by Mark White
As he passed by the gate he paused and thought about entering. The fact that it was dark and eerie didn’t daunt him…he had no time for superstition. As far as he was concerned, there wasn’t some all-powerful entity watching over people. Things didn’t happen for a reason. They just happened.
He checked his watch: 5.30am. Another half hour and his mother would be up and wondering where he was. She’d be worried about him, especially given the state he’d been in yesterday afternoon. He would have to get going, but there was something he needed to do first.
Opening the gate, he stepped into the churchyard and followed the crumbled stone path as it wound its way through the sloping headstones. The grave he was looking for was at the rear of the church, tucked away behind a gnarled rowan tree. Sam had once read that in years gone by, rowan trees were planted in graveyards to watch over the dead and prevent them from rising up and walking the earth. They were also supposed to guard against malevolent ghosts and witches. Folklore aside, he was pleased that his little sister was buried next to a rowan tree. It was a pretty spot, particularly in the springtime when the scented white blossom was in bloom, and in the summer when the branches were covered in bright red berries and the birds sang out to each other. He told himself that Lucy would have liked it here.
He left the firmness of the path and stepped onto the muddy grass, grimacing as he felt the cold morning dew soak through his boots. Her grave remained several paces away, but despite the darkness he could see a bouquet of fresh flowers lying against the immaculately-maintained headstone. A neighbour once told him that Janice came here every day, sometimes twice a day, often staying for up to an hour at a time. This didn’t surprise him. If he still lived here he would probably do the same.
Thirty years had passed since her death, but every time he read the inscription he was immediately dragged back to events of that night and the days that followed. No amount of medication and psychotherapy could eradicate those memories. They say that time is a great healer, and maybe it is, but even now it was impossible for Sam to forget…or forgive.
Lucy Anne Railton
Born 3rd April 1978, Died 19th November 1984
Sleep Well My Little Angel – We Will Soon Be Together Again In Heaven.
He kissed the palm of his hand and placed it gently on top of the headstone.
‘Hello, sis,’ he said, closing his eyes. ‘I was just passing so I thought I’d call by.’ He always spoke aloud to her. He liked to imagine the two of them as they once were; an eight year old boy and a six year old girl who laughed and played and fought together like brothers and sisters the world over. ‘I see mummy has brought you some nice flowers. I’m afraid I haven’t got you anything, but before I leave I promise I will, okay?’ Sometimes he managed to trick himself into thinking that Lucy was there with him, that the two of them were having a real conversation. There were even times when he pictured her standing there in front of him beside the headstone, smiling at him and talking as if she wasn’t dead and buried but a real person. He knew she wasn’t there, of course, but what harm was there in pretending, even though the well-meaning counsellors advised against it.
‘Things haven’t been all that great recently,’ he said, trying to hold back the tears. ‘But I won’t burden you with my problems. I bet you’ve got enough on your plate up in heaven watching over all those poor people with real problems.’ He pulled out a tissue and wiped his eyes. Even though he had no religious convictions of any kind, this was the one place where he pretended otherwise. He knew it was daft, but for some reason it felt like the right thing to do.
‘I can’t stay long,’ he continued, forcing a smile. ‘Mummy will be wondering where I’ve got to. You know how silly she gets when she worries.’ He smiled at the image he had of his sister giggling at his words. He opened his eyes and looked around the churchyard, taking in the serene ambiance of a tranquil, misty morning. ‘You know, I don’t think I’ve ever visited you at this time of day,’ he said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘It’s nice, isn’t it? Quiet and peaceful. Nobody around to disturb us.’
He frowned, unable to conceal his sadness. His head dropped to his chest and his voice softened. ‘I wish I could be with you, Lucy. I don’t really want to be here anymore. If it wasn’t for Max…well…if it wasn’t for Max.’
A car drove by, the first of the day, shaking Sam from his thoughts. ‘Enough of me blathering on. I’m supposed to cheer you up, aren’t I? I’m afraid I’ve done a pretty poor job of that! I tell you what: why don’t I come back later and we can chat some more, eh? Only happy stuff, mind, and certainly no more tears. Deal? Good. I’ll see you later. I promise.’
And then, as he turned to walk away: ‘I love you, sis.’ He didn’t wait for a reply. In his mind she’d already said it back to him.
His feet, by now drenched and freezing cold, soon found their way back onto the path and he carefully began retracing his footsteps around the church to the main entrance. As he did so he paused and looked across to the far corner of the churchyard, his eyes resting on a small, broken headstone; the type that the Local Authority was required under law to provide for those who had no means of purchasing their own. A pauper’s grave, Sam thought, disgusted that the authorities had decided to bury him in the same graveyard as Lucy. There’d been furious objections from all manner of folk at the time, but it hadn’t made any difference. They’d buried him here because nowhere else would have him.
As Sam stared at the grave he felt a bitter chill pass through him, and for a moment he thought he saw the dark outline of a man standing by the headstone. He instinctively took a step backwards, banging his heel against the edge of a paving stone. Regaining his balance, he looked again. There was someone there…he was almost certain of it. From where he was standing it looked like a man. A tall, thin man wearing a hat.
