Amanda’s Ghostly Gaze at Aunt Carol’s Wake
🔴 WHY DID AMANDA STARE AT ME LIKE I WAS A GHOST AT THE FUNERAL?
I walked into the reception room, and the piano music suddenly felt like nails on a chalkboard.
My Aunt Carol’s wake was… strange. Everyone kept giving me these sympathetic looks I didn’t understand, and the air hung thick with the cloying sweetness of lilies. Amanda, my cousin, cornered me near the buffet. “You didn’t know, did you?” she hissed, her eyes wide. “About the… *arrangement*?”
Arrangement? What arrangement? Was this about the will? I just wanted a slice of that mini quiche. “Know what, Amanda? Just tell me.” She just shook her head, staring. It felt cold. Like she saw my soul, or something.
Then my uncle cleared his throat and announced he wanted to show everyone his *wife’s* prized possessions upstairs.
👇 Full story continued in the comments…
The buffet was abandoned. People were already heading upstairs, murmurs of “Carol’s collection” and “Oh, the things she loved” floating through the air. Amanda still hadn’t moved, her gaze fixed on me. It was unnerving. “Amanda, seriously, what’s going on? You’re acting like I committed a crime.”
Finally, she took a shaky breath. “The… the contract.”
“Contract? What contract are you even talking about?” My voice was rising now. This whole thing was ridiculous.
“With the… the funeral home,” she stammered, her eyes darting around. “To… to arrange for your… your… to be buried alongside Aunt Carol.”
My jaw dropped. *Buried?* With Aunt Carol? This had to be some kind of sick joke. “What are you saying? I’m… dead?” I choked out the words, feeling a cold dread creep into my stomach.
Amanda flinched, then reached out a hand as if to touch me, but stopped herself. “They were going to… cremate you. When… when you went. They… they’ve been waiting for you.”
The pieces started to fit, horribly. The sympathetic looks, the lilies (Carol’s favorite flower), the sudden piano music, the way Amanda was looking at me… everything was about death. I was living a nightmare. My heart hammered against my ribs. “But… I’m alive! I’m standing right here!”
I grabbed her arm, desperate. “Amanda, you have to believe me. I’m here, I’m real. We have to tell them!”
She hesitated, her face a mask of confusion and fear. Then, she seemed to make a decision. “Alright,” she said, her voice gaining a flicker of steel. “Let’s go tell them.”
We ran upstairs, ignoring the hushed whispers and the reverent gazes as we passed. We found my uncle in Carol’s bedroom, surrounded by a crowd admiring her collection of porcelain dolls. I pushed my way through, Amanda hot on my heels.
“Uncle George!” I blurted out. “There’s been a mistake! I’m not… I’m not dead!”
The room went silent. My uncle turned, his face a mask of shock, followed by disbelief. Then, slowly, a dawning horror. He looked at me, then at the others, then back at me again.
“But… the paperwork…” he stammered. “The… the pre-arrangement. It was all set.”
Amanda took a step forward. “I’ll explain,” she said, her voice now clear and strong. “There’s been a… a misunderstanding.”
The room was a flurry of panicked conversation, shocked gasps, and confused glances. In the midst of it all, I watched as my uncle, finally convinced of the reality of the situation, slumped against a table. The porcelain dolls seemed to stare back, their painted eyes wide and unblinking, silent witnesses to a resurrection that had rewritten the family history. The wake was ruined, but in its place was the terrifying yet exhilarating truth: I was alive, and the family had a lot of explaining to do.
