Every pair of eyes was on them as they approached the house. Lenore kept her gaze forward, pretending she didn't notice. It had been years since she and her dad had left, in the wake of everything—the disappearances, the accusations, the rumours—but in a small town, rumours never really die. But the residents of Eden at least had enough manners to let them get to the porch without harassment.

The main door of the house had been propped open with a large river stone, leaving only the screen door. The wind pulled at it, snapping it against the frame like it was trying to get a good enough grip to slip inside. Her dad caught the door mid-snap, its rusted springs squealing in protest as he pulled it wide and held it open for Lenore.

Inside, the people who had gathered in the foyer seemed to step back from them, almost in awe. She'd grown quite a bit in the intervening years, but there was enough of her mother in her that they'd notice some similarities. Lenore looked around the room just for a reason to avoid eye contact.

Just like the outside, the house was exactly as she remembered it. Same dark hardwood floors, same white beadboard walls, the same hard, uncomfortable furniture that some great-uncle-twice-removed had made by hand. The only noticeable difference was the pictures that climbed the wall beside the stairs.

Before, those frames had been filled with a collage of smiling faces: her mom, her dad, Auntie Alice, Grandma Anne, and—of course—Lenore. Auntie Alice had been the first to go after the disappearances. Her dad had probably been next, taken down soon after he and Lenore had left, and with him went the pictures of her mom. Now, it was just photos of her Gran and her. The same grey eyes, the eyes Lenore had inherited from her, stared out from every frame. The entire wall was like a shrine to the two of them.

It was almost as if Lenore had died alongside her.

"Lenore!"

Delilah had reappeared. She stood in the open doorway of the formal living room, or as Gran had called it, the parlour.

If people hadn't been looking before, they certainly were now. Before, some of them might have struggled to recognize Lenore's face. But her name? Her name would definitely ring some bells.

Delilah beckoned to them as if they were meant to follow her. Even though Lenore really didn't want to, her dad nudged her on and led her past the rubberneckers.

As they reached the glass-fronted double doors that opened into the living room, Delilah gave them another stiff smile.

"Your mom is just finishing up with someone," she said, looking apologetic, "but I told her she could meet you here." She motioned to the room beyond. "It'll give you a moment to say your goodbyes, at least." And then she stepped aside. They followed her lead and headed inside.

Lenore barely made it past the doors before she staggered to a stop. Next to her, her dad gave a sharp gasp. It took Lenore a second longer to understand what she was seeing.

The living room was no longer for the living.

The couches and chairs had been removed to make way for a long table, draped with an embroidered sheet and surrounded by pillars of candles and thick bouquets of white flowers. On top of the table, the centrepiece of it all, was a wooden box, as long as the table and simply made. And inside was the corpse of her grandmother, laid out for all to see.

Her dad let out a large, shuddering exhale. "Jesus, Delilah, why didn't you warn us?"

"W-Warn you?" Delilah echoed. She turned, frowning slightly like she didn't understand. "You didn't know? Amelia didn't tell you?"

"No, dammit," Stanley hissed through gritted teeth, "No, she did not."

Untangling herself from Dad's arm, Lenore stepped away from them. She knew that tone in his voice and she didn't like it. That tone meant that it was only a matter of time before things began to go south between him and her mom, and she wanted no part of that.

She took her first step towards the body of her grandmother. Dressed in a simple white dress that resembled a nightgown, Gran looked more asleep than dead. If she hadn't been lying in a wooden box, if they hadn't travelled here expressly for her funeral, Lenore might've thought just that. After all, this whole setup—with all the flowers and the candles and the lacy white nightgowns—looked a lot like one of her silly little 'games' that she used to play with Lenore when she was a kid.

Memories of those games rose up in Lenore's head. Draping fancy tablecloths over their heads and pretending they were lacy Victorian ghosts haunting the sprawling house. Sipping hot cocoa by candlelight after a brutal thunderstorm had knocked out their power. Making crowns from the fresh flowers plucked from Gran's garden out back.

For a moment, the memories made Lenore smile. And then, the last memory crept in—the last time Lenore had seen her grandmother alive. It had been just after her stroke. Lenore had come to visit her in the hospital and stood by Gran's bedside, looking into the empty eyes that no longer recognized her.

The tears started to fall before Lenore even realized they were there. The body in the box looked so different from how she remembered her Gran. This woman was thin and cold, and her hair was white and wispy like steam off a kettle. The stroke had taken so much from her, and it seemed like it had kept on taking until there was nothing left.

With a deep breath, Lenore reached into the box and took one of her grandmother's folded hands. It was stiff and waxy, but she held it all the same.

"I'm sorry, Gran," Lenore whispered. "I'm sorry I didn't get to see you one last time. I wanted to, but..."

