Title: The Funeral Parlour
Summary: Gupta Muhammad does not understand what is so strange about this particular funeral, but he soon learns.
Pairings: None
Disclaimer: Hetalia Axis Powers and the 200 Phenomena in the City of Calgary are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.
Most of the city's funeral parlours belong to one company, but a handful of allegedly independent firms survive. In reality, all of the city's funeral parlours are owned by big business in some way or other, including a small, somber brick building in the deep southeast. This particular funeral parlour has allegedly been closed for years, but lights can be seen in the windows at night, giving credence to the story that it's haunted. It isn't. What's going on inside is far stranger.
In order to gain admittance, you will have to wear traditional funeral attire: black and subdued rather than anything flashy or informal. Bringing flowers is said to help. When you're admitted, whatever you do, do not sign the book or you will find that the exit is barred for you. Instead, offer your condolences to the mourners, who seem to be a collection of people of all ages and races, most of whom are wearing old, worn suits or patched dresses.
The funeral repeats itself every night at eight. If you come at any other time, you will be required to wait in the main hall while the staff prepare. During the ceremony itself, never volunteer to speak and never view the body. Both would draw too much of the deceased's attention. Instead listen with rapt attention to the eulogy, as it is a valued component of the secret history. Leave before the funeral is done, and just like in those old Greek stories: never eat anything anyone offers you.
Gupta kept his eyes fixed on the man giving the eulogy, but he was only half listening. It felt so wrong - and not because he was intruding in on a funeral of someone he did not know with a bouquet of amaranths. The entire event evoked an eerie feeling.
Mentally, he recounted what he found strange as the speaker droned on.
The man that had greeted him was strange - his skin was unnaturally dark, as though carpeted by thick layers of dust, and his eyes had a strange mechanical gleam. The mourners, too, were dust-covered, and, despite the great diversity of age and race, had the same inhuman look.
No one signed the book upon entry, for some reason, so Gupta did not either. No one took the flowers, either. A sudden jolt coursed through his body as he realized he was the only one to enter the building by the front entrance, and there was no one in the waiting room.
Suddenly drawn from his reverie by a familiar-sounding word, Gupta frowned and listened more intently. What he heard made him gasp. The entire crowd turned to him in perfect unison, the strange look in their eyes more visible than ever. At this, Gupta turned and ran for his life.
He never returned home.