Fireflies (Part 3)

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I worked my way up to the bell tower. All modern in design and nestled between the chapels, this was the common meeting ground of the western block of souls. I didn’t know many of the people on this side, they were so modern in dress and thoughts I tended not to be able to have terribly good conversation with them, but there was one who I knew I could talk with endlessly.

Jenny always spent the early night in the garden by the bell tower and would make her rounds of the cemetery regularly. I believe she described herself as a social butterfly once, it fit perfectly. As expected she drifted through the gardens humming a tune quietly to herself I had never heard before.

“Jenny!” I called out.

She turned to me with a large grin on her face. She was watching over some young souls that were playing in the gardens. It’s not like anything could happen to them now, but we don’t let go of certain traits too easily. I think it’s inherent in all of us to watch over children, even if they aren’t ours. Parental instinct if you will.

“Eustice!” She called back to me, “it’s been ages, hasn’t it?”

“Well time seems relative here. You know that.” She nodded knowingly.

“What brings you to this side of the cemetery?” She asked with enthusiasm.

“There seems to be a new presence around, do you feel it?” I asked.

“Oh… That… Yeah. They are over there.” She said pointing to the north. Her lack of energy in this response intrigued me more than I would have expected. Deeply interested I started moving in the direction she had pointed.

“Oh I see, not really interesting in talking.” She called sardonically after me, sticking her tongue out.

“You know me, adventure awaits!” I called back over my shoulder as I waved a hand in the air. I could feel her making more faces at me behind my back as I continued on.

I came upon two people, real living people, sitting next to a grave with candles strewn about. The candles cast an eerie glow on their forms. They were shrouded head to toe in black rag like outfits. I could barely make out one mumbling something into the night. The other was humming tunelessly. The first one then started to speak out loud.

“Forgotten souls, hear my call. My name is Alice, I’m here to hear you and help. Please do not be afraid. Speak to me.” Alice said with determination.

I nearly fell over from laughing so hard. Every once in a while people do this. Try and ‘contact’ the spirits. My favorite part was the ‘do not be afraid’ as if they could do anything to us. We are dead. Not much else one can do.

“Oh great Alice, I’m here.” I said snickering. Living people can’t hear or see us, so I was taken aback when she turned right to me and stared in my direction.

-V-

Fireflies (Part 2)

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There are others here, some peaceful, some very angry. We converse on occasion, but nothing too steady. I guess when you know you have an eternity to talk; keeping constant contact doesn’t seem so urgent. A few other points I feel necessary to clear up. Yes we can walk through walls, doors, and any other object you can come up with, including the cemetery fence. We are however unable to cross over open running water like a stream. I have no idea why, but it just feels like an impossible wall to pass. Much like trying to push yourself through solid concrete. On the other side of it, we can absolutely pick up and move objects just like any living thing.

There was a new presence in the graveyard tonight. I can’t really explain how I knew, but it’s a feeling we get, much like how one would know when there is a unwanted guest in their home. It’s like a tickle at the back of my mind or an itch that just can’t be scratched into submission. Something had invaded my space and I needed to find out what it was.

I decided to first check out Amaranth Abby, it always seemed like a common haunting ground for new acquisitions and living interlopers. When I came up to the back I found the usual grumpy apparitions hanging about, complaining about how things were when they were ‘younger’ ghosts. It’s sort of funny as after death it’s all about how long you’ve been dead, nothing really changes when you cross over.

Balser, my favorite haunting buddy, was hanging out in the corner of the Abby. This man had seen it all as far as American history was involved; he had even fought alongside General George Washington. I’m pretty sure his family is the reason the cemetery exists at all. Balser seldom talked about his days among the living, but when he did, the stories about Washington were always the best. That man had a certain level of crazy that commonly gets dubbed as eccentric.

“How fare thee Balser?” I called out to him.

“Oh, you know, still dead. And you?”

“Eh? Not too bad I suppose, been feeling a certain presence around, how about you?” I asked back.

“Oh that. Yes, there’s something about tonight. But I think it’s over on the other half.” Union cemetery had long since been split between an eastern and western lots due to the ever expanding need for more places to put people to rest. We were interned on the western site. Luckily it was a short flight over to the eastern.

I didn’t much like going over to the eastern section, as one would have to go past Babyland, a particularly saddening portion of the cemetery. The cries of all the infants stuck in the hereafter, they would never really know why or what for. Perhaps they were here for all the mothers who passed in childbirth, those specters would croon and nourish the little ones as best they could. They seemed so happy to do so. I would always pass by this part in silent reverence.

-V-

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Fireflies (Part 1)

The wind is rushing by. My ears can barely hear anything else now. Screams and heat is all around me. Warm sticky blood is trickling down my forehead and into my eyes. As my vision is becoming blurrier, I can tell that my arms are broken in multiple places. I try to get to my feet, but my legs are trapped underneath one of the many seats strew about the upturned car. Everything goes a searing white for a moment or perhaps hours. I can’t think straight, only the pain is at the forefront of my mind. I think about my family, will I see them again? The cacophony slowly becomes quieter, perhaps I’m becoming used to the horrible sounds around me. Then everything fades to black.

I am once again conscious, but I’m no longer in the train car. Every day it’s the same nightmare, well as much as one can have a nightmare during the day. It’s been the same thing over and over again for 150 years. One may be wondering how that’s even possible? I do hope you’re not thinking that I’m a vampire. Don’t be silly; those only exist in the minds of conspiracy theorists and people who watch to many teen heartthrob movies. I’m a ghost, and not one of your crazed I want to destroy the world kind of ghosts; no I’m just a want to live my death in peace kind of ghost.

Perhaps you’re wondering how I came to have this affliction? Well I had the phenomenal delight of dying on a train bound for California during the tail end of the California gold rush. I was on the B&O headed out to St. Louis to pick up my wife, Margaret, and our daughter, Emeline. We would have then continued all the way to California together. I had been in New York City working out some of our finances and other obligatory errands. But my train, never made it to St. Louis, somehow it got accidently diverted in Grafton, West Virginia and came to a crashing halt in the middle of the night near Columbus, Ohio. The aged conductor, who must have been losing his eyesight, never saw it coming.

All our bodies were brought to Union Cemetery, a quaint plot of land on the Olentangy River. There were about sixty of us on the train when it happened, most were asleep, which I imagine made it a more peaceful way out. Not the hell and horror I woke up to as the last minutes of my life were being wrenched from me. But that is all in the past now. Now I rest during the day in my grave and come out at night to watch the stars and consider the big questions of the universe. I really never thought it would be like this at all. You might be wondering: does everyone become a ghost when they expire? Simply put, no. I can’t say where most people go, but it isn’t here. And I doubt staying behind has anything to do with unfinished business. Everything I had needed to do was taken care of. I feel entirely satisfied with how my life went. Sure, I might have liked more time with my family, but they would be set with the insurance payout.

-V-

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