People Who Can’t Sing Wake Up Dead

As a child my parents forced me to join the local church choir. We met every Sunday morning, and most Thursday nights when we had a special service to perform for. When I was only six years old I remember a young girl, Emily, not being allowed to join. I don’t really know why. She must have sang badly or something. <br><br>One Sunday morning just after the sermon, all of us kids were gathered in the entrance hall, getting into our orange robes. The adults were doing the same in their purple ones. A few older men stood with their backs to us, having some kind of conversation. I remember because they stopped talking when the vicar came over and told Emily she wasn’t welcome. Apparently she’d been coming for a few Sundays already and they were getting complaints. <br><br>‘No, don’t worry! I don’t sing. I just like the colours!’ she said excitedly, pulling at her yellow dress. I was a bit jealous that she could wear whatever she wanted.<br><br>The vicar seemed annoyed by her response. He asked her if she’d like to sing for him. I don’t know why he did that. He must have known she’d be terrible with all the complaints. Anyway, she did. And… it was like someone strangling a cat. But she was only a kid. I mean we all sounded pretty bad. But this was different. This hurt to listen to.<br><br>‘Okay Emily, you don’t need to sing anymore. Thank you.’ The vicar interrupted her, covering his ears. <br><br>I remember looking at the older men who were still stood nearby. They were all smiling. One of them was even chuckling to himself. I watched as the vicar called Emily’s parents over. They came from outside. I don’t know what they were doing out there. They were upset. They started shouting at the vicar. He started shouting back. Then they left. <br><br>That was it. We went inside and did the service. <br><br>The next Sunday we all met up again, as usual. Emily wasn’t back. I remember wondering what they were going to do about the church play that Christmas. She was supposed to be an angel. We all were. <br><br>The next Thursday was a bit different though. <br><br>It was a special service for the people who’d recently passed away. I recognised Emily’s parents. They were sat at the front, wearing black. They were crying. I wondered who had died. My mum told me it was their daughter Emily. I was shocked. I’d never known anyone who’d died before. The vicar was talking about how sad it was that such a young girl had died. I was confused. How did she die? <br><br>I never found out what happened to her. But that night something really strange happened. <br><br>It started raining. At first, it was normal. But then the rain started getting heavier and heavier. I remember it being so loud outside I could barely hear the service over the sound of it. I looked outside. Water started to flow in through the entrance. I wanted to look closer but my mum told me to stay where I was. The adults went to push the water back. It kept coming though, like it was being funnelled in. I remember the sound of thunder, and the lights flickering. It was a bit scary. <br><br>I looked back outside. I could see a little girl’s face in the water, outside the windows. It looked like that from where I was. It was probably just someone out there in the rain, but I’m sure it looked like Emily. <br><br>The water kept coming. It was flooding inside really quickly. The adults were struggling to keep it out. The service was interrupted. People were shouting. The entrance hall was already swamped. We were right at the back, closest to it, but even our feet were getting wet. <br><br>I remember it because the adults managed to push some of the water back out and someone behind me shouted ‘stop! There’s something in it!’ When they looked into the water they found a dead body. It was Emily. I was too scared to look. I had to look up at my dad to distract myself. He didn’t seem scared at all. I remember his face. It was the same as the men in the church, just smiling. <br><br>They managed to get the water back and stop it from coming in anymore. They put Emily’s body up by the altar. They continued with the service. At the end of it everyone lined up to view Emily’s body. It was weird. I didn’t want to go but my dad made me. <br><br>I looked down at her. I recognised her yellow dress. When I looked up at my dad I saw something in his eyes. It was the same as before, but different. It felt like he was telling me something, but he didn’t say it out loud. <br><br>‘If you ever hear me sing, you must get away from me as quickly as possible.’ He said. <br><br>‘Okay.’ Was all I could manage. <br><br>We went home. He never mentioned it again, but I always remembered what he said. I don’t know why he said it. I never heard him sing. And it didn’t make sense. Why would he tell me to get away from him just because he was singing? <br><br>It didn’t matter that he’d never sing though. The message stuck. I never forgot it. <br><br>When I was a bit older I asked my mum about it. She said that a long time ago some people in the village who couldn’t sing woke up dead. No one knew what was happening to them. They were all part of the church choir, but they’d be found dead in the morning. Sometimes in the church itself, sometimes in their own beds, and sometimes in the streets. They didn’t know how or why it was happening, but they knew that they were all connected by the church. The church decided anyone who couldn’t sing wasn’t allowed in. <br><br>Then the dead stopped turning up. <br><br>That was all my mum really knew. <br><br>Well, that’s my story. I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m telling you all this. You see, I woke up this morning to find my dad dead. I don’t know what happened to him. He was lying on his bed. His eyes were open. His face was blue. There were scratches all over his throat. <br><br>I knew something was wrong the moment I heard him. You see, he was singing. Like I said, I never heard him before. And it sounded… like someone strangling a cat. I remembered his words straight away. If I ever hear him sing, I have to get away as quickly as possible. <br><br>I ran downstairs into the back garden. My neighbours came out and asked me what was wrong. They said they heard my dad screaming. I told them he was singing, and they knew what to do. We talked about it. They knew the same story I did. They knew that people who couldn’t sing woke up dead. They told me to get out of town, to never come back, to never hear my dad sing again. <br><br>I’m writing this in my car. I’m just down the road from my house. I’m going to stay here for a while. <br><br>I can hear thunder.