Tonight my best friend in Connecticut called and we were on the phone for nearly an hour.
During the conversation, which tended to ramble as our phone talks frequently do, she hit upon the subject of funeral homes. She was a hair stylist and worked for ten years in a funeral home doing the hair and make-up for the deceased.
I remember years ago going to her house so she could cut and perm my hair. Occasionally I would pinch myself while sitting in her salon chair and she would ask, "What are you doing?" and I'd say, "Just checking to make sure I'm still alive, you are the hairdresser to the dead after all!" It was a running joke with us.
Tonight she told me the story of the little girl with the golden hair. The hairstylist would go in after hours after being called and told there was a body that needed hair and make-up done on it. There was a keypad lock on the door she entered by. She got the call to come in and do a child's hair, the child was in her casket already. So she goes. It's raining, thunder and lightning, the whole nine yards. It's after 11PM. She's the only living person in the funeral home.
She sets up her curling iron to give the little girl with the golden hair sausage curls. As she begins to work lightning is flashing outside the windows, thunder is booming and shaking the building. From the corner of her eye she sees movement, turns her head and sees the child's clasped hands coming unfolded! She got totally freaked out- couldn't get the little girl's hair done fast enough!
And then she got out of there like the grim reaper was chasing her!
When she mentioned this the next day to the funeral director he kind of chuckled and revealed that sometimes that happens, the hands they carefully fold once a body is in the casket can come unclasped.
She hadn't known this- and as of seven o'clock tonight I hadn't known this could happen, but now I do!
No names were used in the relating of her story from years ago. She said, "Go ahead and use that in a future story!"
I just might.