The Obituary Society Read Online Free PDF

raised his family. 
    Standing on this porch, she felt as though new roots were extending from her feet down through the slats in the wood and deep into the earth below.  She took a slow breath and turned to let herself inside.
    The old lock resisted, making a grinding noise before the loud click.  She pushed the solid door inward.  As she passed through each room, she imagined three generations living there;  Great-Grandma Elaine proudly hanging curtains, then perhaps Grandma Phoebe making her claim in the choice of yellow wallpaper in the dining room many years later.  She laughed at herself, thinking that she wasn't so different from Ada, who read between the lines of her black-and-white obituaries, making the stories more colorful.
    An old house is alive with ghosts.  Each person that lived there made some kind of mark;  if not in the choice of paint or cabinetry, then in a ding in the wall, a faucet with the handles installed backward, or a name carved out in the wallpaper behind the bed in secret.  In some way, each voice that wandered its rooms whispers, “I was here.”
    The house had been locked up since grandfather left.  He didn't want it rented out or sold to someone who wasn't family, and Ada was the only family member who seemed to want to live in Auburn.  The windows had been boarded over, creating narrow shafts of light swimming with dust motes. 
    When Grandfather left, he hadn't done a very thorough job of clearing the place out, which was strange, considering how clean and fastidious he'd been in all the time she knew him.  Most of the furniture had been left behind, although someone had taken the time to throw sheets over the sofa and chairs.  The effect was eerie, like the Barbie Dream House gone terribly wrong. 
    Lila entered the kitchen, bracing herself for what she might find there, but fortunately it had been completely cleared out.  An empty tin of Ajax and a shriveled-up sponge had been left behind.  Several of the cupboard doors hung open and the fridge was slightly out of place. 
    She paused and pulled a newspaper clipping from her purse.  Ada had offered to write up Grandpa Isaac's obituary.  Then she'd gotten hold of an extra paper and cut the segment out for Lila.  Lila looked around for a magnet, and finding none, pulled a bit of gum from her mouth and stuck the obituary to the fridge.  She admired her handiwork, laughing at herself.  Somehow it felt right.
    Isaac Grant Moore, Oct. 23, 1941-June 15, 2014.  Isaac was born to Phillip and Elaine Moore in Auburn, Nebraska.  Isaac farmed in Auburn for many years, living with his wife Phoebe and son Nicholas in the beloved pink house built by his father.  He moved to Rock Springs, WY, in 1994, but his heart was always here.  He was a lover of lemonade and music and books, was devoted to Phoebe, a defender from errant fowl, a laugher, a keeper of secrets.  He is survived by his sister, Ada, and his granddaughter, Lila.  There will be a simple funeral service at the cemetery on June 20 at 9 am.
    Her chest tightened.  It summed up Grandpa Isaac simply and well.  And it was what she would expect from Ada;  a few beautiful details sprinkled with mystery.  Lila couldn't help but wonder what secrets were buried with Grandpa Isaac.
    Turning to leave the kitchen, Lila noticed a drawer partly open.  When she shoved it closed, something slid around inside.  She opened it and found a collection of skeleton keys.  She was so fascinated by the shapes and patina that she stuck them in her purse.
    Exploring the house was like a treasure hunt.  The old furniture, the details in the lighting, moldings, and doorknobs were so much more interesting than in modern homes.  She walked up the creaky stairs and peeked into the three bedrooms.  She couldn't help but grin when she opened the bathroom door and beheld an iron claw-foot tub.  She'd always dreamed of bathing in one of those.  It needed cleaning, but there were no nicks or