Just a trick of the light, he thought, straining his eyes to see more clearly. A shadow of a grave or a tree. But this was no shadow…its shape was too distinct.
‘Hello?’ Sam said. ‘Is there somebody there?’ There was no reply, but Sam was sure the figure took a step towards him. And then another. And another.
A second car drove by, diverting Sam’s attention. The driver didn’t notice him, her attention fixed on the road ahead. When Sam looked back the figure had gone, as if it had never been there at all. Instead, all that he could see before him was the rundown headstone beside which the figure had stood. The broken, untouched headstone that nobody ever tended to.
The headstone of William ‘Billy’ Railton.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Confused, Sam hurried back to his mother’s house, occasionally looking back over his shoulder even though he knew there was nobody there. He settled on a simple explanation: it was dark and he was tired. Sleep deprivation could play all manner of tricks on people, and his emotional state was fragile to say the least. It was hardly surprising he was seeing things given the pressure he was under. He should never have entered that graveyard in the first place.
Even so, as he reached the house and fumbled in his pockets for the front door key, he couldn’t stop thinking about the dark figure standing by his father’s gravestone. Fine, so maybe it was a trick of the light, one which his mind had clearly twisted, but it had seemed real enough at the time. Trick or no trick, it had certainly rattled him. He’d always found visiting his sister’s grave to be a calming experience, comforting even, but back there…back there he’d felt something different. Something cold. He planned to return later that day with some flowers – he’d made a promise to Lucy that he intended to keep – but this time he would go in daylight.
He cursed as he struggled to locate the front door key. Fortunately for him his mother was on hand to let him in. She opened the door, standing in her dressing gown with a face like thunder, her second cigarette of the day dangling from her cracked lips. Sam eyed her sheepishly, like a teenager skulking home drunk in the early hours of the morning. He sensed what was coming.
/> ‘Where on earth have you been?’ she asked, poking her head out the door and checking the neighbours’ windows to see if any nosy busybodies were watching them. In a small community like Cranston, everybody knew everybody else’s business. ‘Come on in before you catch your death,’ she said, ushering him inside and closing the door behind them.
‘I’ve been for a walk,’ Sam said, glad to be out of the cold. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’
‘I almost called the police,’ she said. ‘I was worried you might have done something silly.’
‘Sorry.’
‘So you should be. You could have at least left a note or taken your phone with you.’
‘I know. I wasn’t thinking.’
‘Hmm, I’ve heard that one before. Take those wet boots off and sit down by the fire. I’ll make some coffee. Dear me…when will you ever learn?’
Sam did as he was told, placing his sodden boots and socks next to the radiator and draping his coat over the bannister. By the time he’d entered the kitchen and slumped into a chair, Janice was already buttering some toast and spooning ground coffee into a glass cafetière that she only used when Sam came to visit. He’d bought her the cafetière a few Christmases ago in the hope that she might learn to appreciate the taste of proper coffee, but his modern, cosmopolitan ways were wasted on her. She was quite happy with a jar of ‘instant’, thank you very much.
‘Where did you get to, anyway?’ she asked, placing his toast and coffee on a small table beside him.
‘I went to see Lucy.’
‘What, at five o’clock in the morning?’
‘I wasn’t planning to. It just happened that way. I needed some fresh air so I went for a walk. When I reached the end of Alston Road I saw the church and…well…I had a sudden urge to go and see her.’
‘But it’s pitch black out there. You could have tripped over and hurt yourself.’
‘Stop fretting, will you? I’m not a baby anymore.’ He poured himself some coffee and took a sip, wincing at the strength. ‘Did you empty the whole damn packet in there?’ he said, shaking his head. ‘It’s as thick as treacle!’
‘Well, I don’t know how many spoons of that awful stuff you like to put in there, do I? I’ll make another one if you want.’
‘No, it’s fine, honestly. Anyway, I need something to perk me up.’ He took another sip as if to prove it was palatable. ‘I saw a nice bunch of flowers by her grave. Yours, I take it?’
‘Yes. I like to take her a fresh bunch every week.’
‘That’s more than I can say for some people. Have you seen the state of some of those graves? The place is going to rack and ruin.’
‘I know. I must have mentioned it a thousand times to the vicar, but he doesn’t seem to care. I even called the council and asked them why they’re not cutting the grass. Do you know what they told me?’
‘What?’
‘They told me that due to staff shortages they need to focus their resources on keeping the main park in order. I told them I could understand that, but that surely it wouldn’t take long to whip a strimmer around the cemetery. It would make such a difference, I told them. They promised me they’d get round to it as soon as they could. Anyway, that was three months ago. I’ve a good mind to make a formal complaint to Councillor Groves. It seems to be the only way you can get anything to happen around here. It’s a disgrace, an absolute disgrace. Not to mention disrespectful to the deceased. By the way,’ she said, ‘your phone was buzzing earlier, at least I think it was your phone. Sounded like a text.’
