Family Secrets

© 2006

a/n: This was a short story written as a Halloween challenge – to creep out a bunch of kids for a teacher and friend. I had swapped American spellings for the English versions originally included in the story (the friend’s school is in England). I’m hoping I caught them all. It is very hard to proofread my own work.

The rusty gates creaked loudly, causing Michelle to jump involuntarily. There was no point in denying that she was scared. This was not her first trip to Clearmont Cemetery, but there was something especially creepy about going at night. Even Ginger seemed to cower, though Michelle realized that it might be in response to fear from her master.

“I am not going to be stupid about this,” Michelle said aloud, trying to convince herself. She looked at her golden retriever; the dog’s eyes seemed extra large and sad. “Oh, who am I kidding, Ginger? It’s stupid that I’m even here.” She patted Ginger’s head and the dog seemed to brighten a little. The mark of a true friend, Ginger seemed to have forgiven her in the blink of an eye for the ridiculous reason they were here, though Michelle was uncertain if her friend should be so easy-going. Michelle had been too frightened to go alone and far too embarrassed to ask any human friends along. Poor Ginger had been lured by the beloved leash and the promise of a walk, along with a pocket full of doggie biscuits.

“I’ll bet you want to know why we’re out here, don’t you, girl?” Michelle remarked, sweeping the landscape in front of her with her flashlight. The night seemed unusually dark, though it might have been an illusion brought on by her fear. Slowly Michelle and Ginger began to walk the path through the center of the cemetery, keeping watch for an unknown. Talking aloud seemed to allay some of her misgivings, so she pressed on – confiding in her four-legged friend as she’d done so many times. Pets were much better at keeping secrets than people.

“It all started when I went to stay overnight with Rebecca. She lives over there.” Michelle pointed to the east where the silhouette of Rebecca Covington’s house was situated. “You wouldn’t believe it, Ginger,” she continued quickening her stride, “the Covington’s joke about living close to a graveyard.” Those jokes had been a recurring theme throughout the evening. The Covington’s had held a barbecue to celebrate Rebecca’s thirteenth birthday. When they’d gotten a little loud once, Rebecca’s mother had said, “You don’t want to wake the neighbors,” and everyone had laughed. That was just one example of the kind of jokes they made about their close proximity to the cemetery. And like the rest, Michelle had thought it was funny at the time. She’d since begun to wonder if there wasn’t the hint of truth to those remarks.

A noise startled Michelle, and she whirled, aiming her flashlight in the direction in which she thought she’d heard the noise, her other hand gripping Ginger’s leash painfully tight. Ginger was suddenly alert as well, though her reasons were entirely different. Ginger began to bark at the cat that had caused the commotion. It was a gray and white cat, and was seated on an ancient, cross-shaped headstone. The cat didn’t jerk or run away from the dog’s taunting; it merely sat there looking unconcerned.

“Shhh! Ginger, you’ll wake the neighborhood,” Michelle warned; then she snorted at her own folly, realizing who the neighborhood encompassed. The Covingtons did not have the only house bordering the cemetery, but they did seem to be the only family that regularly resided there. The other houses were oddly run down, and a few had been abandoned. Michelle had given that very little thought during the barbecue, but in the days since, she’d wondered at it. It was one more clue compelling her to investigate what she’d seen from Rebecca’s bedroom window.

“The Covington’s have to be a little loopy to live where they do,” Michelle continued, as if the cat’s presence had never interrupted her monologue. She pulled the reluctant dog away from her view of the gray cat and began to walk again. “So, I’m going to lay it all out for you, Ginger. I got up in the middle of the night to pee – too much pineapple punch, I think. Everybody was asleep, but Rebecca had never drawn her window shade. That’s morbid really, ‘cause guess which direction her room faces?” Ginger looked up at Michelle, her tail wagging at the attention being paid to her.

At the thought of the scene, Michelle felt a shiver travel down her spine. “I’m too old to believe in ghosts,” Michelle told Ginger fiercely, as though her thirteen years made her ancient and wise. “So the people I saw out here must have been a dream, though somehow, I can’t stop thinking about it. That’s why we’re here. When we’re through walking, and I’ve convinced myself that the only thing out here is a cat, we’ll head back.”