As if in response, the wind threw itself against the house, rattling all the windows.

Behind her, her dad was still ranting in whispers to Delilah. "—and I thought maybe she'd been cremated, or we'd be going to the funeral home after, or something! If I had known it'd actually be here, I don't think I would have let Lenore come. For her last memory of her grandmother to be like this, it's... it's..."

"It's tradition," came a familiar voice.

Lenore finally tore my gaze away from her grandmother's body just in time to see her mother—Amelia—walking towards them.

Her mother's eyes were more blue than her grandmother's grey, but she had the same ink-black hair that all the women in their family had—well, before age turned her grandmother's white. There were a few strands of white in her mother's hair, now, too. She kept it short, cropped into a pixie that suited her small, straight features. And, like everyone else, she wore all black: a simple turtleneck under a black skirt-suit.

"Tradition?" Stanley snapped at her. "I was going to say ghoulish."

Her mother's cool eyes hardened like ice. "My family has cared for their dead in this house since it was built. That's what parlours—" she motioned gracefully around the room, "—were originally for, once upon a time. Formal events, like weddings, celebrations, and, yes, even funerals. That's how funeral parlours got their name, you know."

"Sure, whatever," he said with a roll of his eyes. "But it's not the 19th century anymore, is it? Jesus, Amelia. Is this even legal?"

"Of course it is!" Amelia hissed, her eyes sharpening to points like icicles. "You think I'd break the law and invite half the town to witness it? Do your really think I'm that stupid?"

"No, I think you're thoughtless. You could've—should've warned us that you had decided to lay Anne's body out in the living room—"

"I didn't decide anything. This is what my mother wanted!"

"Please," Delilah cut in, stepping closer to Lenore's parents. "Please, you two. Not here. People are looking!"

And they were. Everyone in the parlour had stopped their conversations and turned to watch the commotion. A few people were even peering in from the entrances to the foyer and the kitchen. The people of Eden were never one to pass up a chance for a good show.

But neither of Lenore's parents seemed to care.

"Even if it was," Stanley continued, "You could've given us a warning. Lenore is probably traumatised now, more so than before—"

"Lenore isn't as delicate as you seem to think," Amelia snapped, cutting him off. "And you don't get to lecture me on what my daughter can and can't handle—"

"Actually I do," Stanley said, interrupting right back, "after you practically abandoned her—"

Lenore, still by her grandmother's side, just winced. She knew this was going to happen. This is how it always went. And she couldn't take it anymore.

"Sorry, Gran," she whispered, giving her grandmother's hand one last squeeze. "I can't do this. I can't be here." And then she turned and fled, shoving past the crowd that was too enraptured by her parents' fight to notice her departure.

Her parents didn't notice either, but Delilah did.

"Lenore!" she called after her.

But Lenore didn't stop. She threw herself through the nearest exit.

The door had led to the kitchen. It was the fullest room in the house as the townspeople packed themselves around the expansive selection of gifted casseroles and finger food. Lenore pushed blindly through the crowd. She hadn't been in this room for five years, but she knew exactly where to go—to the door in the corner that led to the back-half porch. She kept pushing forward, expecting resistance, but to her surprise, the sea of people, half oblivious to her presence, parted for her, allowing easy passage.

"Lenore, wait!"

Lenore shot a look over her shoulder. Delilah was trying to follow after her, but she wasn't having the easy time navigating the crowd Lenore did. In Lenore's wake, it seemed the people had closed back in, blocking Delilah's way. She was trying to shove through, muttering apologies as she went, but the confused crowd didn't seem to understand what she was trying to do or where she was trying to go. Lenore didn't stop to help. She turned away and threw herself out the back door, onto the porch.

The screen door snapped shut behind her as Lenore took a deep breath of cool, fresh air. For a moment, she just stood there, letting her breathing slow. The porch, thankfully, was quiet. The storm was almost on top of them, and most of the guests had gone inside to escape it, which was why the kitchen had been so packed. Thick drops of rain had started to fall, splattering against the porch roof with a slow tap, tap, tap. A cool wind rushed up the porch steps to greet Lenore, breaking over her as she looked around, wondering where to go next.

Down the steps was the expansive backyard, soft rolling hills of grass, spotted with a few springy trees. The flower beds, once her grandmother's pride and joy, were empty, now just sad little boxes of dirt. Between them wove a little beaten path that led all the way from the porch steps to the edge of the forest that ran along the back of their property.

Lenore debated following the path, but with the looming storm, it wouldn't be a good idea.

"Lenore."

She whipped around, expecting Delilah to have caught up, but it wasn't her—it was someone else, someone new. The last, lone mourner, a small-framed woman, curled up in the rocking chair next to the door. Her black dress was long and baggy on her narrow shoulders, and her long mousy-brown hair was loosely braided. Her face pulled into a gentle smile, was free of makeup, revealing a thick pattern of freckles and wrinkles.

