Ballads of The Undead

My Pumpkin Patch

As the sun set low and the chirping of birds died down, here rested I - Jack The Pumpkin King - in my dried old patch.

Well "king" which once was a title befitting the the ruler of a thousand tombs was now overrated. Once a flourishing graveyard was now reduced to mere rubble. Something happened in places beyond the hills I guess. The old graves were torn down and new corpses were just buried over the remains of the previous. This brought in a horde of disturbed souls. Well it had been quite a while since I had some company to keep. Other pumpkins in my patch had just withered away. Leaving me alone in the silence of my solitude. 

It was interesting watching these puny mortals disposing of their dead in such a manner. Long gone were the days of the Pharaohs of Egypt where death was just another journey that the soul undertook on its path to atonement. All the preparations to bid farewell to the soul that resided in the shells of these mortals were undertaken with utmost care. Now there was just some dirt and a shovel. Rare would be those occasions when a sermon would be held for the deceased. And I lone bear the sole witness of what these souls felt after leaving their mortal hosts.

It was quite depressing to see their plight to be frank. But who doesn't welcome entertainment from time to time. Well in this case they were just aimlessly drifting souls with a few stories of their own to tell. Stories which died with their mortal hosts. Stories which remain untold even in their final moments. Stories which shall never grace the mankind's ears. Such was death. Swooping unexpectedly, gliding on its silent wings of night.  No one was ever prepared. Interestingly they all fear death. Looking for ways of prolonging the lives of their mortal shells, looking for ways to evade it. Little do they realize death is but another phase of living but on a different plane of existence.

I stand my ground as I spot another one of the restless ones drifting in my direction. Stumbling, blowing wisps of smoke, these were the Unheard. Each with a story of their own.

Making its way over from the cemetery across the cobbled path it stops to gaze at wizened old tree that was recently struck down by lightning. Hanging from its branches was the shell of a mortal girl that had come in and willingly given up her life a few days ago. It still hadn't emerged from that containment yet. I surely was curious to know her story. Shaking its head mournfully it proceeds walking towards my patch. Its breath was a rattle that was carried over the wind to my ears. His legs causing the gravel under his feet to crunch and move, the body was just a bundle of wisps of smoke. Nothing too definite but just enough to make out its structure.

It was by far the most hideous of the lot I had seen till date. This vaguely humanoid figure had a pretty disfigured face. Just wisps of smoke emerging from the various cuts slashed across its head. His body majorly deformed. One appendage shorter than the other, giving him a limp. His sockets for eyes reminded me of a raven on a pitch black night.

Its weird how these mortals have a notion of a soul being whole. An entity that stays intact regardless of anything. But little do they realize everything they do in their life span adversely affects their souls. All the times they lied, all the times they hurt someone, all the times they worked for personal gain rather than being selfless. And its moments like this when they damage their souls, losing bits of it, scattering it across the sands of time. Feeling incomplete, these aimless drifters occupy other mortal shells to redeem themselves of their previous mistakes just to make themselves feel complete again. It is after this they continue on their ethereal journey on the next level of existence.

Glancing towards the soul making it's way over to my patch I cursed the fates. Souls of his kind could go about freely, and here I was-bound to this place in life, bound to this place in death-surprisingly even after it. Such was their cruelty.

The closer he got, the better I could make out his features. As I took in his appearance, I wished I hadn't. He was more gruesome than anything I had ever seen before. A single glance was enough to tell me he hadn't lived a great life. His rattling breath now more distinct as he stood right before me. It was time. He was waiting. He had something to tell and I had to listen. Well more on the lines of he had something to write and I had to understand.

Without further ado I handed him the nearest branch I could find on my patch. Funnily enough these souls couldn't interact with things of this world but there was something about vines and branches on my patch that allowed them to touch it. Maybe the fates deemed so. Fumbling with it he managed to scrawl a few barely legible lines on the earthen floor.

I knew no boundaries....