Ginger nuzzled her hand, and Michelle took it as a show of solidarity. There weren’t many friends in the world that would walk ten blocks in the dark just to investigate nothing in a cemetery without complaint. Michelle knew that she’d be exhausted in the morning, though she’d slept so fleetingly in the last eight days that she doubted she’d notice a difference. “Just a few more minutes and we’ll go back. Hopefully, this will convince my stupid nightmares to take a hike,” Michelle added.

They came upon the very oldest part of the cemetery – the part that was a straight on shot from Rebecca’s bedroom window. The headstones in this section were colossal – more like statues than grave markers. Some were beautiful pieces of sculpture, tributes to artists of two hundred years before who made an honest living by creating one-of-a-kind symbols to loved ones who’d passed away. In the center was a tall and lovely angel, so well designed that she seemed alive – dancing an eternal ballet to the Edmond family. “That’s probably what I saw, right there,” Michelle mumbled, pointing at the angel and feeling stupid. “It was no glowing lady in white, but a stupid statue,” she grumbled. “Mystery solved, Ginger. Shall we go?”

Ginger, however, seemed rooted to the spot. It had not even occurred to Michelle that the dog’s demeanor had completely changed. Ginger’s tail was tucked between her legs and she was moving backward so slowly that it was almost imperceptible. “You’re bad as me,” Michelle teased. “She’s nothing but a well-cut statue.”

Only then did Michelle realize that something had moved behind the angel. She froze, only able to aim her flashlight by the strongest force of will ever exerted. “Wh –whose there?” she demanded, her voice quavering. There was no answer, but more movement caught her eye from the left side, and still more from her right. Michelle was so frightened she dropped her flashlight and scrambled to pick it up.

It had not been her imagination; she’d seen something undead that night, though it was apparently only one of many. A woman in a flowing white gown moved from behind the angel, her skin an ethereal blue color. A voice seemed to flow to Michelle’s ears like a breeze, its timbre smooth and other-worldly. “You should not have trespassed.”

“S –s –sorry,” Michelle stumbled. “I’ll go now. I won’t come back. I -- I promise.”

“We must protect our secret,” a lower voice added. Michelle whirled, seeing a man now come from behind a huge eagle monument. His skin was the same phantom blue as the woman’s.

Michelle tried to back away, a whimper escaping her lips that matched that of Ginger’s. “It’s a shame, for certain. It’s been so long since anyone trespassed,” a higher, lighter voice said. It seemed almost familiar to Michelle, but she was too scared to let her mind

investigate it.

“The secret must be protected,” a very deep voice commanded.

Suddenly, Ginger bolted, abandoning her terrified master. Michelle cried out, “No!” but Ginger was merely a streak in the night, heading for the depths of the cemetery so quickly that her form disappeared in a matter of seconds. Alone and frightened out of her wits, Michelle wondered if she dared run as well. She backed up two steps before turning and fleeing, her flashlight forgotten. She sprinted between the headstones, ducking tree branches that she only saw when she was almost on top of them, and half-stumbling in the darkness. Then suddenly, she tripped, her ankle turning painfully beneath her. Michelle fell spectacularly, landing in a heap at the foot of a gothic grave marker. She heard the voices closing in and scrambled to hide, only then noticing the deeply carved letters of the family monument where she’d landed. “C – O--V.” Michelle pulled back to look, dreading the answer she’d somehow already known. “COVINGTON” Six names in carefully carved letters preceded the same date over and over. The whole family had died at once, maybe in a freak accident or a fire. “James 02-02-1849, Susanna 02-02-1849, Vincent 02-02-1849, Samuel 02-02-1849, David 02-02-1849, and Rebecca 02-02-1849…” Rebecca.

Suddenly the ghosts were upon her. “We should never have invited her,” the girl she’d once thought of as a friend bemoaned. Michelle tried to scream, but never actually managed it.