Graveyard Exhibition

When I stepped into that place I wasn’t expecting anything. I was so much of a skeptic, I looked like a zombie myself. I could tell Greta was trying to keep up a smile, reassuring herself I’d get won over, that the scaredy-cat in me would come out when it got dark, but it still wasn’t happening. I was depressed. If anything, looking at all these tombstones was only making me more sad.

“So Carol.” She purred, still grinning wickedly like the flashlight was already under her chin and she was about to tell the campfire story she’d been saving all night. “Do you know what happened here?”

“Sorta.” I couldn’t be bothered at the time to remember the details. It was like… they’re dead, I wanna be, so what’s it all matter…? That tale was the most the town had going for it, but at the end of the day, it was just a ghost story.

“It was the edge of sunset, just like now…” She chose to ignore my dispassionate “sorta.” “A young, black-haired harlot stepped onto the graveyard grounds, led by a rich solicitor…”

“Plantation owner.” I spat.

“Was that the version you heard?”

“Is this you admitting the story’s fake? What other kind of rich was he, it was the 1800’s…”

“No no, 1900’s. I know the real one.

“Is the real retelling the most sanitized? I can’t have sympathy in the first place when the setup is a prostitute getting murdered.”

“But she wasn’t the one who was murdered! You’re thinking of the wrong story.” She had so much life in her eyes, even when she’d pout. I can still remember her perfect-knit sweaters and never-ripped jeans. I could never imagine her as anything but normal. Not worth letting in on half the shit going on in my life. I might have even convinced myself that I just wanted to protect her innocence. I didn’t think anyone could be so simple past the age of 21.

I was right.

 “And the rich man’s grave is really here, he died in 1917.” She led me to a name I didn’t recognize.

“Probably just some guy who died in the war.” I still bothered to crouch down and read it, though I couldn’t make out much. “Your story’s bunk.”

“You have pretty black hair, just like her.”

I thought that was a pretty funny way to cheer someone up, comparing them to a ghost. “You mean the prostitute? How would you even know?” I didn’t have the will to enjoy myself then, so instead of cigs or a beer I’d always just carry around my phone on these little getaways, waste my time scrolling through things I hated. “And why’s it matter anyway?”

“Would you put away your phone?”

“I’m sorry, I just forget why we do these things.” I forfeited the device to my purse. “It never does much for me.”

She looked at me like fog looks at a puddle. Moving, wistful, bit all together one-note. Monochromatic. Nothing but gray mist.

“This… this is the time it’s going to, Carol.”

“What do you mean?”

“You… seem so down lately, and I wanna help. I really wanna help.”

“Why now? I’m always down.” I move my foot just in time to avoid stepping on a grave as our walk slowly crawls to a stop.

“I- I read your diary.”

“What?”

The way I stepped up to her then I still regret. She had every right to know. She never would have if she hadn’t intruded on my privacy. But that little step into myself that I never allowed her was something I kept away for a reason. Nothing scared me more than letting others in.

“It’s- it’s okay! I feel the same. Not just- about the feelings, about… everything.”

“You…”

“I came here to give you what you want.”

The air became cold, like I’d been pushed up against a steep ledge. I should have been happy- my best friend loved me, she was going to do something for me. Instead I felt so invaded I instantly stuttered out a cry.

“Y-you asshole!” I wept defensively, shocked. “What the fuck? That was the ONE thing I ever asked of you, n-not to break into my personal stuff just to learn my dumbass secrets-“

“I cherish you so much. I don’t see why you wouldn’t have asked, if all you wanted was something so simple…” She became a different person, inquisitively watching something to the side of us. “I would have always given it to you, if only you’d asked. I know a way.”

“Which fucking- want are you talking about?!” I asked in a yell, intrigued but still enraged. Half the red on my face was anger and the rest was embarrassment. If not excitement. It was a strange sensation and some part of me was even relieved, extremely so. Maybe ferocity was the only way I knew how to show it.

She gave me a look that just compelled me to feel even more guilty.

“How you… want to be seen.”

I didn’t hear it then, but the dirt beside my foot was already unsettling itself. Fog had begun to gather, and the cold atmosphere had become distinctly more frosty.

“You… feel so alone, but it’s gotten worse than that.” The preppy girl averted her gaze from it all, giving a weary-eyed and reminiscent look indicative of her twisted sympathy. “You want more love than I can give you alone.”

“Greta—“

“Don’t you?“

“I…”

“Don’t worry. We’ll make you feel like a god in no time.”

The colorless hand shot out of the grave and pulled my ankle to be parallel with the ground. My head hit the dirt as they arose, Greta pulling up her sleeves to expose ritual symbols engraved upon every inch of flesh. The mist swirled around her like a tornado, resurrected bodies doing the same for me, worm-ridden skin dripping off their bones tanned by dirt and mud. They looked down on me, some like meat, some like a queen. All of them wanted the same thing.

“These are my friends, Carol. They’ve been waiting to meet you.”

To be honest, I did too.

“Let’s make a new urban legend.”

…Greta ended up being right about the rich dude, he passed in the 1900’s. Chill guy honestly. Remind me not to argue with a necromancer.