"I thought that was you," the woman said. When Lenore only returned a blank look—she had no idea who this woman was—the woman tilted her head. "Don't you remember, Lenore? It's me, your Aunt Terra."

Terra? Lenore thought, turning the name over in her mind. It took her a moment, but it eventually came together. She realized she did remember her, though calling her an aunt was a stretch. Terra was another one of her mother's friends.

"Sure," Lenore answered. "Sure, I remember you." The memory of her didn't raise Lenore's hackles as Delilah had. Terra was gentle, nothing like Delilah or her mother.

The woman's smile widened, and Lenore understood then why it had taken her a moment to recognize her. Unlike everything else around here, Terra had changed. She had always been quiet, with a gentle, observing air about her, but most of all, she had been sad. At least now, she seemed to have a kind of peace about her.

"How are you, dear?" Terra asked. "It's been so long."

"Fine." She wasn't, but it was the easiest answer.

"You've grown up well. City life seems to agree with you." Terra continued. "How is school? Your mother said you got into some kind of... specialty program? What kind of program is it?"

"Oh, yeah," Lenore said. She was almost surprised her mother even knew about it, let alone told other people. "It's an advanced program for students who are interested in STEM."

"Do you like it?" Terra said.

"Sure," was all Lenore said. Terra was nice enough, but Lenore didn't really want to sit here making small talk. She wished she could run off again, but there was nowhere to go. Beyond the porch, the storm was threatening, and she definitely didn't want to go back inside...

"And you're graduating next year, right?" Terra pressed, tilting her head again. She didn't seem to notice Lenore's discomfort.

Lenore fought a frown. "No, actually I'm graduating this year," she said.

"This year?" Terra said like that was something truly shocking. Her thin eyebrows rose across her freckled forehead.

Why do you care? Lenore thought but bit the comment back. Small talk was agonizing, but she could suffer a little for some fresh air. "Yeah, I've got plans to graduate early so we can move to San Fran for Dad's new job. We're going as soon as I'm done with this semester—"

"Lenore!"

Delilah had finally caught up and was now fumbling with the screen door. The wind seemed to be holding it shut, but with one good shove, she finally got it open and burst out onto the porch.

"Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry!" she said as she approached Lenore. "I didn't think they'd get into it right then and there—"

"What's happening?" Terra interjected.

Delilah looked over at the woman like she hadn't noticed her. She frowned for a moment, then sighed. "They're fighting."

Terra tutted. "Oh dear."

Lenore scowled at how easily they talked about it. She imagined everyone in Eden did—the demise of her parents' relationship wasn't exactly a secret—but it was still infuriating.

"No wonder you came out here," Terra continued, turning to Lenore. She tutted some more. "Well, no use going back in there for now. Why don't you have a seat here, with me?" She pointed out the bench that was beside the rocking chair.

But Lenore had reached her limit. "Actually," she began, taking a step back from them. "I was just going to—"

"Oh, don't worry," Delilah said, speaking over them both. "I was going to take Lenore somewhere else, somewhere private, until things cooled down—"

"What's more private than this?" Terra offered. "We're practically alone out here. Everyone has fled from the storm. But we're not afraid of a little storm, are we, ladies?" She smiled again, wider this time.

Lenore tried to speak up. "But, I—"

"Well, I was going to bring her upstairs," Delilah continued. "No one's up there and I thought that maybe she'd want to take something from her grandmother's room, to remember her by—"

"She can do that later, Delilah," Terra said firmly, still smiling. She turned back to Lenore and patted the bench beside her. "Now, Lenore, what was that you were saying about your father's new job in San Francisco? You're going with him?"

Lenore scowled. Why is everyone in this town so damn nosy? She wanted to tell them both to shut up—

"Lenore?" a voice came from inside.

Turning to look through the back window, Lenore saw Amelia was in the kitchen. She was looking around, looking for her. A chill climbed up her neck. She really didn't want to speak to her mother right now.

One of the other guests saw her searching and nudged her, pointing towards the door. Amelia thanked them before her eyes snapped up to meet Lenore's.

Lenore spun back around and swore under her breath. She gave another panicked look around her surroundings, avoiding the other women's stares, trying to figure out an escape. There was nowhere to go except... Except...

With another curse, Lenore threw herself out into the rain. She raced down the porch steps and then down the path, heading towards the forest.

Behind her, she heard the screen door snap open. "Lenore!" her mother called after her.

"Just let her go, Amelia," Terra said. "She needs a little space, but she'll be back. She can't stay away forever."

Her mother said something else, but it was lost in the wind as Lenore disappeared into the forest.

How would you have reacted to a funeral like this?