Amongst the Graves

I was never afraid of graveyards. They bother plenty of people, but not me. It's almost as if the spirits of the dead haunt these grounds, scaring away most, but not I. I am too well acquainted with them.

As I walked, I made not a sound. Darkness prevailed, clouds blotting out the moon to let the inky darkness rain down upon me and the surrounding buried dead. The ground was wet from the recent rains. The ground had become muddy and fluid. The grass lay flat, as if deceased as the bodies it grew to cover. Graves, odd jagged teeth plunged into the sky. To each there was a reminder. To each, a body. The dead never bothered me, I never bothered them.

I did not expect to find anyone else amongst the forgotten tombs. Very rarely did I found others amongst the skyward stone corpses. Normally I walked this field of cadavers alone. Today however, I heard the subtle sound of weak sobbing. Normally I would make a point to avoid whoever was wandering here, but this time I felt compelled to find them. It would take true desperation to visit a grave on a day like today, at a time like now.

I followed the sound back to its source. Amidst the frigid stones wept a young girl in a long once-white dress. Mud and dust had stained it a dirty brown. She sobbed quietly into her knees, curled into a ragged ball. The grave she wept before was a masterful blend of solid stone and black obsidian that still maintained its sharp and shimmering gleam in the darkness. It featured a weeping angel, looking up to the sky as if to ask god himself why.

I knelt down beside the girl, though she did not acknowledge my existence. I did not expect her to. "Hello?" I inquired. Still, she did not speak. "It's alright," I said, "You can talk to me."

She did not speak, though her sobbing had quieted somewhat. She subtly tilted her head to look at me. Though I could only see half of her face, I knew she was worse for wear. Her eye was red and bloodshot, wrecked from her crying. Her face was muddy and unwashed as her dress, will small streams of dirt running where her tears had lead it. She studied me for only a moment before she buried her head once more.

"Whose buried here?" I asked her, gently as I could. I looked for a plaque on the grave. It was partially overgrown and difficult to read, particularly in the dark of night, but I got the name I was looking for. 'Susan Williams.'

"Your mother?" I inquired. Lightly, she shook her head. I could see the date also on the plaque, and with a quick burst of mental math deduced that Susan Williams had died at the young age of only eleven years old. I  looked at the girl once more.

"Sister?" I spoke softly. She didn't reply. She didn't shake her head. She simply began to cry once more, shaking softly with each breath.

"Hey," I began, "It's alright, listen to me." Her tears softened, but did not cease. "I know it must be hard right now, but listen. I've been through a lot in my day. I know losing people hurts, and sometimes you want to blame yourself…" She turned her head to examine me once more. "But it's going to be alright. Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault. I'm sure your sister is in a better place. I know that if she was watching you right now, she'd be smiling. She'd be proud of your perseverance." She looked away once more, but her crying did not recommence.

"You may feel alone," I spoke once more, so quietly it was almost a whisper. "but, just in case nobody else tells you this, I will," There was a moments pause. The air was still. Somehow, though she had not moved, I knew she was listening. "I care about you." I spoke, the words that had saved my life once before. "You are not alone."

We sat then for a while in silence, for I had no more to say. She was no longer weeping. Eventually, she stood. She was short, even from my sitting position she was barely taller than I. I realized she must've been close to her sisters age, no more than a year or two apart. Such a tragedy, I thought, what this girl must've gone through. Her face and dress were still stained a dark muddy brown. Her eyes maintained their pained bloodstained tint. She cried no more, she simply stood and looked at me for a moment.

I offered a weak smile. She returned it as if to say "Thank you," but spoke not a word. I didn't blame her.

It was then she turned and began to walk off. Though I was hesitant to let her wander off on her own, I had the strange feeling that I had done all I could. Before she had gone too far, she turned back and waved goodbye. As I waved back, I thought I saw a series of scars on her arm. Before I had time to examine more closely, something on the ground caught my eye.

A small, silver, squareish silver coin sat pressed into the mud where she had been sitting. I deftly picked it up and examined it. Was wasn't like any coin I had seen before. Even in it's muddy, dirt encrusted state I could see it was exquisitely detailed. How beautiful it must look cleaned up. I figured I should return it to the girl, assuming she had dropped it. When I looked up, however, she was nowhere to be seen.

Confused, I jogged off a short way in the direction she was going. I doubted she could have gone very far, yet as I searched she was nowhere to be seen. In my confusion, I glanced down at the coin once more, and then back at the grave, as if they would provide me an answer as to where she had gone.

I returned to the grave, and knelt in front of it. Locating the plaque once more, I cleared away some of the obstructions that had prevented me from reading the whole thing. It was difficult to read in the blackness of the night, particularly without the help of moon or stars, and even more particularly when inscribed on black obsidian, but sooner or later I got through the whole thing.

"In loving memory" it read, "of Susan Williams, our one and only child. Rest in peace, we will never forget you." It was dated not three days ago.

I sat in front of that grave  for a long time, turning over and over the coin I held in my hand, thinking. I sat alone, flipping a coin I could only imagine belonged to the now late Susan Williams.

Graveyards never bothered me, though after that day I became more wary. I still am not sure as to what I saw, but I would stand by to believe that I had a conversation (though one sided) with someone who was not alive. The dead to not bother me. I am too well acquainted with them.