I am Li Mo, the night shift cleaner at the funeral home. I've been mopping the floors here for fifteen years, and it's never really been the dust that needs cleaning.
I can see them - the souls of the dead who can't live without me. The bride with a broken red rope tied to her ankle, the wronged person banging in the freezer, the countless faces half-shot in the mirror. I learned to keep my mouth shut, and only used a mop and bucket late at night to deal with stains that no living person could see: unresolved resentments, heavy concerns, and forgotten names.
Until recently, I found that my name began to appear in places where it shouldn't appear: records of death in the line of duty thirty years ago, curses of spiritual fear, and an ancient seal deep in the museum that requires blood to maintain.
The night is still very long, and the sound of the mop across the tiles is masking another echo coming from the ground. Some tasks, once started, cannot be stopped - especially when you discover that you are also one of the "things" that should not be seen in this funeral home.
