The Wyatt Funeral Home

"You know what I really miss?" Cory's words break an awkward silence that's lingered almost the entire time they've been walking. The funeral home sat less than a mile away, but the walk seemed to drag on.   Toby's anxiety peaks, but she fails to come up with a reason. Perhaps it's just the rate of events as they fly by, everything moving so fast she barely has time to register them, much less to respond. She replies. "What do you mean?"   "The end of the world. I think coffee is the luxury I miss more than anything else."   "Coffee?" Toby giggles. "Really? Not professional medicine, TV, internet, or anything? Just coffee?"   Cory's response drifts atop a contented sigh, "Hell yeah." Cory nods and loses himself in thought. He could just barely smell the aroma, tinted and faded due to the passage of time. "Nothing like coffee first thing in the morning, maybe paired with the first cigarette of the day."   "You smoke?" She asked with a hint of disgust.   "No one smokes anymore. You could grow it and I'm sure tobacco is easy to find if you're in the right place but I doubt I could justify that." He follows Toby around as they turn down another empty street. "Addiction sucks. To be honest the end of the world wasn't nearly as bad as the weeks that followed."   "You could grow coffee too, y'know"

  Cory nods. "If you can find the seeds. Sure. Didn't grow it much in the U.S before the end. We do have sugar cane, so that wouldn't be a problem." He glances at her and smiles.   Cory feels her anxiety, like an empty, cold wind radiating from her in all directions. Conversation helped, but emotions are persistent. It clings to her for dear life, and naturally so. It needs her just to exist. They turned another street corner and Cory sensed something different in the wind, a smell. It's complex, not unlike a blend of spices. When combined they create something entirely new.   Deep, bitter sorrow pairs well with grief. It's like dry wine. As they near their destination he picks up on a surprising and succulent scent of joy, and even hope. When they reach The Wyatt Funeral Home, the raw emotional power of the place nearly takes his breath away.   So many people, so many different perspectives pass through this place. They did both before and after the fall. Each and every one leaves their mark. It's normal for a building or even objects, though it's rarely this strong. It's like a fingerprint that only a doomsday therapist can perceive.   "Are you alright?" Toby asks.   Cory turns away from his thoughts. He's over and staring at the ground trying to catch his breath. They stand a stone's throw away from the funeral home. The sensation hits him like a train.   "Holy shit." He mutters. "I didn't expect this."  

  "Expect what?"   He stands straight up, taking deep breaths with his hands on his hips. "Hard to explain. It's a Therapist thing."   "A…" she pauses and cocks her head as if trying to respond to and comprehend his words at the same time, "A therapist thing?"   "Doomsday Therapists read emotions like a book." He takes another deep breath. "This place…" he pauses and shakes his head, "It's a lot."   "Doomsday therapists?" She crosses her arms. "What's a-"   "Later." He gathers himself, finally able to handle the onslaught. "We have a job to do after all."

    The Wyatt Funeral Home lies just on the edge of the settlement of Boring, a place with both a hint of history and no chance at a future. The questionable use that led to the arrest of October Wyatt set off a series of events, an orchestrated symphony of change for both the town of Boring and Toby herself. Toby used the building to house the bodies she reanimated both to restore them to life or to create new life altogether. As a result, it became a hamlet of nightmares for some, a chance at hope for others.   This building is nearly a hundred years old, though it doesn't look the part. Its grounds have always been well tended, with vibrant flowers growing in beds surrounding the building with bushes and tall trees despite no apparent groundskeeper to make it so. The red brick looks freshly laid, the building's name engraved with golden lettering just above the revolving door at its entrance.   Four generations operated this funeral home, beginning some time in the early 20th century. It's been renovated, updated, and expanded over the years. While the nature of the job changed over time, the value of the family's work did not. Toby herself learned its value at a very young age.  

The Wyatt Funeral Home began as a small business in the state of Iowa shortly after the great depression. The first of the Wyatt's to operate the home was Jacob Mayhew Wyatt, and It had little more than three rooms at the time: a parlor, a preparation room that now serves as storage, and the lobby which to this day is still used as a reception area.   As time passed, Jacob would retire and leave his business to his youngest son, the only of his three sons to remain and learn his father's trade: David Lincoln Wyatt. David would expand the business, saving up to add a display area for funeral services as well as a back room that served as a rest area and fully furnished kitchen.   Working with the nearby church, the beginnings of a graveyard on the massive lot behind the property began, but wouldn't be used until his two sons took over the business after David's death in the late 50s.  

