Markers

“This is one of the coolest graveyards I’ve seen yet!” Shannon said, gazing around the acre field, spotted not so much as lined, with moss covered headstones.  It was a tradition for him and his best friend Brett to find a new graveyard location each Halloween as opposed to having the basic spook party at one of their houses.  The chills just seemed more genuine, and the atmosphere was a tad more morbid.
         “Yeah,” said Brett, shining his flashlight on one of the closer stones, “me and chris were out driving around a couple of weeks ago and accidentally found this.  I had to show you.”
         “Where is he, anyway?” asked Shannon, looking over his hsoulder to locate the origin of a snapping twig.  It turned out to be his girlfriend, Lisa, approaching the two figures, that stepped on a dry tree branch.
         “He’s back up in Illinois on another run.”
         “Oh, yeah?”
         “The thing is, though,” Brett continued, “when we were out here, the headstones were upside down.”
         “Bullshit.”
         “Bullshit, they were!”
         “Yeah, right.  You were probably just looking through beer goggles.”
         “Chris saw it, too, asshole, and we only had one beer apiece.”
         “No shit?”  Shannon asked, shining his light on the tombstones.  “Well, they aren’t upside down now.”
         “They were, no shit.”
         “Were what?” Lisa asked, locking her arm in Shannon’s.
         “Those headstones there were upside down when Brett was here last,” said Shannon, the steam from his breath partially blocking his view of her.  It was pretty damn chilly out that night, and there was a layer of frost forming on the grass.  The three quarter moon reflected on the ice particles in the grass, making the field sparkle.
         “Really?”
         “Really.” Said Brett.
         “Are they still?” questioned Lisa, squinting to make out which way they were sitting.
         Shannon again aimed his flashlight at a stone for her to observe.  “Not tonight, dear, but that is to be expected.”
         “Why?”
         Shannon glanced at Brett, and in the pale moonlight, Brett caught the signal.  Like telepathy.  “On the new moon, where there is no moon at all,” Shannon continued, “those graveyards which have souls that aren’t at rest reveal themselves to no one in particular, and in different ways.”
         “Remember Calvary?” asked Brett.
         “God, do I ever.  My stomach still knots up whenever I drive by there.”
         “What’s Calvary?” asked Lisa.  Hook.
         “Oh, that’s the first cemetery we found.  It’s a Catholic cemetery a little outside of Augusta.”
         “What happened there?” Line.
         “Well, Shannon, me, and Chris were just out having fun, you know, driving country roads, listening to music and drinking beer.  We drove by and just kind of found it.”
         “Yeah, it looked kinda cool and kinda spooky.  There’s a wrought iron fence that runs the length of it and it has those spikes all along the top.  I’d heard of the place before, but didn’t know where it was.  I do know that we should never have pulled through that gate.”
         “Why?”  And Sinker.  Lisa grasped Shannon’s arm just a little tighter, puffs of steam issuing from her mouth in short bursts.
         “Shannon’s car was in perfect running condition…” said Brett, nosing the story out a little farther.
         “We were in my El Camino that night, and when we pulled through the gate, it flat out died halfway through.”
         “Died?” whispered Lisa.
         “Yeah, for no reason.  We were right in between two big brick pillars that mounted the gate.  There couldn’t have been more than eight inches on either side of the car.”
         “We couldn’t have gotten out if we wanted to,” added Brett.
         “Luckily the car started again as soon as I turned the key.”
         “Did you leave?” she asked, glancing at Brett, then back to Shannon.
         “We should have,” said Brett, “and we most certainly tried to, but…”
         “But,” Shannon interjected, “the car died again when I put it in gear.”
         Lisa drew in a frosty breath.  Evidently she didn’t realize that nothing had happened.
         “We were kind of getting nervous at that point,” stated Shannon.
         “I would have been, too,” answered Lisa, fully involved in the story.
         “You know what’s really cool about Calvary?” Brett asked her.
         “What?”
         “As you drive in the front gate, there is a lane lined with cedar trees, and at the end of that lane…”
         “Where your lights shine on it…” continued Shannon.
