The Detective And The Monster

𝙲𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝙴𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝: 𝚄𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚂𝚒𝚗

WARNINGS:
Death of animals
Death of a child

*.*.*.*

"You're such a smart boy, Eddie!"

Multiple people have hobbies, drawing, singing, dancing even. A lot of them treasure gardening, the feeling of taking care of life and observing as it grows into stunning flowers or mouthwatering fruits is rewarding beyond no others. To me, graveyards have always been my garden.

How could I not be enchanted by the art of cemeteries? I come from a long line of cemetery caretakers; I was born into the art.

It never mattered what my job of the day was, maintaining old graves, digging new ones, or planting flowers to make it even more breathtaking, I loved every second of it.

I'm the third oldest of four, and the only one who assisted Dad with whatever work he needed, resulting in me being the finest caretaker of my siblings.

But, one day, I asked for a new pair of gloves; mine were getting tight and extremely ragged. As my dad was about to buy me a new pair, he handed me ones from my older brother, ones he didn't need anymore.

. . . It was always like that. Everything I was given was nothing but old hand-me-downs. Then, anything I didn't need anymore would be passed down to my younger brother.

This job wasn't any different from the dopey hand-me-downs. The eldest was to be the one to inherit the family business. The eldest got everything new, the eldest would take care of the graveyard.

But, every night, every day, I was the one that worked the hardest. Me, not him. I worked hard so those headstones stayed captivating. I worked hard so there'd always be a new grave for whoever needed it. I made sure flowers stayed nutritious, and that every gravestone adorned them.

But, it didn't matter how hard I worked, it still wouldn't amount to anything.

This will never be mine.

There was something else I cherished just as much as my work, those being the pets we kept at home. The pets didn't belong to anyone specific, they belonged to everyone. Since they weren't specified to anyone, they would never end up as hand-me-downs.

Except for that one moment, that one moment when Daisy, our bunny, passed away from age. This time, it was my turn to bury the animal, and I had no problem taking out my responsibility.

It was a nice grave, small, just like Daisy, but just as meaningful.

That same day, just as I was finished burying Daisy, I realized something.

My favorite moment, was when they died.

Once they're dead, they'll enter a grave, one that I made.

The moment they'd enter a grave of my making, they'd officially be "mine."

That's why I liked things that were alive. Every time I created a grave, the feeling would become stronger, and stronger!

Around the time of my discovery, my brother started showing signs of instability, lashing out at the smallest of things. So, when he would lash out, he would not only strike the furniture, but the animals as well. My parents never knew, they thought that the cat would get to the smaller ones, or the bigger animals would die of old age or illness.

The animals that my brother killed, I dug graves for. But then, I realized something was wrong.

The bird belonged to everyone, but my brother was the one who killed it.