"Well, I ain't ever seen crap like this in my life time," said the stout middle aged man to his younger friend, whom like himself was dressed in a black suit and struggling with the load they shared between them, "they called it frozen rain or something like that on the tele."

"I always thought that frozen rain was snow, or hale, or sleet," replied the other struggling man. His end of the load shifted and the weight caused his tidy black shoe to slip across the iced ground beneath him, almost sending his knee to the floor. "This shit's dangerous, what ever it is," he said as he regained his balance.

"Yeah, this stuff's different, its really rare like. It falls as rain but freezes before it hits the ground, that's why everything's frozen solid." Ivor, the elder of the two black suited men spoke with an air of knowledgeable authority, although, he was not sure of the facts of the freakish weather, but believed his own theory.

"Aye, well no matter now, just concentrate on keeping your end up, I almost went flying then." Owen, was barely out of his teens, and had not been doing the job for very long. He cared little for the older man's wisdom, and more for getting the job done quickly, safely and with the minimum of fuss. He wanted to get out of the bitter cold, and back into the warm. This was his first job out in the field, and he wanted it to be right. "Its not much further, just another fifty yards or so up the hill and we can slide this on to the trolley. Just don't drop it."

It had seemed like a strange career move for him, as his favourite pastime since leaving school had been slacking off. He was usually found sitting around stoned, listening to thrash metal with his fellow rock chums. They all bragged about death, but none of them had any real experience of it. Owen hadn't wanted anything to do with it either, but circumstances had lead to him becoming deeply involved with the death business. Ivor on the other hand was an old pro. Owen suspected the large greying man of being seriously disturbed. Behind the jocular, knowing facade lay a black and perverted heart, he was sure of it. You couldn't do the job for that amount of time without it affecting you, and he was sure that Ivor had been affected. It was in the way he spoke, referring to their precious load as though it were merchandise. It was in his eyes also. Where Owen and his friends carried on about death in their novice ways, laughing at it and welcoming it, Ivor lived with it every day and had done for more than twenty years.

"Careful now," barked Ivor as they approached the dark doorway, "it's real slippy by yur." The path they walked up, with their long and heavy load, was like nothing that either man had seen before. It was as if every surface had been covered in marbles, which had half melted and congealed together leaving a lumpy glassy finish on everything. The hills all around looked glazed, as did the surrounding trees and hedgerows. The sky above them scudded over the hill tops, dark and shallow, as though the ice had sucked all the light from it. The wind was cold around them, expanding the folds and creases of their black uniforms. Their suits were thin but each of them had worn thick thermal underwear beneath, knowing they would be doing a job up the valleys, away from their sheltered home town.

As they approached the door, Owen was ruminating on the likely manifestations of Ivor's supposed perversion. Suddenly he felt his feet plummet away from him in a shocking arc. The whole event switched to slow motion. He watched Ivor topple forwards through the door, letting his grip on the load slip, as with a bang it hit the floor. Ivor swore and turned to look at the long box. Owen no longer had a hold on the box either, and was flat on the ground looking first at Ivor in shock, and then at the box. They both looked at the ornate box for what seemed like an eternity, and then it happened. The gilded casket began to move back down the long slope that they had just carried it up. They both lunged to stop it, but it was to late. The coffin slipped away down the long hill, gaining speed as it shot past the glass crusted grave stones, getting further and further away from the church.

They both looked in horror as the toboggan like coffin left the bending path. It sped faster, heading towards a large headstone at the bottom of the hill by the church wall. The hill wasn't very steep, but the ice made sure that a good speed was reached. With a splintering crunch the front of the coffin split open and ejected the corpse upwards over the headstone, somersaulting through the air until it hit a stone cross a few metres down hill. It landed upside down, a leg over either arm of the cross, backside to the stone and arms dangling solidly downwards. It wore an inverted plastic, menacing grin, as slowly the trousers become undone at the flies, and out sprang a stiff and greying erection to salute the two careless coffin carriers.

Owen looked down the hill in shock, he had never seen a dead body before. Ivor swore some more, and then shook his partner. "We've got half an hour to sort this, or we're both up shitty river. Quick, lets get him down before the congregation arrives." With that they both sped down the hill, taking little care on the dangerous ice. They slid down the hill using, the grave stones to stop themselves, until they reached the inverted, flashing corpse.

Owen was in a panic by this time. "What are we gonna do, man? Shit, aw no, don't make me touch him, I can't man, I frigging can't."

"Calm down, he won't bite you." Ivor climbed the slippery cross with quick and deft movements, hindered by the ice but caring little for its sting on his cold hands. He flipped the legs of the dead man up and over the cross bars so that it fell unceremoniously to the ground in a crumpled heap at Owen's feet. No sooner than the body had settled in a contorted heap than Ivor was back down from the cross. He stood for a second staring at the dishevelled old man appraising the situation with a cool eye. "Well, that was a waste of the mortician's time, they can forget about having an open casket at this service."

As if the corpse had been listening, a flap of scalp began swaying in the breeze, lapping at the cold ground that pressed at, and had damaged, the dead man's head. His legs splayed out on either side of him as though a yoga guru in an inverted scissors position, his gnarled and erect member almost tickled his nose. A lifeless face carried a bemused grin, which unlike the loosened scalp stayed rigid.

