part three by John Riley
“What do you make of that Padre Simonstone?” Joyce picked up a previous conversation, distracted at the counter and asked which milk for the tea?
“I’ll give him his due; he’s tidying up that abandoned cemetery far end of the parish.”
“Aye, caring man giving back to those forgotten souls. The place was attracting vandals and the like. I mean, didn’t they light a fire at one of the gravestones?” Joyce was thinking about whether overcharged for the cost of these drinks.
“Well, about time something was done. It’s a right mess and I’d heard some horrible nasty goings-on.”
“Oh, pray tell?”
“C’mon Joyce, surely you’ve heard. I can’t believe you’ve not, story plastered all over last week’s Telegraph.”
“Aye, well I wouldn’t, would I, him indoors lines the new dog kennel before I’ve had time to read them. I’m not speaking to him at the moment.”
“Well, I’ll show you. I’m taking some fresh flowers down there given by the friends of the forgotten.”
Joyce shivered. “Oh, I don’t know… I always avoided that place, gives me the spooks.”
“Give over, come on we need people to help and return it to its proper state. A place of peace for the dead to rest.”
“Well let me finish my tea, I’ve paid for this and at these prices, I can’t afford to waste it.”
Longside Cemetery remains quiet, from clearly a hive of busy activity, returning it to former dignity. Still sends a chill over Joyce. She’s not totally oblivious to the stories told about this place. Anyway, during the day, it doesn’t look so bad, a lot better since her last visit.
“They’ve done a lot of work, looking tidier.” Joyce scanned across the gravestones.
The site is a mixture of old statues and moss-green tombstones teetering back on themselves. One is still damaged from the scorching when someone made a fire up against it. Above all this and catching the eye is a statue of Death. Tall, and stately, and such a looming presence it watches over all comings and goings.
Joyce, not wanting to catch its dead stare, was the main reason she didn’t want to be here. As if to look on it would mark you for its cull, and even tormenting herself with a worrying thought – did she look at it in the corner of her eye?
“Awe, look at that Joyce.”
Both take a closer look at the latest spray left on number 31. The one fire damaged. ‘To Mr and Mrs Garnett – forever in our hearts – Rest in Peace – All at No. 66’.
“Sixty-six, that’s that big family mausoleum over on the newer side. That’s where the money lot goes. I wonder if they were in service to them. Bit of a mystery…” She glanced over at the plinth upon which a statue of Death looked out.
“You know those wreaths never last more than a day by that statue. Some beautiful deep red almost black velvety roses, wither in a couple of hours. You waste money putting a wreath there.”
Joyce didn’t want to look. She ventured across the grassy track. “What about this one?”
She bent low to replace the card on number 33.
“Looks like the ink’s run, feels like a piece of wallpaper… I think… the name is Michael… and Georgina..? What are these numbers for? Are they markers?” Joyce asked aloud.
They both walked along tidied pathways, carefully stepping clear of the odd stray briar rose whipping across on a stray breeze.
“Joyce, I’ll go and get the carpetbag I’m borrowing, something thats seen plenty of life. I’ll bring the flowers over. You wait here, I won’t be long.”
She was unsure if she wanted to be alone but kept her doubts quiet. She’d her back to the statue__Death. She could sense its shadow and felt the cold shiver prickle her flesh with goosebumps.
Joyce was ready for something warm to eat when returning home.
“Joyce, is that your house?” Pulling the car into Laurel Avenue.
The paramedics were in and out of her home.
Joyce raced out of the car, running into the arms of a police officer and in the following minutes learnt upsetting news…
He indoors suffered a sudden heart attack while lining the dog kennel with newspaper. The dog howling alerted neighbours to investigate.
Over in Longside Cemetery, dusk cast far-reaching shadows stretching far. One appears to stand out from the rest in its spooky way. Death’s shadow spread across the ground, reaching that spot where Joyce had thought she’d caught its dead stare from the corner of her eye.
-end-
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