Chapter 4
Heather was never one too eager to partake in big, sentimental commotions like these. Even if they were dedicated to her.
Watching your own funeral was just…weird. At the very least, it was something she didn’t expect to experience until she was old and wrinkly, and had lived a life way too full of pleasure to even care about trivial matters such as death. But seeing her own young, beautiful face — not one to normally be in a casket for sure — so pale and expressionless brought out in her an odd sense of detachment. It filled her with a kind of pity she would never have allowed herself to feel for anyone, let alone for herself.
Likewise, everyone at her funeral seemed pretty affected by her death. A bit too affected, in fact. Heather's "suicide" became the talk of the entire town, even garnering the attention of the local TV station. In a small place like Sherwood, where news spread fast, it was natural that many people would show up just out of curiosity, to gawk at the current source of scandal under the guise of concern and respect. With that, came a peculiar occurrence: People she hadn’t even spoke a single word to in life mourned her as if they were the closest of friends. The people she was actually friends with, shockingly enough, were too busy giving interviews, going on about “how good of a person Heather had been in life”. Even her eulogy, delivered by Ms. Fleming of all people, was purely about how Heather was 'such a kind and cherished student in Westerburg High School', that wrote 'the loveliest suicide note she ever read', and how 'she would always live in everyone's hearts'. Ugh.
Yeah, being that revered was to be expected. It was what Heather deserved, after all. Even so, that little "show" the whole town decided to put at her expense still managed to piss her off more than she cared to admit.
They weren’t mourning her. Not the person she had been in life, at the very least. Kind would have been one of the last words any student in Westerburg would use to describe her. Bitch came closer, but still didn’t quite do her justice; No, she had been a mythic bitch to everyone around her, but now they seemed too content to believe that false, ridiculous version of herself. All because of that fucking suicide note.
Veronica was, much like she had also been in life, the one who pissed Heather off the most. She had the audacity to kill Heather — which Heather by no means approved, but had to respect, in a way — and then make up some kind of unbelievable sob story about Heather’s life in the form of a suicide note, telling everyone about how Heather was just so lonely and oh-so-misunderstood. Worse yet, she had the gall to write about how Heather wanted donate all of her things to charity in the suicide note. Even her three TVs. If Heather had a material body right now, that thought would have made her roll her eyes into the back of her skull.
But the worst part — the only one that actually hurt her about the whole situation — was that Veronica, the very same Veronica that killed her, had been someone special to her.
Of course Heather would never say it out loud, and sometimes she didn’t know how to show it very well, but she did like Veronica a little. One could even say they were friends. She couldn't deny that Veronica had some weird sort of thing that made Heather interested in her, ever since they met. Veronica was just...different from the people she was used to. She was willing to stand up for what she thought was right. Sure they argued a lot because of it, but if Heather were to be honest for a moment, their arguments were kind of enjoyable, really. Obviously Heather still thought such an attitude was naive — but it was weirdly refreshing to have someone that wasn't a constant kiss ass to her. At least not all of the time.
Veronica approached the casket, softly whispering the words ‘I’m so sorry’ to the motionless body inside. The tightness Heather felt in her throat at that sight, something she didn’t even think was possible given her current state, now bitterly reminded her of their last argument. Looking back, there was no denying that Heather should’ve just laid off Veronica for once. That would probably have helped her avoid getting vomit in her shoes as well. But they were both drunk, and as drunk people do, had the awful tendency to say things they didn’t really mean. Only this time Heather paid for it with her life.
It didn't help that Sherwood, Ohio was maybe the worst place to be dead in. She couldn't leave, she couldn't haunt the living, and even if she were to see something entertaining, she had no one to share with. There were no lights on the other side.
Heather was no one but an eternal observer to the life that went on without her.
That night was a particularly boring one. Sitting on the front porch of her old house, Heather had found herself almost completely alone in the street, quietly observing the Halloween decorations that adorned nearly every house on her neighborhood, except for her own. As her only company, a calico-patterned stray cat curled down near her, huddling for warmth — it was windy and cold, Heather could only suppose. She had never been particularly fond of cats while alive, but after her death the incredibly perceptive felines were the only ones that showed signs of being able to somewhat sense her presence. Regrettably, in her current form she wasn’t able to emanate the warmth that the cat looked for. Maybe they could at least stay by each other’s side.
A couple of minutes would pass by before Heather looked down at the ground again. The spot near her that had previously occupied by the cat was now empty. Her eyes ran through the ground and through her surrounding before noticing that, technically, the cat was still lying down in the place it had been before — it was her own position that had shifted. It was hard to notice at first, but something was causing her to move at a slow but constant pace, as both her home and the stray cat, who now looked in her direction with curiosity, got further and further away.
Fighting it was useless. Trying to go on the opposite direction in which the force pulled her only made the pull become even stronger, in a weird kind of slingshot effect. Soon enough, she had started moving so quickly that her field of vision became only a blur, making any places or objects she passed by barely distinguishable.
Both the pulling force and the movement came to a sudden halt. Still confused by the trip and a bit dizzy, it took some time for her eyes to adjust to the dark ambient she was now in. The space around her now felt much smaller, and the hotness of her breath, reflected by the wooden walls was extremely uncomfortable — but weirdest of all, it was perceptible. Upon this realization, her own breath stopped for a moment, as if in an act of self-consciousness — giving way instead to the loudest scream her lungs were able to let out instead.