I walk along the empty dirt road, the moon shining up ahead. Stars twinkle like a thousand jewels embedded in a dark, velvet coat. I have just gotten out of my late night psychology class. I'm anxious to get home.Back to my warm abode where my bed waits for me and away from the biting cold wind . Tomorrow is the 11th of September and that signifies the midterm test–.That dreaded test every reasonable person detests. I take the shortcut through the back of the woods that leads through the graveyard. Guided by the dim moonlight,I enjoy the sound of silence that floats in the air until the musical tinkling of laughter floats through from a distance. I follow the melodic sounds of joy deeper into the darkness until a soft ghostly light becomes noticeable in the distance. There I behold multiple figures twirling, dancing, and walking everywhere I see.
Tables with golden legs, adorned with white lace cloth are all arranged in rows. On top of each is a single burning red and white candle. I cautiously approach until I can see each individual:ladies in Victorian ballgowns and men in their best suits. Children and elders are clothed in all different colors, are mingling together.
A strange sense of curiosity itching and clawing at the back my mind beckons my legs forward.As I join them in their gathering. Nobody pushes and shoves at all moving in uniform. Each swirling figure seeming to move as cogs in a clock. No one seems to take notice of my appearance. And so I bring myself to the middle of the graveyard's expansive field and sit underneath a large oak tree, watching as a woman clinks her glass of red wine with that of her partner's. The ladies give a curtsy and the men hold out their hands and bow. I continue to observe as each woman accepts her partner's hand. Each pair begins to dance in a sort of hasty waltz. The ladies' gowns flutter gracefully in the air as they spin and spin turning the almost unnoticeable breeze into a horrific wind. The glasses and tablecloths are torn from the tabletops, and tumbling and colliding in the air hurtling tiny crystal shards into the air. I start to shout in panic as the wind kicks up more and more dirt. The dancers take no notice of my cries. If anything, it seems to have excited them. They dance faster, making the tables topple over, one by one, like dominoes. All I could do was lean against the tree, clutching my head and squeezing my eyes shut against the onslaught.
As suddenly as the laughter and terrible winds had started they stopped. I raise my head blinking my eyes to clear my foggy vision. I tentatively peer around. Nothing. There is nothing. Not a suit, nor a skirt, not even a single shard of glass or shoe to be seen. There are only the markers of my ancestors left standing in their place as though nothing had ever happened. I stood and dusted the dirt off my suit. And it was then that I noticed, right next to me, in the dirt, was another cement slab.
In loving memory of:
Arthur Reed
Date of Birth: November 28, 1962
Date of Departure: September 15, 1982
This lovely fellow was a loving son and a great pal to all who met him. 'Tis a shame that some unruly person would give him a gruesome end in the middle of the graveyard. May he rest in peace until he is able to be received by the hands of God.
I guess it is my turn to dance as well.