Blessed by the Dead

Chapter 1

By the time I manage to pull myself off from what feels like a coma, it's noon. Mom doesn't even nag me for that since we all dropped like flies yesterday. The post-wedding exhaustion hitting hard. I suddenly regret my choice of leaving tomorrow, I have no idea how I'll recover but I have to. I pull myself out of bed and almost crawl to the kitchen. Maybe next I should finally make an enchanted carpet to carry me around. I've thought about doing it multiple times but never got to it in the end.

I gobble down a half-assed sandwich and make my way out to the graveyard with my bag full of candles. I've made a list of the graves I have to visit, there's two things listed on each line: the name of the deceased fella and their crafting talents. I have to fill my candles with their "spirits", or I guess artistic skills. I can't actually communicate with the dead but what I can do is to borrow their talents. For as long as the candle burns, I can use their skills. Which is why I'm doing this now.

For the past few days I've been making candles, again and again in order to enchant them all into becoming inexhaustible, so I can use them forever instead of having to come back to the graveyard every time with new candles to "fill." And so, remembering more or less all of their placements, I swiftly make my way through the rows and rows of gravestones. First one I stop at is a carpenter, Jeffrey Timmermans, quite a fitting name. I plunge my hand into my bag and search for the candle with his name on it. Because yes, I'd rather write their names on them instead of their skills, I feel like it's more respectful that way. Although, it's mainly in order to keep a clear conscience since I "steal" their talents to use them for myself.

I place the candle on his grave and get to my knees. With my red lighter, I light the candle up and close my eyes, my hand resting on his grave close to the candle. Images of the man's profession flash through my eyes. Pieces of furniture, houses, even sometimes more wacky and eccentric works just for fun. All his artistic contributions to this world are running through my mind like a rapid film. As soon as my hands twitch and I feel a sort of click in my head, I understand it's enough. The candle is "full". I blow on it and shove it into my other bag, an empty one for the full candles so I don't have to look for too long each time.

I do this for nearly 2 hours. In truth I could've taken way less time but I like to stay a bit near each grave, saying bye to those people who might not even hear me or who don't know who I am- Though to be fair, my father takes care of their resting place so at this point it might be quite rude not to know his daughter.

I walk around the graveyard almost as if it's a park, taking in the quiet, the peace, the calm. I remember the first time it happened, I was about 5 or 6 and I had never really been to the graveyard despite living quite literally next to it. My parents didn't see the point in taking me there, but I begged them, they folded easily, not understanding why I wanted to go there so badly but not having anything in particular against it. Who knows, maybe I would like to continue dad's work once I grew up? But no, as soon as I touched a grave the images flashed through. They wondered what was wrong, so they asked for help from oma Ineke and opa Johan, who were known around here for their knowledge of the "supernatural".

With their help, by the time I turned 8 I had figured out the candle trick, though at the time I used matches, not a lighter. The idea was to "store" the visions and sensations in it, so that when I lit them up, as long as the fire burned, I became capable of imitating the handicrafts of the deceased. Some might say that's "dark" and that I'm a thief, but wouldn't these people like to keep changing the world even beyond their deaths? To keep living through my hands? Well, that's probably presumptuous of me to think this way. I can't speak for the dead.

Before making my way out of there, I went to find opa Johan's gravestone, he passed away about two years ago. I cried and cried for a month when it happened. My grandparents on my mother's side were already both goners by the time I was 3 and my dad's side of the family is a bit distant. To contrast that, Johan and Ineke lived near us and I spent a lot of time in their home. I consider them to be my grandparents, and they consider me to be their granddaughter. None of their kids or grandkids were interested in the art of heartcraft. Their house is magical, they can make almost anything and so, all their rooms are filled with various enchanted objects. All of which they would try to teach me to make if I showed even an ounce of interest in it. I imagine they must've been happy to have me for that. To pass down to me what their children thought was making them too "different" and "unapproachable".