Cedar Sarcophagus

Word Count: 2,460

My family was one of the first of the ultra-wealthy aristocrats to reach the new world. They arrived in North America before the early colonies seceded from the British Empire. Prior to this, my ancestors lived in a castle nestled deep in the mountains of the old country. The majestic fortress, built sometime in the 1100’s, acted as the home of untold generations of my family. 

When my great-great grandparents moved to the new world, they would not allow the family’s proud stone manor to stay behind. Block by block the castle was disassembled, moved by sea to America and reassembled at the place of my ancestor’s choosing. 

The arduous task took nearly a decade to complete. Labor was scarce and my ancestors felt slaves to be more trouble than they were worth. They died easily and were occasionally quite disobedient. Slaves tended to be more expensive than the work they performed. 

The only way to turn a profit with slaves was breeding them, and earlier generations of my family wished to see as little of the Negros as they could. Their fear was the dark-skinned slaves would eventually breed out of control and revolt against their rightful owners. 

By the time I was born into the family line, the mass influx of immigrants from all over the world began to fill the land, and their meager buildings took over the landscape. 

The family castle once rested in the mountains back in the homeland. It was again reassembled in the mountains that would one day be called “The Smoky Mountains.” They chose a location difficult to access, which was the major factor in it taking nine years to put together. It only took a year and a half to disassemble it and move it to the New World. 

Without the kingdom, without the servants or slaves, the building slowly began to decay. Without constant maintenance, entropy slowly took over what was once a grand palace. What were once strong, proud battlements lay on the ground, with only a few still remaining in their proper position atop the broad stone walls. The blocks lay on the ground covered in lichens of mainly two sorts, one rust in color and the other an almost luminescent yellow. Neither were native to the region, only growing on the stone from the mother land. The blocks now lay scattered and cracked by grasses fallen into the tiny crevices formed when the blocks first struck the ground. 

The hall that once ran along the interior side of the east wall collapsed eight years after I was born. Every time I saw the toppled stones I wept. This was once my mother’s favorite part of the castle. The sunlight shined brightly through the morning windows revealing a variety of artworks my family acquired at one time or another. Ever since her passing, I looked at this place as a monument in honor of my sweet and caring mother. 

Without warning, the entire northern wall buckled in the center and within moments it collapsed. Father so happened to be in that vicinity when the fatigued wall of stone fell crushing him instantly. I never got to know him, so the only images I have of him come from the many portraits lining the walls of the still maintained portion of the decaying structure. 

Both of my aunts passed before bearing children, and my uncle’s wife was barren and thus brought no heirs into the family line. This left me and only me as the sole inheritor of the crumbling castle and its fifty-one square miles of land. 

 My family’s land once spread for hundreds of square miles, but at times to keep up the building, land was sold to pay the debt. Still, fifty-one square miles of land was a lot of land. 

Even as a child, I explored the crumbling ruins I would one day inherit. The lichen covered stone southern wall crumbled and fell before my birth. Only a portion of the wall collapsed, leaving the rest strangely bowed inward. The stones of the far end somehow clung in place, but it too would soon fall. It was only a short matter of time before we lost the southern wall, leaving the western wall of the outer castle standing alone. It should be only a few years before it fell from lack of support. The buttresses decayed from the weather and crumbled from the foliage growing out of the stone. 

 I was in my first year of my second decade when the last wall finally lost its war with time and gravity. As with the other walls, I expected the western wall to fall inward. As I strolled outside along taking my evening walk, the west wall fell outward. I walked along the wall only moments ago, and were I one minute later the collapse would be my demise and my grave. 

 Several years later – I changed the path of my strolls after the western wall collapse – I took my scheduled daily walk. As I looked around, I thought of how selling of possessions always paid for the upkeep, and those were nearly exhausted. I did not know how I would keep the building standing at all anymore as I was the sole owner of the fortress.   My uncle passed only a few years ago, so I was the last of the family line. 

Never being much of a socialite, I met very few women in my life. Despite my handsome, well-attended appearance, I did not receive the attraction I expected to receive. It seems I did not have much of a charismatic personality, which really helped to push away any woman I met. I still hoped one day to marry and sire a child to inherit the land when I died, so I still tried to attend social functions when I could. 

As I wondered around the grounds, I spotted what was possibly a constructed entrance into what appeared to be a natural grotto almost completely obscured by decades of overgrowth. Even though heavy vines and other vegetation obscured the opening, it seems like something I would have infallibly found by now. I thought I was familiar with every inch of the remaining grounds, but year after year I passed by this area without ever noticing it. 

I approached the man-made entrance as quickly as the thick foliage would let me. Something seemed quite eerie about the place, but I could not put my finger on it. It quickly became apparent the portal was not natural. 

Soon it became clear to me. The ancient granite comprising my home is the same type of stone used to create this portal. I did not know the function of the place, but once I reached the vine and lichen covered stones I realized its purpose. 

I pushed away the wood-vine draped across the face of the entrance and found something shocking. A message in the old language carefully etched deep into the surface of the stone did not tell me much, but I did recognize the homeland spelling of the family name. 

I stepped into the opening and discovered the small cavern was in fact a mausoleum. The instant I stepped through I could smell the dry pungent dust floating in the air like a light fog. The clouded air burned my lungs, so I removed my handkerchief from my pocket and used it to conceal my nose. 