         “Is a giant headstone of Jesus on the Cross.”
         “It must stand twenty feet tall,” mused Shannon.
         “And you guys could see it from where you were?”
         “Shit, that was all we could see!” exclaimed Brett, reaching in the back seat of the black Trans Am to retrieve a can of beer.  The dinger chimed obediently at the intrusion, and the dome light lent an eerie glow to the immediate area.
         “The crucifix is carved out of marble or something, and our headlights lit it up pretty good.”
         “So did you get the car started again?”
         “Started right up.  Chris said I just didn’t know how to drive, and we all kind of laughed it off, but it didn’t last long.”
         “Then you left?”
         “Hell, no, we didn’t leave,” Brett said, swallowing a mouthful of beer, “That would have made us chickenshit.”
         “Oh, no,” commented Lisa, “that would have been terrible.”  Somewhere a screech began and ended, sending an extended pause among the trio.  For some odd reason, it just didn’t sound like something of this earth would make.
         “What was that?” posed Lisa, breaking the silence.  Shannon looked at Brett, intrigue in his eyes.  God, this is so much better than a lame party.
         “Could just be a screech owl,” Brett suggested, not really sure of his supposition.
         “Yeah, could be, but then again, maybe it’s not,” added Shannon, not so sure himself.
         “I think I’m going to get back in the car,” announced Lisa, turning away.
         “You’re not scared, are you?” asked Shannon, smiling knowingly.
         “No, just, well, cold, that’s all.”
         “Don’t you want to hear the rest about Calvary?” taunted Brett, finishing his beer and throwing his can into the road.
         “Okay, okay, just let me get another beer.  You guys want one?”
         “Sure, Beer me!” said Brett.
         “Beer me, too, hon,” said Shannon, kissing Lisa and grabbing her butt.  The light glowed again, and the bell tolled for a short time while Lisa rummaged in the cooler in the backseat.  Shannon nudged Brett with his elbow, and Brett nudged back.
         “Do you want your keys?” called Lisa, evidently annoyed at the door ajar warning.
         “NO!” Cried Shannon and Brett in unison.  Then they looked at each other.
         “Okay, okay!  God, you didn’t have to yell!” said Lisa as she closed the car door and distributed the malt liquor to her friends.
         “Sorry, dear, but tonight the keys stay in the ignition and the doors stay unlocked.” Informed Shannon, popping open his can of beer.
         “Why is that?”
         “Well, if we have to leave here in a hurry, we don’t want anything holding us up, of course.”          
         “Why would we have to leave in a hurry?”
         Both Shannon and Brett looked at Lisa, raising eyebrows and frowning.  Lisa looked to the ground and blushed.  “So what happened at, what was it, Calvary?”  She asked, shifting to a less (or more) nervous topic.
         “Well, knowing that I wasn’t chickenshit, I pulled on in.”
         “The car didn’t die?”
         “Not that time, it didn’t.”
         “Tell her about the cross,” urged Brett, wanting to speed up the storytelling process.  He was already nearly done with his beer.  Shannon nodded and tipped his can back and drained it, holding his forefinger up in the air.  Gimme a second is what that finger implied.
         “The tall crucifix?” asked Lisa.  Lisa was full of questions that night.
         “No, not that one,” said Shannon, dropping his empty beer can unceremoniously to the ground.  “So, anyway,” he continued, “we crawled along the lane, looking out at the darkness and the tombstones that we could actually see.  I pulled up to the Christ statue, and the road kind of looped around the back of him, so we pulled around until the car was facing back towards the gates and got out.”
         “You got out of the car?”
         “Well, sure,” commented Brett, like it was a dumb question.  “Look fear in the face and fear backs down.  That’s my motto.”
         “Mine, too,” added Shannon, “but there was a feeling I was getting, and I didn’t like it.”
         “Probably like I’m feeling now!” exclaimed Lisa, fidgeting and looking around.