Ivor looked at Owen, and spoke, "are you calm yet? Now, go to the hearse, get the toolbox and the rope, and be quick. We can salvage this yet"

Owen replied with a shocked and lost nod, and in a second was about his task. Ivor began collecting the remnants of the coffin. He smiled at his luck, the damage was not too bad. The lid had split in two down its length, and the impacted end of the casket was dented but still held together. He placed the two halves of the lid inside the coffin just as Owen returned like a drunken skater, rope in one hand, toolbox in the other.

Ivor took the long length of rope and began unravelling it. He slipped over towards the upturned body, and tied a length around the armpits and chest. The rest of the untied end went through one of the handles of the coffin. As he finished, he looked at a stunned and silent Owen and smiled. "this should sort the bastard out, just you wait and see now. Come on, back up the hill with you."

At this point, Owen was starting to see the older man's plan, and in respect and fear he went along with it. He didn't care so much about his own job, as he had just begun, but he was determined to help Ivor keep his. With a glaring blow from the frozen grey sky, they both started walking and slipping the hundred yards back up to the Church. As they walked up the hill, Ivor coiled the rope behind them, until they reached the church door with just a few feet to spare. They turned to look back down the hill at the slack rope, and with a groan began to pull. Ivor chuckled while pulling and speaking, "we should 'ave done this in the first place, it would have saved us a bit a trouble."

First the body moved away from the cross, sliding past the headstones until it passed the coffin, which then jerked and began to follow its occupant up the improvised drag lift. Both scraped and twitched their way over the frosted path's surface as the tense rope pulled them, the vibrations making the dead man's erection jiggle into the cold grey air. From the church door Owen choose not to look down at the approaching strange cargo, but outwards down the cold valley. The road from the church ran away into the distance along the valley's white floor, until it drifted around one of the spurs at the opposite end. From there the valleys and surrounding hills flattened out onto the coastal plain. Owen could see his home town, shimmering coldly in the distance, the grey air fighting to consume it. Occasional shafts of sunlight lit the distant sea's rippling surface, making Owen think of the old man's soul. He hoped the old man would forgive them for the rough treatment, and see it in his dead heart to keep Ivor employed.

Just as the body and coffin reached the door of the church, the black convoy appeared in the distance at the end of the valley. Ivor and Owen doubled their efforts together as they simultaneously spotted the approaching congregation. Ivor grabbed the body under the arms and pulled it to the back room, whilst Owen pulled the coffin. Once they were out of the main part of the church Ivor shut the door firmly, after dropping the corpse with a humph.

"What are we going to do, aye? We've had it, they're almost here now," pleaded Owen.

"Don't you panic son, we'll sort this out in no time, now calm yourself down man." Ivor's voice was the model of experienced calm. "I'll just tell the vicar what 'appened like, and he'll understand and tell 'em that due to an accident on the ice the coffin's a bit battered and we're unable to open it, okay boy? I tell you now, don't you worry about it, it's happened a million times before, and it will again, right, now grip 'is legs and lets get 'im back to bed."

Owen fought his repulsion, and holding his breath he took the corpse's legs and lifted him with Ivor back into the velvet lined casket. All the while he avoided looking at the swaying erection that waved on in front of him. Once they'd replaced the corpse Ivor stared at the member, and with one swift and uncaring dart of the hands he bent it back beneath the ripped and sagged trousers.

"Jesus shitting Christ man," drawled Owen, "you'd better wash your hands hadn't you?"

"Nah, its alright man, he's been thoroughly cleaned," laughed Ivor, "and besides, its not as if he died of syphilis or anything, is it?"

Owen looked at the lying corpse with a disgraced grimace, and for the first time with any real length of contemplation. He was amazed at its peacefulness, even after being dishevelled and damaged. Its grin looked angelic now that the erection had disappeared. Owen could see that he had nothing to fear, except for the closing congregation. He turned to Ivor and spoke. "We'd better get this lid on pronto."

They placed the two halves of the split coffin's lid on top, and although it fitted back on, it sagged at the middle where the split had occurred. Ivor was starting to lose his cool, "Aw, shit, this is not going to work, we need to prop it up somehow." They looked at each other, and just then Owen knew what to do.

"Watch this," he said to Ivor whilst pulling back his half of the broken lid, smiling. He quickly unzipped the body's trousers fly, allowing the stiff penis to spring back skywards. "Now try it," he chuckled.

The two halves of the lids lay straight and correct. Ivor smiled at his young companion and spoke, "You're a genius boyo, now get that toolbox quick and hammer this lid down so no bleeder can get it open."

After a fit of hurried hammering and bracketing the battered coffin was ready for the service. They placed it on the trolley and wheeled it out to the alter, just as the funerary group arrived. Ivor looked at Owen and made a relieved wipe of his brow, smiling all the while. "You go and wait outside, and I'll inform the vicar of our slight accident, alright now. We're home free."

Owen walked a relieved walk outside the church, making sure he wore his solemnest look as he passed the mourners. Once outside he sighed, lit a cigarette and puffed heartily as the grey smoke reeled into the sky, making his view down the valley at his home town change and mutate. He leant back against the cold stone of the frosted church and smiled. He couldn't wait to get home and tell his smoking metal friends about his day, they'd love it. It wasn't long before the smoky smile had turned to open laughter, just as Ivor walked from the church with a look of relieved satisfaction, making an okay sign with his fingers. "What's so funny?" He asked.

"Oh nothing much," replied the giggling Owen, "I was just thinking how much I'm gonna enjoy this job."

"I wouldn't laugh just yet mind," said Ivor pointing down the icy hill at an empty hole close to the church wall, "we've got to get him back down there yet."