Day 348

Funerals in our town were unique.
We had this kind of wake in church.
Well, we'd try to wake the dead in the church.
It wasn't meant to work, it was just a symbolic thing.

That changed when the pastor's son took over.
Had all these ideas about sacrifice and bowing to the open casket.
We humoured him, he seemed like such a nice lad.
When old Mr Snate went, our young pastor tried these ideas out.

Dear Mr Snate had been fond of the lad, treated him like his own.
He would have wanted us to follow all the new ideas.
How were we supposed to know it would work?
The new pastor lad said he'd keep it simple for Mr Snate at least.

It's what he would have wanted, you see.
Poor young pastor kept stumbling the words out though.
He was so nervous, got half the words wrong or so we thought.
Seems we'd been mispronouncing them all this time.

Mr Snate screamed and convulsed, scared us half to death.
He began walking, looking around wildly.
We thought it was a miracle, old Mr Snate back to life again!
But he never finished the words, never sealed the soul inside.

Now Mr Snate's body drags itself along the ground.
His skin's shredded all along the front side.
It's the soul attached y'see, pouring out of his mouth and floating about.
Keeps screaming something awful.

You get used to it fairly quickly.
So long as you don't touch him, you're fine.
Mrs Snate held his hand, now she's joined him.
The spirit isn't either of theirs, too big to be just one person's, or one human's.