         “Could possibly be,” agreed Shannon, “but that night, the beer had kind of muted my discomfort at where exactly we were.  Hell, I grabbed another beer and sat right at Christ’s feet!”
         “We all did,” added Brett, tossing his empty can in to the nearby dirt road.  “And we were having a hell of a time.  Cussing, drinking, hell, we even arm wrestled on a headstone.  The way I figure it, we’ve got reserved seats in the front row on the Hell Express!”
         “I’m sorry,” spat Lisa, “but that is just wrong.  I can’t believe you would do something like that!”
         Shannon looked at Brett.  No fair – she was getting mad, not scared.  “Beer me,” he said, and Brett opened the door to the car.  Ding…Ding…Ding…Ding.  Beer.  Now to cut to the chase.
         “Well, we certainly learned our lesson,” Shannon said, popping the top off his new beer.  Brett’s echoed the same spritzing sound.  “As conversation came to a lull, Chris piped up and told us to look at something.”
         “He was pointing out to the middle of the graveyard,” said Brett, pointing himself, “and he simply asked, ‘Guys, what’s that?’”
         “What was it?” asked Lisa, over her anger and into the tale again.                    
         “What I saw,” intoned Shannon, “was a cross.”
         “That’s what I saw, too,” added Brett, “and that’s what Chris said he saw.”
         “A headstone cross?  Don’t you think that there were probably quite a few out there?” Lisa asked, sarcasm piercing her words.
         “Yeah, dear, we knew there were a few out there, hell, we armwrestled on one.  But the one we saw was half buried on it’s side.”
         “It looked like an uppercase X,” explained Brett.
         “Yeah, so?”
         “It was glowing,” murmured Shannon.
         “Blue,” said Brett.  Again an ear piercing screech broke the silence.



*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *


         The three walked slowly towards a group of trees in the center of the field.  The flashlights picked out a small iron fence boxing in those trees.  As they neared, they could see three sets of headstones circling one center massive monolith, the trees nearly hiding it completely.  At one end of the enclosure was a small gate built into the fence, and they gently nudged it open.  Brett in the lead, Shannon and Lisa following in.  Two spots of light bounced off and on the ancient tomb markers as the trio searched for a name.
         “I’m getting cold,” said Lisa, implying that the fun was over for her already.
         “But look here,” said Shannon as he positioned his flashlight on the center monolith.  The painfully eroded epitaph changed in the shadows.  The three drew nearer, and Brett held his light upside down at the upper end of the grave marker.  The name appeared:  BARCLAY.  There were no dates or other remarks.
         “This must be the Barclay’s plot,” stated Brett, aiming his flashlight around the area. 
         “Ya think?” asked Shannon, “What was your first clue, Sherlock?”
         “Kiss my ass.”
         “Can we go now?” Pleaded an uptight Lisa, “I have to work in the morning.”
         “Are you a-scared, Lisa?” cajoled Brett.
         “No!  I’m cold and tired, and I’m not having a good time.”
         “Well, why don’t you go back to the car and get warm,” suggested Shannon, hugging her.  He knew she was a little scared.
         “Will you walk back with me?” she asked.
         “No, we’re going to find some dates on these things.  You’re a big girl, you can handle it.”
         “Fine,” she said, colder than the midnight air, and with that she made her way back to the gate.
         “Hey, here, take my flashlight,” Shannon said as he jogged to her, breath materializing out of his mouth.  He kissed her and told her they wouldn’t be long.
         “Do you think we scared her?” Asked Brett when she was out of earshot.
         “Yeah, I think we did, but I also think she’ll deny it to anyone we tell.”  Shannon glanced in the direction of the car and saw the dome light blink on then wink out.  In his mind he heard the chiming of the door alarm.
         “He, I found something!” called Brett, who had made it to the first cluster of smaller headstones.  Shannon trudged over, stumbling over a pile of hedge apples that seemed to be just about everywhere.
         “What does it say?  Can you make it out?” He asked, looking at it just the same as Brett.  The first marker tilted back at an angle, and Brett’s light lit it up like midday.
