𝑺𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒔

Human nature

As if reaching for the mother, the casket stilled and the corpse jolted, the faint clanking of the bones and the faint smell of rotting flesh tickling Yokshi's nose.

Then the chains gave away with a groan, sparks flying from the structure that held up the corpse mere moments before plummeting towards the ground's outstretched hands.

Down went mother.

Down went child.

Together they fell as one.

Crunch.

People in the crowd suddenly surged forwards like a tidal wave, scrambling madly over each other to see what was left of the mother and child, blending together in a sea of gold, greens and blues. Yokshi followed behind, careful not to send anyone sprawling when they crashed into him.

When he reached the hole where the casket was supposed to be, he almost threw up.

Both mother and child, their remains smashed together. 

Both mother and child, joined in an unholy matrimony. 

Both mother and child, erased from the books of the living.

No one could tell which body part belonged to mother or child. There was only one object that all spectators could identify: the mother's hair, still attached to fragments of bone, now dirtied as it peeked from what could have been an elbow or another limb. 

Voices raised in a hubbub: voices of exclamations of surprise, disgust, and excitement.

"Cor! Did you see that? Hell of a woman to give us a show like that."

This voice was filled with unrestrained glee, belonging to a man with a long, tattered top hat who had a cynical smile plastered on his face.

"Isn't that... Margo? My God! It's Margo from down the road!"

This voice rose to a crescendo, and it belonged to plain little Amy Lee, the butcher's wife who was normally as quiet as a mouse.

"No! Not the one with the abusive..?"

A disbelieving tone interjected with worry, this was Amrise, daughter of the plain Amy Lee, and a candidate for new gossip.

"Yes! It's her. I KNEW I recognised her!"

Another voice proclaiming in delight, and this particular voice belonged to the spiteful Ran, the second daughter of the butcher in the little village.

"That circus act had to put on one more show for us didn't she?"

A scornful tone, tinged with haughtiness. Now this final voice belonged to the heiress of the little village, Rudi Gent, who had lived there for over 50 years. She knew what would happen next, and she wasn't going to stick around longer than she deemed necessary.

Margo's marriage of body parts with her child had united their souls.

Yokshi remembered clearly what happened if a situation like this arose.

These people should start running, the thought absently flitted through Yokshi's mind.

The remains below began to move.

Slowly at first, like it always happened, then faster until one or two people began to take notice, and soon the whole crowd was watching in deafening silence, transfixed.

The people called this phenomenon Raikshi, the origins of the word, as well as this process, unknown. It only happened every fifty years or so in the abandoned little town of Zengala. Not many knew, since when it happened, people who knew about it were targeted first.

Never had it occurred twice in two years.

So why now? Yokshi wondered.

The body parts below were still moving, but much faster than before. They shifted and spun until they were just a blur, twisting out from the hole and reaching for the person nearest to them.

It reached for a plain woman at the front,  Amy, then Amrise - who had been the one to express concern for the woman - Amrise shuddered and fell onto her back, the mutilated mass missing her by a hair's breadth. It snatched at Amy and dragged her down into the hole, accompanied by a loud scream (admittedly it was the loudest noise anyone had ever heard her make, the village people would later agree). 

People backed off as the woman resurfaced, still screaming, but her skin burning and peeling with every passing second. It wasn't long before Amy was silenced as the seething whirlwind tore at her vocal cords, ripping them clean from her throat and reducing her to grating noises.

Rudi Gent, the haughty heiress, despite her reaching the impressive age of eighty-four, had reached for her skirts as soon as the corpse began to move, and with grace that belied her years, leaped over a gravestone and sprinted towards the narrow cluster of houses in the distance.

Overhead, the clouds rumbled and overcast the sky in a deep red.

A storm was coming to the village of Zengala.