Small air-shafts let in just enough light so I could see. It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness of the tomb. After a minute or so I could see what lined the walls of the room. Shelves of polished marble supported on polished granite stone created  alcoves. The vertical granite slabs separated the marble slabs apart to allow the shelves to each hold a single cedar sarcophagus. 

The room was larger than I expected and crypt after crypt lined the length of the entire walls. I guessed there must be somewhere between thirty-five or forty of the cubbys, and as far as the light allowed me to see they were all full. 

I approached the left wall and found, engraved into the horizontal face of the marble, the names of the one contained within and the name of each of the parents. If I spent enough time in here with a pad and pencil, I could probably track my family tree back quite some way. The idea of it excited me. I now had the opportunity to find out the lineage of aristocrats leading up to my birth. 

I walked along the wall of coffins and briefly took the time to glance over the names engraved into the stone shelves. Initially the names of the lineage showed on the face was in the language of old. I could interpret some of them, but not many. As a child, my mother taught me to translate and read the language. That was long ago, and I retained less and less over the years. 

After passing the first twelve caskets, the language changed to the English I read and understood. I did not recognize the names on the next two stacks of shelves, but after I walked over to the other wall, I finally saw the name of my great-great grandmother and great-great grandfather. 

The sarcophagus held up all these years because of the dryness of the chamber and the fact the coffins were constructed from cedar. Properly selected, cut and treated cedar coffins would hold their integrity for countless ages. In a way, I felt as if this preservation of my family line somehow brought immortality to my ancestors. 

I found my grand-parents, and my aunts and uncle. One stone shelf remained empty, the only one that remained empty. The casket sat outside of it and did not appear to be sealed, so I assumed it was probably still vacant. A sudden wave of terror and panic coursed through my mind and body. 

Something told me to turn and flee. I stood conflicted. Part of me wanted to run, but part of me wanted to stay. I could not say how long I stood there, my mind conflicted and my heart rate increased. It almost seemed as if I was paralyzed. Nothing but my intense trepidation held me in place. 

The sun shifted position after I entered the crypt, so I knew I only had about ten minutes before the mausoleum turned completely dark. Finally my curiosity won over my fear. I knelt down for better leverage and tried to open the lid. It raised an inch or so, but I could not get it open with only one hand. 

Returning my handkerchief to my pocket, I used both hands and forced the lid open. The dusty air once again burned my nose and throat. I tried to take slow deep breaths through my nose to lessen the burning. 

The lid was heavier than I anticipated. Holding my breath was not an option, as I had to take a deep breath before I struggled to raise the coffin’s lid. After a moment or two of straining my arms, legs and back the lid flew open onto its hinges. 

 As the lid sprung open, it stirred the dust from the lid, the floor and the stone cubby next to it.  The mere quantity of the dust stung my eyes in addition to my nose and throat. I withdrew my shirt so it came untucked from my waist and pulled the top to cover my face. Even then, the dust filtered through my shirt and continued to dry and burn my eyes. 

The casket was empty as I expected. It was then I noticed the engraving on the empty shelf. With the dust and the shift in the sun, I could not make out the engraved message on the marble slab. 

Tears ran from my eyes and the relentless dust stung them unmercifully which caused me to squint tightly. The concentrated the tears in my eyes made it even more difficult to see the lettering on the polished stone. I tried to force my eyes open a little more, but my reflexes would not allow that. 

I leaned in a bit further, which put me leaning above the empty casket. Then I could finally make out the words. As with the others, two names were engraved into the stone. This one shelf was the only to have three lines rather than two. Side by side I saw two names, Gerrard and Cassandra, my parent’s names. 

I had to lean in a bit further to read the other two lines. The lettering was smaller in order to accommodate three lines, making it even harder to read. I leaned in a bit further and saw my name under those of my parents. This casket was for me. 

As unnerving as that was, it did not seem to bother me too much. It was not until I read the third line the fear rocked my body. Below my name I saw the words “The last of the noble bloodline.” 

 The shock caused my arms to fall to my side. This released my shirt from my face and once again the dust choked my nose and throat. The sudden tingling in my nose threw me into a sneezing fit. The convulsing and jerking caused me to fall face first into the casket. When I tried to stand I found something blocking my way. The heavy lid fell closed, shutting me inside. 

In absolute panic, I rolled over to my back so I could push the lid open again. It did not budge. I tried to use both my arms and legs to open the coffin. The lid continued to stay tightly shut. I began kicking and screaming in a futile effort to somehow gain a grip on the wooden surface. 

I never noticed the pain as my fingernails tore from my fingers. I thrashed and shouted to God to get me out of this dire situation. I knew in my heart no one was coming. Vegetation hid the entrance well enough to keep it concealed all these years. I was sure I would never attract someone’s attention in time. I was to meet my end very soon. 

Sparks of light filled my eyes as I now struggled to breathe. My thrashing and screaming served to do nothing but rapidly deplete my oxygen. 

Grasping my throat as if that was somehow helpful, I thought to myself. I never married and thus never sired any children. I am the last of the bloodline and this casket was made for me. Trapped alive, I realized my ancestors somehow knew and prepared for me to be sealed away forever in this cedar sarcophagus.