         “Gregory Van Ives”  Brett read aloud, “1858-1892”
         “In Peace Now Will He Rest” continued Shannon.  “What the hell does that mean?”
         “Dunno.  Look at this one.”  Brett pointed to the next stone.
         “Anna Marie Van Ives,” read Shannon, “Dates 1865-1891, Blessed Be Thy Virgin.”
         “What do you make of that?” asked Brett, shining his light on Shannon.
         “Well, either they were brother and sister, or a strange married couple.  I wonder what happened?”
         “She must have died, then he killed himself,” suggested Brett.
         “Yeah, could be” answered Shannon, pointing to the next cluster of stones.
         Brett nearly fell over another hedge apple and cursed loudly.  He reached down and grabbed the culprit and chucked it as far as he could.  The crash echoed ominously in the moonlit glen.  Shannon got an idea.
         “Hey, do you want to move from first class to coach on the Hell Express?”
         “Whaddya mean?”
         “Let’s clear all of those hedge apples out of this fence!”
         “What?”
         “Let’s pick up all these hedge apples and throw them out of  here.  We clean up a gravesite, we get one step farther away from Hell!  Not to mention it will freak out anyone who comes in here during the day!”
         “Okay, sure!” agreed Brett, “But let’s look at these other stones first.”
         “Okay then,” submitted Shannon, grabbing a couple of apples and flinging them over the fence.  Thump  Thump.
         They meandered  over to the second cluster of markers and illuminated the inscriptions.  “David Van Ives, 1875-1934  THE GOOD SON,”  read Shannon of the first stone.  “What does that one say?”
         “Kinda hard to make out,” Brett said, squinting.  “Can you see it?”
         Shannon leaned over farther and squinted.  Then his eyes popped wide open.  The stone was clearly upside down.  As he strained his neck to achieve the proper reading position, the name became clear.  “Allen Van Ives, 1875-1947,” said Shannon, his heart skipping a beat as he continued, “THE BAD SON”  Thump Thump Thump
         “Did you just toss out some apples?” Shannon asked, nervousness teetering on the edge of his demeanor.  The hairs on his neck stood at attention.
         “No, did you?” asked Brett, the same nervousness reflected in his voice.
         “Shine your light back over on this stone,” Shannon urged.
         As the light crossed the void and lit up the previous stone, Shannon knew that his suspicions would be validated.  The tombstone bearing David Van Ives’ name was now inverted as well.  Shannon felt a warm sensation between his legs as he lost control of his bodily functions.  Brett dropped the flashlight and the impact jarred the switch off.  Thump  Thump  Thump  Thump.  Darkness engulfed the pair as they stood motionless amid the grave markers.  We didn’t get to see the last set of stones thought Shannon crazily enough.          
         Brett’s paralysis broke first and he fell to the ground, only to bounce back up and start running.  The three quarter moonlight began to slowly filter through the surrounding trees.  He called blindly to Shannon, “Get the fuck moving!”  Shannon unfroze and turned to the sound of Brett’s voice.  “We gotta get these hedge apples out!” he called back, stooping to pick up a few and tossing them out.
         “Fuck the apples, man, I don’t want to die!”
         “WAIT!” screamed Shannon. “Don’t move.”
         “Why the fuck not?” screamed Brett back.
         “Chill out.  I just thought of something.  Where’s the flashlight?”
         “Over there where I dropped it, why?”
         “Are you hurt?”
         “Well, no, are you?”
         “No.”          
         “Well?”
         “Well…this is what we’ve been waiting for, man!” explained Shannon as he made his way back to THE GOOD SON, tossing apples out as he went.  “Now come back over here!”  He found the flashlight and flipped it on.  Brett was only a few paces away, and hurried up to get near Shannon and some light.
         “Ghosts can go through walls, right?”
         “Yeah, and…?”
         “And if they can go through walls, then they can’t hurt us, follow?”
         “Kind of.”
         “We don’t have to worry.  Have you ever seen a ghost?”
