Family Trade
Author's Note: I've spent a good portion of my day reading a Zombie Apocalypse story. Then I remembered that some people work with dead bodies. That thought lead to this fic and the rest is history. Please note that this story has no real purpose; I just happen to find morticians to be fascinating. Also, suspend your disbelief; it would make it easier for you to read this.
The first time he saw a dead body, it was Mr. Gillebys'; an old man who had lived down the street.
His mother, for he had still been eight and wouldn't have to feel the sting of losing a loved one until next year, had been the ones to prepare the man's body for his open-casket funeral.
The basement of the Lima Funeral Home served the purpose of being the prep room, with white tiles, pale walls and bright fluorescent light fixtures. Said funeral home's director was Mr. Burt Hummel; after all, the Hummels have been Lima's morticians for over a hundred years. It was strange that few people knew who ran the funeral home but then again, if the man who's handling your loved one's dead body asked you to stay quiet, you obviously did.
Kurt had been wearing a sky blue cardigan with a paper gown hastily thrown over it, his mother had told him that the prep room would be chilly therefore he had brought out his warmest cardigan, and he felt out of place amongst the sea of white surrounding him. There was a long table at the center of the room, made out of porcelain, which had been there long before Kurt was born. There was also a person shaped lump, covered in a sheet, resting there.
He froze.
It was one thing for his parents to casually discuss their work; it was a completely different thing to see it face to face.
His mother soothingly patted him on the back.
"Sweetie, it's only the man's remains. He's not going to spring up and chew your face off."
Well that was reassuring.
She gently carded her fingers through his chestnut hair, the same color as her hair, and directed him closer to the table. She quickly pulled off the sheet, giving Kurt no time to cover his eyes.
The first thing he noticed was the man's slackened jaw. The second thing he noticed was the carrot red beard.
He couldn't bring himself to scream.
"See, baby? It isn't that scary."
In that instance, Kurt felt an intense dislike towards his mother. Why did he have to be around while his mother was prepping one of the bodies?
He voiced his question with a petulant pout, hoping to get his point across more clearly.
His mother chuckled.
"Kurt, this is the family trade. One day, you'll be an undertaker as well."
He frowned. He sincerely did not want to be an undertaker like his parents. Having to see dead bodies all day would be awful and being an undertaker would be hard while he was working on Broadway.
"But mommy, I don't want to be one."
His mom laughed again.
"Baby, that's the same thing your father said when his dad told him that. It'll happen eventually. It's in the Hummel blood."
That only made him frown harder. He gestured for his mom to do whatever it was that she did to the body.
She spritzed something onto his face and his eyelids popped open.
Kurt scrambled away from the table as quickly as possible.
His mother tsked.
"It's natural for that to happen. I'm just disinfecting nose, mouth and eyes. They're the most likely places to start rotting and it's best to keep them clean."
After that, he keeps quiet and simply watches.
By the time he is sixteen, he knows exactly what his mother meant by "it's in the blood", and his slow-beating heart yearns no longer.