The Grave

 

The mist slowly twines around my legs. The flashlight trembles in my hand. For this one night I have to be brave. Initiation. That’s what my friends call it. I call it torture. They know full well that I am afraid of the dark, and yet here I am, in a graveyard. One night. From dusk ‘till dawn. Creepy vampire movies anyone? I shake my head to clear that thought before any other freaks me out by going down that path. What else can I focus on? The dirt path is rough, the roots of the trees nearby having already broken through the ground. Here in the dark they look like snakes……or arms. NO! I will not think like that.   I turn around and give one last lingering look at the gate where my “friends” still stand. I’m not sure that I want to be here anymore. I don’t think I want to join their stupid club that bad. I start to walk back towards them.

                “Hey, Amy! Are you scared already?” This is coming from Bradley, the oldest of my friends at 20. I am only 18, and maybe I’m not so smart.

                I stop walking. “Of course not, Brad. If you could do this, I can too!” Alice and Jamie, Bradley’s 19 year old twin cousins start to laugh. I can’t tell if it’s at me or him, but I don’t care anymore. I said I would l do this and I will. How else will I stop fearing the dark?

                I smile bravely and turn back around. I don’t start to shake until I hear the sound of tires on gravel as they leave.  I shine my flashlight into the dark. The cemetery never seems so vast during the day. I take a moment to fish my old tape recorder out of my back pocket. I turn it on and push record. I have to stay awake all night, and this will be my proof. I hate to say it, but when I sleep I snore, so they will know if I go to sleep.  I shove the recorder into my jacket pocket.   The wind blows and swirls the mist up to my waist. I hug my jacket tighter and my flashlight all but wobbles out of my hand.   I walk farther down the path and deeper into the trees…..and graves.

                I feel oddly at peace the farther I walk. My flashlight has stopped twitching. (I’m refusing to blame it on myself right now.) The trees, so leafy and green during the day are now large dark sentinels beside even older gravestones. My curiosity is getting the better of me. I veer off the path and walk to a small stone. It barely reaches my knees. (And I’m only 5’2”, so that’s saying something.) I just barely manage to make out the inscription so that I can recite it for my recorder.

                “Here lies Tripton Gask, beloved son. 1890-1908. His sin will not be mentioned.”   That’s odd. I wonder why anyone would write something like that. I lean down and press my fingers the cold stone. Yet it is not cold. It is slightly warm to the touch, almost pulsing, like a heartbeat. I snatch my fingers back, and a cold wind rubs only against my cheek. I raise my hand to my face a spin around.

                “Who’s there?” I cry out, certain that my friends are playing some kind of prank. No one is there. The feeling of peace is rapidly fleeing. I run back to the path and turn in the direction of the gate. It isn’t there. I drop my flashlight. It blinks out and I cannot find it again. I begin to cry, horrified sobs wracking my body as I run down the path again, trying to find my escape. There still is no gate. I am frantic now, but I cannot stop. I know that something will happen if I do. I don’t know what, but I can feel it with every breath I take. At the fence again I decide to walk along it. Surely this way I will not miss the gate.   I go all the way around before I realize that there isn’t one at all. 

                “How can that be?” I ask myself. My foot hits something solid. I look down and there is my flashlight. I pick it up and it flickers on. I shine the light around me. Maybe there is a tree with low enough branches for me to climb. I sadly realize that there is not.  People say this place is haunted. I didn’t believe them then, but I’m beginning to now. I look at my watch. I blink twice. This is not possible. I’m certain I have only been here a little over two hours. How can it me midnight already? I look again. My watch has stopped. I do not know how long I have been here.

                “I think you know the answer.” A voice rose on the wind, somehow not strange in the night. I turn in the direction I heard it come from. “I’d really rather not know.” I raise my eyebrows in response to myself. Oh, great. Now I’m talking to myself. I guess if I’m going to believe in ghosts I might as well make up a disembodied voice to go with it. Determined now to at least figure out what is going on, I head back down the path. I’m beginning to think that this might have something to do with Tripton Gask. I must have been drawn to that grave for a reason. It’s not even viewable from the path I was on. Surprisingly, I find it again with ease. This furthers my suspicious that it was meant. No longer weirded out by the warmth, I touch the stone.

