Here’s an updated version of a short story I wrote about 25 years ago. I hope you like it.

Blue Velvet

by Nicole E. Woolaston

Caroline and Cynthia were sisters, that is to say, they shared the same mother and father. As far as they were concerned, that was the extent of their relationship. They shared the house their parents had left them; the house they had grown up in. They did their best to avoid one another and in doing so, avoid any arguments. Occasionally, they would see one another in some common area of the house: the kitchen, the living room, etc. Their encounter would be brief, and each woman would go on about her business. One afternoon, an encounter became unavoidable: the family lawyer had stopped by to see them, and needed to speak to both Caroline and Cynthia.

The three of them sat at the kitchen table, reading the paperwork Mr. Wallace the lawyer had brought for them. The sisters were getting older and needed to start making arrangements for the inevitable. It had already been decided they would be buried in the family mausoleum. Mr. Wallace needed to know the specifics of each woman’s funeral service, especially what each wanted to be buried in.

“My blue velvet dress, of course,” Cynthia said, when asked. “My favorite. It looks stunning on me, and I’m sure it’ll suit me just fine when I’m dead.”

“What difference will it make?” Caroline asked, folding her arms. “You won’t know what you’re wearing, because you’ll be dead. It’s such a foolish thing to fuss over.”

Cynthia smirked at her sister. “It’s still my choice, and I want to be buried in my blue velvet dress.”

Mr. Wallace nodded slowly. “I’ll make a note of it. And what about you, Caroline? Have you given any thought to what you want to be buried in?”

Carlone scowled at him for a moment. “Maybe I should wear my wedding dress. You know, the one I wore forty years ago? When I was supposed to get married?”

Cynthia sighed and twisted in her chair. “Oh, not this again. I told you Lance wasn’t any good! Everyone told you! But you still insisted on seeing him.”

“He would have married me!” Caroline shouted. “If you hadn’t thrown yourself at him, I’d be married to him right now!” She looked away from her sister. “We’d be living in a nice little house of our own. Instead, I’m stuck here with you.”

Cynthia laughed and shook her head. “I didn’t throw myself at Lance,” she corrected. “He chased me. And I only went with him to prove a point. He was no good. No good at all.”

Mr. Wallace finished recording all the details of the sisters’ wishes for their funeral services, and returned to his office. Caroline and Cynthia went about their daily routines of avoiding each other. One morning, Caroline was in the kitchen, washing her breakfast dishes and waiting for Cynthia to make an appearance. She waited, but her sister never entered the kitchen. Not that she wanted to see her, but curiosity made her go to Cynthia’s room. She knocked on the door and waited. “You awake?”

No answer.

“Cynthia?”

Silence.

Caroline placed her hand on the knob and slowly turned it, and let herself into her sister’s room. Cynthia was still lying in her bed, and the curtains were drawn. “It’s getting late,” Caroline said. “It’s not like you to sleep in like this.” She approached the bed and stood. “You awake?” She grabbed the covers and pulled them down. Cynthia lay with her eyes wide open, staring up at nothing. 

A doctor was called to the house. Heart attack, he said. She had passed away in her sleep. Mr. Wallace was notified, and the arrangements were set in motion. The wake would be held at the house. When the mortician was ready to dress Cynthia’s body, Caroline supplied a dress from her sister’s closet: a drab, gray dress.

“It’s what she wanted,” Caroline said, proudly. “Make sure she looks good.”

Cynthia’s body was dressed in the gray dress and placed inside her casket, and returned to the house, where it was displayed on a table in the living room. The wake would begin later that afternoon. Until then, Caroline was alone in the house, with her sister’s body. The casket remained open, and Caroline looked down at her sister, dressed in gray. Her face was expressionless and cold. Caroline laughed to herself, then walked out of the living room.

She sat in the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea and smiling to herself. “Blue velvet dress,” she muttered. “Indeed.”

In the silence, she heard a strange sound. There was a sort of creaking noise, coming from the living room. Caroline set her cup down, and waited. Then she heard a different sound: footsteps, walking out of the living room, and up the stairs. 

“Who could that be?” Caroline asked herself out loud. “Hello?”

No one answered her. 

She heard a shuffling noise upstairs. She stood up from the kitchen table and slowly walked to the foot of the stairs. She stood there, listening;waiting. Someone is in Cynthia’s room, she thought. 

The phone suddenly rang, causing Caroline to jump. She sighed and clutched her chest, as she returned to the kitchen. She grabbed the phone, which was mounted on the wall beside the refrigerator and answered it. “Yes?”

“It’s Mr. Wallace, ‘mam,” Mr. Wallace said, on the other end of the line. “I was just calling to see if you’re okay.”

“Oh,” Caroline said. “Yes, well, I’m fine. I just thought—”

Footsteps traveled down the steps again, and entered the living room.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

Caroline didn’t pay Mr. Wallace any attention. She stood perfectly still, listening to the sounds coming from the living room. The same creaking noise as before, only louder this time. Then, silence. “I’ll have to call you back,” she said.

“Well, that won’t be necessary,” Mr. Wallace said. “I’m on my way for the wake. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Okay,” Caroline said. She didn’t bother to say goodbye, she simply hung up the phone. She wanted to go into the living room, but she didn’t really want to know what was going on in there. Mr. Wallace was on his way. Surely, she could wait until he arrived. 

Caroline didn’t set foot into the living room until Mr. Wallace and the people from the funeral parlor arrived for the service. Instead, she went up to her room and changed into a black dress, and met the mourners as they arrived at the front door. Chairs had been arranged in the living room, and everyone took a seat. Caroline slowly walked up to Cynthia’s casket one last time, before it was closed. What she saw, made her as white as a sheet.

Cynthia was lying inside her casket, dressed in her blue velvet dress, and wearing a smile upon her face. Caroline looked all around the room. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see Mr. Wallace standing with her. “They did a nice job,” he said. “And she was right: she really does look stunning in that blue velvet dress.”

The End