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After the shock of finding the mess in the pantry I was in need of fresh air. I stood on the back step with a cup of coffee cradled in my hands. The tall grass swayed gently in the breeze and the air was filled with the perfume of wild flowers. I set my empty cup on the black iron table and strolled along the partially concealed stone path. Within minutes my jeans were soaked up to my knees.
I paused when I reached the stone wall, that surrounded the garden, as a robin perched in a nearby tree, burst into song. I pulled away the Virginia creeper and found a wooden gate with rusty hinges and a lock. The gate creaked and scraped on the ground when I pushed it open. I gazed around in amazement. Branches were scattered everywhere and a maple tree lay over the empty pond.
I moved the branches of the gnarled weeping willow after detecting crumbling stones. I stepped over the exposed roots to investigate. “Why, those are tombstones.” I knelt down and rubbed dust off with my sleeve. There weren’t any names. I moved branches away from dusty flowers covered in cobwebs. “Who was buried here and why?”
Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw movement but when I turned to look didn’t see anyone. I followed the leaf covered path towards the pergola and pushed tangled vines away and peeked inside. There were leaves and twigs everywhere and a tree branch protruded though the glass roof. A couple of rusty lanterns swayed back and forth.
Further down the path a broken metal gate creaked as it swung on broken hinges. A path led to a babbling brook and a house was visible on the other side of a meadow. I shivered even though the sun shone high in the sky and headed back to the cottage. I looked up and saw a shadow in the attic window. I had the feeling I was being watched.
Ghostly Writes Anthology 2016 Page 51