‘Really? Who’d be sending me a text this early?’ The answer came to him immediately. He stood up and walked across to the sideboard where he’d left his phone. He took a deep breath and checked the name. It was Sarah.
Can we talk?
His first instinct was to run upstairs to the privacy of his room and call her. He missed hearing her voice, but more than anything else he wanted to see her, to hold her and have her explain to him that Tom was a huge mistake and that she would never be unfaithful to him again. He missed Max, too; in some ways more than he missed Sarah. As much as Sam loved his mother, right now all he wanted was to be back home again with his wife and son, laughing and talking together like they used to. Maybe he could forgive her. Maybe, in time, he would be able to put this whole nightmare behind him. Either way, he knew he couldn’t stay here any longer. He needed to sort this out. Hanging around his mother’s house drinking awful coffee and feeling sorry for himself wouldn’t help him.
It was time to go home.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘Are you sure this is wise?’ Janice asked, pulling into a parking bay at Durham train station. ‘Wouldn’t it better to stay here a few days? Take some time to think things through.’
Sam smiled at his mother. He loved her very much, and in any other circumstance he would have gladly stayed for longer, but right now he was like a homing pigeon. He needed to get back to London.
‘Don’t worry, mum,’ he said, opening the car door and checking his pocket for his wallet. ‘I know what I’m doing. And if things don’t work out…well…I might be back sooner than planned.’
‘Fair enough, but you know you’ll always be welcome here.’
‘I know.’ He leaned across the armrest and kissed her cheek. ‘Thanks mum. For everything.’
‘Get off,’ she said, shunning his attention but secretly enjoying it. ‘Hurry up or you’ll miss your train.’
‘Okay,’ he said, climbing out of the car. As he was about to close the door, he bent down and looked at her. ‘By the way,’ he said, his tone now lower and more serious. ‘You haven’t noticed anything unusual going on at the churchyard, have you? Anything strange?’
Her smile faded. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s nothing. It’s just…when I was walking out of the churchyard this morning, I had this weird feeling I wasn’t alone. It felt like someone was watching me. I can’t be sure because it was so dark, but I thought I saw a man standing by dad’s grave.’
‘I’m sorry, Sam,’ Janice said, shaking her head but unwilling to make eye contact. ‘I’m afraid I’ve no idea what you mean.’
Sam noticed her knuckles whitening as she gripped the steering wheel far tighter than was necessary. ‘Mum?’ He reached over and placed his hand on her arm. ‘Are you alright? You don’t look well.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, mustering an unconvincing smile. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I must be more upset than I thought about you and Sarah. Now, what were you saying about ghosts and cemeteries? You don’t believe in any of that nonsense, do you?’
‘I didn’t mention anything about ghosts. I was just saying that-’
‘Of course I haven’t felt anything strange. Your mind must be playing tricks on you. Hardly surprising really. I think what you need, my boy, is a good night’s sleep.’
Sam frowned. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘There’s no maybe about it. Now hurry up or you’ll miss your train.’
‘Yes ma’am,’ he said, winking at her as he closed the door. She shooed him away with the back of her hand as he bent down and blew her a kiss before walking towards the ticket office.
When she was certain he wasn’t coming back, she sank down into her seat and cupped her hand over her mouth. She knew exactly what he was talking about. She’d felt it too, although only recently for the first time. The presence of somebody else in the churchyard. Watching her. Following her. What upset her more than anything was that Sam had also sensed it. If it had just been her, it would have been easier to pass off as paranoia or old age, but it wasn’t just her. What if there was someone else?
She started the engine and ramped up the heating, suddenly feeling cold and feverish. More than anything else, however, she felt scared: scared of returning alone to the place where her daughter was buried, and scared of seeing that dark figure again, standing by the grave of her dead ex-husband.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
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As the train pulled away from Durham Station and set off towards London, Sam remembered his promise to go back to the cemetery with some flowers for Lucy.
‘Damn,’ he said, furious with himself for forgetting. It wasn’t like him to break a promise, but the fact that it was his sister made it ten times worse. It was too late to turn back now. He would visit her again as soon as he could, but for now he just hoped she would understand.
The train was surprisingly quiet for a Saturday morning: apart from an old lady who was sitting across the aisle from him, there couldn’t have been any more than six other passengers scattered around his carriage. He removed a book from his overnight bag to help pass the time, but it was no use; his eyes read the words but his mind was elsewhere. He kept visualising Tom and Sarah in bed together, groping and fucking and sucking each other like wild animals, lost in abandoned throes of ecstasy. The image sickened him to the core, and he thought that if anything would prevent Sarah and him from rescuing their marriage it would be this…the physical, sordid act of sex with another man. Four years was a long time, certainly long enough to learn about a partner’s sexual preferences and fantasies. What manner of debauched activities had she and Tom got up to in those fancy hotels and secret locations? And, at the end of the day, when she had returned home and made love to Sam, had she still been soiled with the seed of another man? Was she fantasising about Tom when Sam pushed himself inside her? Whose face did she see? Whose body did she imagine? Who did she really want to be with?