         “No.  Now I don’t know if I want to or not,” stammered Brett, looking furtively around.
         Shannon shined the light on  THE GOOD SON stone again and it appeared in the upright position.  He moved to THE BAD SON and it, too, was correctly positioned.
         “Either we’re both drunk, or this is the coolest Halloween ever!” exclaimed Shannon.          
         “Well, I’m not drunk,” stated Brett.
         “Me neither, so let’s check out those last stones over there,” said Shannon, picking out the newest appearing headstones with the beam of light.
         “Let’s go,” urged Brett and they both headed in the direction of the markers.
         As they neared, Shannon noticed something out of place at the base of the dual headstones, and fixed the beam of light directly on it.  It was a small statuette of an angel, eyes closed and head bowed as if in prayer.  The white paint was chipped and worn out over what must have been years.  A single red rose rested at her feet.
         “Hey, shine the light up here,” insisted Brett, insinuating that he couldn’t read the lettering.  Shannon obliged and illuminated the rose quartz stone in a dying yellow glow.  Batteries are getting weak.
         “Hmm.  Harold Simon Barclay, 1939-1975.  That’s weird.”
         “What?” asked Brett, not catching the irony.
         “That big one we first saw – what was the name on it?”
         “Barclay.  Why?  This is their plot, remember?”
         “Yeah, okay, then why do the other stones say Van Ives?”
         “Must just be other members of the family.”
         “But the Barclay name is only on these, and they are the most recent ones.  Does that make sense?”
         “Fucked if I know, who cares?
         “I just think it’s weird, that’s all.  This one says Carlotta Elizabeth Barclay 1943-1980, Let the Mother Watch over the Children, Good and Bad.”
         “I just felt a chill run up my spine” said Brett.
         “And down mine, isn’t this great?  Too bad Lisa’s missing this.”
         “Well, let’s finish cleaning out the hedge apples then sneak up on her and scare the shit out of her.”
         “Okay by me.  By the way…”
         “Yeah?” asked Brett.
         “You gotta swear not to tell anyone.”
         “What?”
         “Well…I pissed myself,” Shannon said solemnly.
         Brett stopped short and looked at Shannon.  After a brief pause, he started giggling gradually working up to an all out laughing fit.  Shannon joined in, and the two only stopped after the tears were falling.  “Don’t tell anyone” reminded Shannon.
         “Oh, I won’t, simply because I pissed myself too,” elaborated Brett, sending them both off the edge again.  Oh, what a wonderful night this is.  Now only to scare Lisa and finish the evening off right.  Shannon picked up what looked to him to be the last of the decaying apples, and looked around the plot.
         “This looks cool,” said Brett, “it’s clean in here, and on the other side of the fence, there’s like a million apples.  Do you feel farther away from Hell now?”
         “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said, and flung the last apple out to join it with its kin.  Thump.
         “Shall we go?” asked Brett.
         “Yeah, go on ahead.  I’m gonna get me a souvenir.”
         “What?  A souvenir?  You gonna dig up a skeleton?”
         “No, nothing like that,” Shannon said, walking back to the Barclay resting spot.  “Which way do the bodies lie, anyway?”
         “Feet to the east, I think,” said Brett, “so the soul can see the Son rise.  At least that’s what I heard.”
         “Well, then, this should be where their heads are then,” Shannon said, positioning himself by the tombstone.  The he said in a raised voice, “Rest in Peace, Barclay’s.”
         “Come on,” said Brett, “let’s go.”
         “Okay,” Shannon said.  He leaned over and grabbed the angel statuette and pulled it out from the frosty grass it was held in.  “This is heavier than it looks,” he commented, straining his voice.
         “What the hell are you doing?” demanded Brett.  “Put that back.”
         “What, it’s just a statue.  I want something to remember this night by.”
         “Okay, it’s YOUR ass.”
         Something rustled above them, then Shannon felt a sharp pain in his head.  In the distance he heard the familiar screech again over the ringing in his ears.
