls.
A gaunt figure sits in the dining room. Ever since he started doing this, it fills him with a strange feeling. Like acid churning in an empty stomach. Eternally hungry for more, devoid of food and with nothing to digest, it starts to eat away at itself, before moving on to everything else around it. The man walks down the steps descending to the basement, the spine of the wooden stairs creaking as his weight presses down on the rotting planks.
He draws the familiar symbol on the damp wood, tracing it carefully in his own brand of crimson. He stares at his handiwork, and it stares back at him. He knows the end is coming. Barely over the horizon. It watches him through bloodshot eyes. Touches him with pale mottled flesh. The mirror in the bathroom showcases his desperation. Lays it bare for all to see. He has to find a way to live, even if it meant dying first.
He picks up the phone and dials in the number. He speaks before the other side even has a chance to respond.
"Promise me, that I will be laid to rest in the basement"
The person on the other side of the line hums in thought. "You are an odd one, but I am sure you have something in mind."
"Just trust me, won't you?"
"Of course, I will await your return in the future."
The gaunt man hangs up the phone, never to speak again.
The funeral is quiet. Grey clouds and cold rain coat the event in a thick, white haze. The coffin is simple, a wooden case to house the frigid remains. It is placed in the centre of the basement, surrounded by a minimal clutter of books and all the things (of which there are few of) that the deceased clung to so dearly in life.
There is only one, solemn attendee. An elderly priest, dressed in pressed black vestments. A wrinkled hand wraps around a cane, the other around a heavy iron chain. The priest stands up, bones creaking and weary as he makes his way over to the casket. The chain is wrapped once, then twice around the stiff pale neck. Tying the remains, whether physically, or by other means, to this world.
The priest thinks, "Here lies a good friend. May fate bring us together once again". He closes the lid of the casket, bathing the once-man inside in darkness. The priest bows his head, a slight smile threatening the corners of his lips, and he prays.
Grotesque in life.
Beautiful in death.
May we meet again.