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Paradise Cemetery

David A. Forrester

    He didn’t want to pee in a graveyard. But he had to go, and besides it wasn’t his fault. A black sedan was rolling down the gravel road and he was forced into the woods. The boy had a fear of strangers, yet somehow peeing in a graveyard was wrong. At twelve Spencer didn’t understand why it was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t nice to pee on dead people. He would just point away from gravestones.
    Spencer peed into the bushes. He had an innate sense of modesty, as if someone might come walking through the woods and see. Or maybe the dead people might see. He was somewhat surprised to see mosquitoes in the bushes. He had just assumed they lived on human blood and stayed near houses or camp grounds. What did they live on in a grave yard? A shudder went through him. He wiped his fingers off inside his pockets.
    “That’s my boy” said a slight breeze.
    Spencer hurried along his shortcut. The day was dim from overcast but still daylight. The grave yard scared him to the point where he could not afford to tarry longer than he had to. He felt that if he stayed too long the graves would find a place for him.
    A misty figure followed the boy down the bare path that led up to a distinct line of trees. The wall of oaks marked the border of the grave yard. The path disappeared into a field of timothy and rye, dotted with black eyed susans. Spencer did too. The misty figure stopped and watched him run away.
    “I miss you Mason, come back soon.”
    Several other figures floated up to the line of trees to see. They had been following the boy and when they reached the edge of the grave yard stopped and hovered next to the first figure. The misty figure turned to face the others.
    “That was Mason” it said. “I was going to teach him to skate. He loves winter time. Snow, Christmas and all that. He takes after me; his Grandpa.”
    The figure paused as if giving an opportunity for the others to comment and then continued.
    “Mason is the smartest young man you’re likely to meet. Can play the piano too. He plays Christmas songs.”
    A second figure, that had followed beyond the first, slowly turned from the field and facing the others, spoke with a slight twang in its voice.
    “That was Jason. He’s taking care of the farm. He promised he would if I didn’t come back. And I know I didn’t come back. He’s a good boy. He’ll see those horses come to no harm.”
    There was a rush of leaves that came up from the field.
    “I got three horses. I had seven but the confederacy ‘pressed four. They took the best four horses I got.
    That I had.
    I coulda sold them for substitution, but they took that too.
    Oh Jason, don’t be a fool. Get outa Mississippi. Go with your aunt. Go see my sister. Forget about that farm, it’s nothing but an open grave.”
    The overcast had darkened and the wind became steady. The heavy first drops of a long soaking rain fell through the branches above.
    “That’s my little girl. She can ride horses,” said a third figure, “Adele looks like a fairy princess with her long golden hair. Her caped gown flows like wings as she flies through the meadow. I’d watch her from the top of the hill and just smile. It filled my heart to almost bursting to know she was happy.”
    The rain fell harder and the figures blended into the mist. The voices were drowned and night fell. Time passed and the rain slowly changed to sleet. The afternoon was cold and the remains of leaves crackled under the force of a tall man’s shoes. He walked out of the graveyard and onto the crunchy gravel road that ran down the hill. A long black coat swept into a black car and he drove away.
    Spencer was coming home along the country road when he decided to take a shortcut through the graveyard once more. The plots lay about on the top of the hills that marked the high point of the county. He weaved his way through graves, broken limbs and twigs and tried to stay up out of low points where water had collected. The figures began to gather as before.
    As Spencer entered the field and began to trot down toward the sunset a figure that had stayed close behind called out.
    “William! Please come back. I don’t understand.”
    The figure fell to its knees and the sound of rustling leaves was intermixed with shallow weeping.
    In a loud voice another figure shouted out behind the first.
    “Run Eddie, you’ll make it. Get out of deep Kim Chi and get back to the world!” The figure seemed to relax and looked down at the first figure. “Don’t cry sister. He’ll make it, in fact he already did.”
    The second figure sat on a stump next to the first and put an arm around it.
    “Let me tell you something about Eddie. Ed and I and Louis always stayed together. We knew Eddie was going home and we wanted to share in that luck. He has a beautiful wife and two little angels for daughters. I saw their pictures. He wouldn’t trade ‘em you know. The pictures I mean. Louis and I traded, but Ed wouldn’t part with those pictures.
    It was a thing you did to trick Death. You traded pictures so if Death came looking for you and looked in your wallet he would be confused because you didn’t seem like the right guy and maybe he would go looking for someone else. I got pictures of Louis’ wife and kids and he’s got mine. Once we got out of here we’re to trade back. I guess we never traded back.”
    The shadowy figure searched through its cloak and then looked down on empty hands.
    “I got nothing now.”
    The wind picked up from the field with force. The figures shifted in toward the graveyard. One small figure stayed at the edge. It peered out trying to find sight of the figure that was long gone.
    “Mom?” said a fragile voice “I’ll wait here” and then it too drifted back into the woods.
    The black sedan made another visit to the graveyard before the winter took hold. Snow gathered against the hills, trees and the faces of the gravestones. It was a short visit and soon the tires were leaving tracks down the rural road. The snow fell harder and the tracks were gone.
    This time Spencer spent too much time visiting his grandmother. The cozy fire, the sweet food and the lure of Christmas were overwhelming. She gave her grandson a basket of treats to take home. Now he couldn’t run as he usually did. The snow had stopped falling but the sun had gone down earlier than expected. The boy made the tough decision to take the shortcut, but didn’t realize until well into the graveyard that the path was under snow. In the dark and with the drifts it was unclear which way he was suppose to turn between the large oaks and soft hills. He lost his way but knew in what general direction he had to go.
    Because of his slow pace the figures gathered around him more quickly.
    One figure confronted the small boy. Although the misty vapor had no physical substance, it stood its ground.
    “You should have left when you could. I have no quarrel with you. I’m just doing what I have to do.”
    The figure watched Spencer pass right through it.
    “It doesn’t matter why I’m here. I don’t care why you’re here. I just need to get through this.”
    Another smaller figure drifted beside the first.
    “Bobby, hey Bobby. Let’s go down to the creek. With all this rain we...”
    The voices stopped and the figures quickly vanished as Spencer crested the main hill in the center of the cemetery. In a moment his breath disappeared. Less than two feet in front of him was a statue of the Virgin Mary. Her palms were open and her gentle eyes looked down at the boy. He immediately shifted to the side so she couldn’t make eye contact. As he did he saw the opening where he always exited the graveyard.
    As Spencer hurried down the hill toward the exit, carefully cradling the basket of treats, a figure sitting at the base of the statue turned and looked at the footprints in the snow.
    “Jake...that you?”
    The figure wavered in and out of focus.
    “I haven’t seen you for so long. Lets talk; I mean you got to see my side of this.”
    The figure rose to a standing position and continued even though the boy was out of range.
    “I want to say something.”
    The misty substance that made up the figure drifted around to the other side of the statue and gathered once again.
    “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Oh God! I’m sorry! Why can’t anyone hear me?”
    The figure crumpled to the side of the statue and began to slide toward the ground. The arms of Mary caught him and lifted him up.
    Jacob stood up from his father’s grave. He had placed a wreath on the gravestone as he did every Christmas. He felt a cold wind blow down from the hill above the site. As he looked up in the direction of the wind, his eyes rested on the statue that marked the center of Paradise Cemetery. The air felt familiar in an indescribable way. It was a wind that had passed through his hair many years ago.
    Jake looked down at his father’s grave once more.
    “I’m sorry dad. I’m sorry.”
    The man in the long coat turned away. He walked back to his black sedan. The black coat swept into the driver seat and drove away. He was already late for dinner.

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