         “Fuck!  What was that?”  More rustling above them, like leaves in a brisk wind.  Thump Thump Thump Thump.  Shannon shined his flashlight up towards the boughs of the covering trees and ducked quickly as a hedge apple hurtled towards his head again.  Thump Thump.
         “I’m outta here!” spat Brett, dodging a few apples himself as he bolted for the gate.  Apples began raining down on them in torrents, stinging as they hit, thumping as they bounced off the ground.
         “Right behind you!  Go!”  yelled Shannon, covering his head and ears with one arm as he clung to the angel with his other, deflecting yet more hedge apples.  Brett flung the gate open and dashed through without even looking back.  Shannon heard the screech again.  He heard it change from a high pitched scream into a barely audible guttural growl.  It seemed to come from right behind him.  He lunged through the open gate and spun around to close and latch it.  The moonlight revealed a ground covered with hedge apples, and the tombstones glowing a pale, iridescent blue.  The growl continued and gained volume as a sharp, biting wind came up, freezing Shannon’s cheeks and nose.
         “You coming?” called Brett, leading by quite a distance.  He still didn’t look back.
         “Just get in the car!” screamed Shannon, running in that direction again, the sound of dropping hedge apples, howling wind and screeching growling nearly deafening.  His breath was torn from his lungs and sent along with the wind as he sprinted to the sanctuary of the car.  He could see Brett open the passenger door and the dome light beckon for him to hurry.  Even the door dinger seemed to call him.  Come-on…Come-on…Come-on.  The light flickered out as he closed the door, and he reached the driver’s door just has he heard a faint click.  Thump thump Thump.  A hedge apple bounced off the top of the black Trans Am, leaving a sizable dent in its wake.  Shannon grabbed the door handle and yanked up.  Nothing.          
         No dome light, no intruder alert, no door chime.  The door just didn’t open.  “Shit!” he cursed, then looked down through the door glass and pounded on it.  “Unlock the fucking door!” he shouted.  Another hedge apple flew by and another hit him on the shoulder.  Shannon heard yet another series of clunks come from the car, then yanked again on the handle.  The wind sliced through his jacket, numbing his limbs.  It was all he could do to open the door and jump in.
         “What’s going on?” screamed Lisa, eyes wide, hands gripping themselves till the knuckles were white.  “What’s happening?”
         Shannon reached behind his seat and placed a white figure next to her in the backseat.  “We’re getting the hell out of here!” he shouted above the crashing on the car.  Thump Thump Thump Thump.  The wind rocked the car back and forth as Shannon grabbed for the keys in the ignition.  The engine roared to life on command.
         “Floor this sumbitch!,” Brett ordered, turned around in his seat.  Shannon stepped on the brake and pulled the gearshift to low.
         “Fuck me,” gasped Brett, jaw on his chest.
         “What?  What?” cried Lisa.
         Shannon saw in his rearview mirror what Brett had seen.  Glowing red from the brake lights was a lone figure, nearly translucent, standing directly behind the vehicle.  Shannon’s heart jumped into his throat as his bladder released for the second time that night.  He let off the brake and mashed the accelerator pedal to the floor.  The car responded instantly, sending dust and rocks up in a plume behind them, obscuring the form of the thing behind them.  Shannon hit the sight switch, and the dirt road was illuminated before them.  Checking the rearview again, Shannon only saw dust.  Brett turned back around and faced the front as he slid down as far as he could in the front seat.
         Not a word was said until the lights of Augusta could be seen  in the near distance.  Then only the words “Beer me.” Came from Shannon.  His eyes never left the road, and if they did, it was only to check and recheck his rearview mirror.  Brett reached back to dig in the cooler for a couple of beers.  His hand encountered the angel statue.  He looked over his shoulder and saw its eyes.  They were open and glowing a faint red.  Lisa screamed.  Suddenly the windshield shattered, sending glass into the car, cutting both Shannon and Brett.  A giant hedge apple landed in Shannon’s lap as he locked the brakes up and spun the car into the ditch.  The last thing he consciously remembered was the dome light flashing on, and the dinging of the door ajar bell.