Place Entry #4: Who You Gonna Call?

I have never been overly preoccupied by the supernatural/ghostly qualities of cemeteries. I think this is primarily because the majority of times I have needed to go to cemeteries, have been in the daylight. Everyone knows that light and ghosts do not go hand-in-hand. This is evident; every ghost story you ever heard as a child takes place under the mysterious cover of night. Darkness is ambiguity and so is the supernatural.

It is 10pm, dark, and I am going to the cemetery. I know that the cemetery is closed, and that the gate is locked. But tonight I have visions of grand espionage. Tonight I will live in the shadows of the cemetery.

…our so I thought.

I trailed the fence to find a spot that seemed most climbable and the least conspicuous. It was down the hill from the gate, on the west end of the cemetery. The road bent on both ends of the fence, and I began to time the seconds between: when I would first see the headlights of oncoming cars, and when they would be upon my climbing spot.  It was close to a standard “five one-thousand” count, so I needed to be quick. Quick and nimble, like a cat I thought. Although I have never seen a cat climb a fence, I assume it would be quick and nimble.

I had an opening. I jumped up, grabbed the top rail of the fence, and pulled. Looking over the rail I swung my left leg up, and then a cold wind howled toward my face. It was unnerving. Actually, unnerving is to say the least. I dropped back down, still outside of the cemetery.

It is amazing how your depth perception goes to shit in the darkness, along with the lens of your eye’s ability to focus.

Looking through the bars, the trees and stones seemed to bleed together. The lines of the cemetery also rack-focused in and out. The branches, and trunks, and stones became the blurred imitations of the bodies under the ground.

The wind sang through the cemetery, and to a less trained ear the song may have sounded like an invitation…come in. But I know of the Sirens that Odysseus was warned against. Do they live in the cemeteries too? Well they are not fooling this guy. There’s no wax in these ears.

A dog walked past with its human companion. I nodded to the young man. The dog looked through the bars into the cemetery and then back at me. Dogs can talk, and that dog said, “Yep, I don’t blame you buddy. I wouldn’t chase a stick in that place tonight.”

I stood haunted, outside the cemetery for five minutes or so. I shook my head no, and started to walk home. I’ve got enough to write about. I’m not going in there with all that madness.