The Ramblings of a Confused Fish

Graveyard Shenanigans: A Halloween Short Story

You were standing in an old town graveyard, slowly spinning around while marveling at its beauty. Not a single person had been buried here for around 50 years, and the town neglected it severely. Despite its abandonment by politicians, it still existed. They had tried to tear it down, but the public revolted. Eventually, it became a tourist attraction, marketed as haunted. It was clear as day why. It was always mysteriously well taken care of, even though the town neglected it for years. Once the mayor heard about a possible tourist hotspot, she tried to knock down the rose bushes to scope it out, but the bushes wouldn't come down. Nobody could get in or out, but you could always hear noises at night. Howling, wailing, and... laughter?

It had neatly trimmed rose bushes blocking the burial ground's entrance. They towered above the heads of passersby but weren't tall enough to block the message at the top of the iron gate.

Forever at Peace, it read. It felt like an ominous warning. You felt if you disturbed the balance, you would most certainly pay.

There was only one time a year that someone could get in, the fall. The leaves yellowed in a particular pattern as if pointing the way to someone who would listen. You listened one fateful day and stumbled your way into the heart of the old graveyard. The grass was cut routinely, and gorgeous wildflowers had taken over much of the old place. The headstones looked freshly cleaned. If you didn't have the dates on the slabs of rock to tell you how old they were, you would have assumed they were recent. How deceiving are looks? The first ones were almost 300 years old at this point.

Stopping by the old mausoleum, you pulled carefully at the handle. Of everything in here, it looked the most decrepit. Locked. You gave up and decided to walk a bit. As you wandered about, you read the headstones, looking for someone you hadn't seen before. You had been coming for two years now, interested in the history of the town you had moved to recently.

Sir Anthony Bloomingdale came to this town and lived here for apparently 20 years before kicking the bucket, followed by his wife in the next couple of years, Elizabeth Bloomingdale. Looking around, you could see stories forming in your mind. You realize that all these headstones represent a life, a flawed and interesting person. You would never know them.

Looking up, you saw the flaming sunset and instinctively checked your watch. Had really you been there for that long? You stumble backward, searching for the exit the leaves always gave you, but there is nothing but a wall of thorns. A chill went through your body. You were in the haunted graveyard, and you couldn't get out.

"Come on!" You say, pleading. Despite your affinity for the graveyard, you didn't want to see its mysterious caretaker or find out why noises come from this place every night. Stumbling over to a bench by the run-down mausoleum, fear runs through your veins. You helplessly watch as the sky gets darker.

And darker.

And darker.