Thomas and Nathan Wyatt took over the home in 1965, but it was Thomas that did the work. Nathan was only 5 when his father died while Thomas was 22. Thomas would teach Nathan his trade but tragedy would strike in the coming years.   Thomas would be drafted during the Vietnam War in 1972 and he would not make it home alive. In 1980 Nathan was now 19 years old, reclaiming the business despite being inexperienced in his trade. Despite this, he managed quite well, having a particular gift in preparing the deceased. He was well known for his ability to handle a body in any condition, seemingly reversing even the most vicious of lethal injuries.   Nathan married later in life, and sired two children. He would work at the funeral home until 2020. His son Henry David Wyatt would die in a car crash just before the end of the world. This left October Eden Wyatt to carry on her family's legacy, who prepared his funeral service herself at the age of 19.  

Before the end of the world, the funeral home would be expanded to include a state of the art preparation room, an expanded rest area that now serves as Toby's living space, and a proper room for private, family only showings.   Since the end of the world, October Wyatt used the home to explore her gifts as one of the touched. It was private, her work rarely interrupted due to the town's low population. News travels fast. When someone died, she knew long before the family would seek her services. Then you have the church. The nearby church has been long abandoned. While some still cling to their faith, there were closer, more favorable options for the town of Boring, giving Toby an even better place to practice her art as well as her work.   Most of her projects reside in the unclaimed freezers along the walls of the preparation room, utilizing backup generators and solar panels to keep them running at more comfortable temperatures over the years. Her more creative ventures live in the nearby church, as well as those who are close to returning to life. The church houses ten projects. Toby's dedication to their wellbeing is paying off. They're wounds are healed, their bodies clean and the stench of death is long gone.  

"I need to be the one who does it" Toby's words still lingered on Cory's mind as he dozed off.   Sprawled out on what might well be the most comfortable loveseat ever made, Cory's eyes drop only to open again minutes to an hour later.   He's bored, and frankly napping was all he felt comfortable doing. He explored a bit, taking note of a select few key features. He noticed a photo on a mantle of Toby and her family. It was important, probably all she really has left of them, or at least, to her it was. There were bodies in the freezer as well, which was when Cory decided exploring was not the best way to spend his time.   He opens his eyes and sees the faint golden hue of a setting sun. He promised he wouldn't enter the church. Night Falls on Boring and she still hasn't shown up.   He sits up and stares out the nearby window of the parlor. The church seems as silent and lifeless as before, a stoic construction of stone and stained glass.   Cory rises to his feet, leaves the funeral home and stops just before knocking at the large wooden door of the church. The door is ajar. He cautiously enters the vestibule on principle, his curiosity getting the better of him.   Beyond a second set of opened double doors, he sees Toby at the end of the nave, the center aisle. The pews on both sides of the aisle are shifted out of place. He sees the living corpses, some wandering the outer aisles and sitting on the pews and others simply laying sprawled out on the ground. An eerie silence settles on the place, only broken by the occasional groan from a corpse.  

Cory takes a step inside and sees Toby at where the altar would be. She wears a blood stained apron with a white mask over her nose and mouth. Before her is a large steel table. A corpse lays lifeless with the skin of its chest peeled back atop the table and in Toby's dainty, gloved fingers rests a bloodied scalpel.   Cory whispers, "Shit..." He tries to read her, to measure her emotions; her intentions. Beyond the zeal peacefully lingering on the church is the feeling of woe, coupled with a desperate determination. This isn't madness. It isn't insanity. It's a feeling one has when trying to save a life.   Cory watches in horror as she sets the scalpel down on a smaller table to her right and reaches into its open chest. It's a slow and careful journey, only possible due to her small hands. She grips the heart and closes her eyes. A wave of elation washes over her, a genuine smile on her face.   The corpse shudders and takes a breath as Toby removes her hand. Toby giggles, a sound that didn't quite match up to the setting. Cory expected maniacal laughter, not something so heartfelt; so wholesome.   Cory takes a step back and bumps into the door. The door shifted every so slightly, letting out a loud creek that echoed off the stone walls of the church.    

Toby's eyes snap open, wide and crazed. She looks up, spots Cory, then gasps. In a split second, she reaches out and shakes her head, her face softened. She calls out to him, "Don't freak out."   Cory shouts,"What the fu-" but before he can finish he notices a massive figure moving on his right side. It moves with surprising speed, a hulking mass of flesh and bone.   It was composed of human bodies, a single head with four arms on each of two torsos. It dashes forward and he spots its legs of bone and sinew that let out a loud tap with every rapid step.   Cory screams as it knocks him to the ground and towers over him with a snarl. He hears Toby shouts , her voice like that of a parent scolding a child, "Neddy, no."   The creature's head turns to her, and stares with wide eyes. Toby shakes her head and it backs away in shame.   Cory sits up and tries to speak. She cuts him off, "I'll only be a moment."   Toby retrieves a needle and what appears to be dental floss from the side table. She stitches the wound closed, double checks her work, then reinforces the floss with a flesh colored clay. If he didnt see the process, Cory could mistake the wound for a scar.     Toby runs up the aisle as Cory stands. "Are you alright?"