                “What sin?” I ask the empty air. I can feel that I’m asking the right question.

                “I did not die as I should.” A voice answers, but there is still no vision.

                “Why me?” I begin to tremble again. I know that I don’t really want to find out.

                “It is meant.” Is the only reply I receive before everything goes quiet and even the wind ceases to blow.

                I remove my hand from the stone, but somehow I can still feel it. It vibrates through my body and drops me to my knees. I close my eyes and, valiantly, I do not scream. I utter no sound even when I hear footsteps behind me. This is nothing I can escape. I do not know what “this” is, but I can feel it. Strangely, as the footsteps get closer, I feel more at ease. I still do not open my eyes. I feel the man, as his voice implies, kneel behind me. His sweet breath caresses my cheek as he speaks close to my ear.

                “Do not fear me, lost one.” He rubs a hand down my hair and gently kisses the top of my head. I keep my eyes closed. As far as delusions go, this isn’t too bad……yet. Why spoil it when I may not want to see what is really there?

                “I don’t.” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, but certain he can hear it. I feel him stand. I feel the mist slide away as he walks in front of me. He takes my hand to raise me up, and still my eyes are closed. I am at peace. I am so far away from the terror that gripped me only minutes before. My mind grapples with this riddle, trying to bring the fear back. I don’t allow it. All I can concentrate on is the feel of his hand in mine. Soft, and yet hard as steel. Warm, but not alive. 

                “What are you?” I ask. No ghost could be this solid, no human this unreal. 

                I feel him lean down. His lips brush mine with tenderness unknown to me before now. It is now that I begin to shake. I open my eyes. White skin and jet black hair. Eyes as green as a summer meadow. Lips bright red over what can only be described as fangs. He kisses me once more, more forceful with our eyes locked on each other. I cannot deny what I feel. In a word: Destiny. I need never have asked what he was. I knew from the moment I entered the graveyard what awaited me, even if it never formed into coherent thought. I lift my hand to his face.

                “I know you.” I say in wonder. “You were there when I died.” I’m referring to the time when I was 8 on a camping trip with my family. I used to sleep walk and that night I managed to dunk myself in the lake. I knew I was dead; I saw the bright light and everything, but then I saw his face in the dark. He brought me back. I had forgotten until now. And then there was before.

                He pressed his cheek to mine. “The wait is over now, my love.” 

                “Yes.” I said. I am his love, as he has always been mine. Through my last life and through this one. He lost me once in the summer of 1907. I can see that life clearly now. I will not let him lose me again.   He tilts my head to the side. A sharp pain in my neck and my eyes close. I awake in his arms. Tripton smiles at me and I smile back. We lost each other once, but we are now together forever.

 

*****

                The morning sun shines on a beautiful cemetery off of a lonely highway in Louisiana. Three friends walk in to pick up the girl they left behind the night before. They scower the entire place, but she is nowhere to be found. As they start to leave, one girl notices a lone grave off to the side of the path.  It is much shorter than the others. She walks over to it and discovers Amy’s tape recorder. She picks it up and returns to her friends.

                “I guess she decided to walk home.” Jamie says as she takes the tape out. The batteries in the recorder are dead. She slides it into the tape deck in Brads old Chevy. 45 minutes of static and then one message.

                “Do not fear. I am safe.” Then the slightly muffled sound of her laughter and that of a man.

 The three friends look at each other in shock. Jamie’s eyes go glassy. “I guess they finally found each other.” No one says a word.

*****

That was the last time anyone ever spoke of Amy, except in camp side stories. Though it is said that if you drive past the cemetery late at night you can see a man and a woman intertwined by a lonely grave near the center. You can tell they are not ghosts, but beyond that, they are a mystery. One thing stands out; however, they are undeniably, even from a distance, irrevocably in love.

Reviews

[Tracy]

Ginny, I love the illusion of the vampire going on here. I don't know if that was intentional or if I was totally off the mark, but it seems odd that vampires would hang around a graveyard at night---so that's where that thought came from.

I'm curious though, if you tweaked the last sentence from Stephanie Meyer. It sounds familiar...perhaps I heard it in the movie.

No matter. I did enjoy the twist of their intertwined pasts.