A Drabble: Uncle Ernie

On a clear day, the basement flooded. We had no sump pump.

“I’ll siphon it,” Uncle Ernie said, grabbing a hose. He stuck one end through the hopper and the other into his mouth.

Ma said, “That hose has been lying in the garden all summer. No telling what might’ve crawled inside.”

Ernie’s eyes widened. He dropped the hose, twirling across the lawn in a drunken ballet before collapsing. He was pronounced dead at four-thirty.

Hours later, the cold locker drawer slid out. The backdoor of the morgue swung open, and Uncle Ernie…something LIKE Uncle Ernie…strolled away into the night.

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