by Judith Stanley
The cemetery was grey and bleak. The
tombstones were dark against the wet sunless day as the girl sat under the
towering tree leaning against a headstone. She watched as the boy stood on the
footpath looking toward her. She had seen him a couple of times before, only
ever on the edge, never entering. Today he stopped by the gate as the girl willed
him to enter.
The boy was running late. He had lost
track of time at the swimming pool and now he had to make a decision. There were two ways home; the long way and the
short cut. The long way was around the block, over the road, past the shops and
around the corner to home. The short cut was through the cemetery. It meant
walking along the narrowing paths of gravestones to the back hedge, then through
the hedge and across the road and home. It
was ten minutes, at most. The long way would take half an hour and he would be
too late to say goodbye to his big brother before he left for the city.
Before today, the boy hadn’t been
much more than a few steps past the hedge from the home side. He had even refused a double-dare to run the
length of the main path just because it gave him the shivers. Getting the
shivers, or the creeps, was reason enough not to act on a dare. That was the
made-up rule. He looked at his watch
again. There was no choice.
The girl watched the boy shiver as
he turned toward her. She saw him take a deep breathe before walking,
sure-footed, through the open gate. In
her excitement she decided to introduce herself. She stood up, dusted off her
pretty dress and moved toward the boy.
“Hi!” she began, but before she
could say another word, the boy had gulped back his fear and run passed and
almost through her. He ran wide-eyed as fast as he could between the gravestones
and through the avenues of rock and concrete.
The girl hovered beside him.
“Running boy!” she whispered like
an echo. “Slow down, I want to be friends.”
But the boy ran faster.
“I’m nothing scary,” she added. It
was too late. The boy was scared.
The boy’s fear propelled him
further into the cemetery grounds. He ran like a leopard. He did not answer the
girl, nor did he slow down. The girl remained beside him.
“Why are you running, boy?” she
asked.
But before he could take a second
look, the boy slipped on the wet dirt path and in a single muddled leap, he lost
his footing and collapsed in a heap. His bag flew from his shoulder and emptied
its contents as it tumbled down the bank.
The bruised and muddied boy sat
and whimpered for a brief moment then gathered his wits and stood up. The girl
stood before him. She extended her arm with the neatly packed school bag
hanging from her closed fist.
“Is this yours?” she asked. She was
as polite as a ghost could be. She had been waiting a very long time to meet
someone her own age. This was an opportunity she didn’t want to mess up. She
smiled.
The boy stared at the ghost girl.
Then he took a long slow breathe and decided there was nothing to do but respond.
After all, the girl wasn’t that scary, just a bit creepy. She was made of light
and shadow, not flesh and bone like him. She was a different kind of real. The
boy became curious. He smiled a crooked smile and took the bag from the girl.
“Thanks,” his voice was quiet and
shaky.
After a moment, he spoke again. “How
did you do that running thing, keeping up with me, and picking up my bag faster
than it fell? How come I can’t see you
moving?” he stuttered as he tried to find words and reason.
The girl shrugged “I don’t know,
it’s some kind of ghost magic or something. All I know is that time and
distance are different when you’re a ghost. It’s not like science at school.
Time is nothing. I’ve been dead longer than I was alive. Dead is a long time,” the
girl chattered with the delight of being heard.
The boy began to relax. “How did
you die?” he asked.
“I drowned at the beach. I got
caught in a rip and dragged out to sea. I swallowed heaps of water and that was
that. It was all very sad, me being so young and everything. I was really sad
too. I missed everyone. Then they bought me here. This is the new dress I got
buried in – all lace and linen, beautiful eh?” She swirled like a dandelion and
continued. “Everyone cried and then they just left me here, and now I’m stuck.”
As she chattered the boy forgot
about getting home and being late.
“I’ll show you where I was
buried, follow me,” said the girl, with the hint of a skip.
The boy followed. They stopped in
front of a knee high stone under a totara. The girl read from the mossy
inscription.
Jane Farmer
Born 7 June 1900,
drowned at Lyall Bay
Forever in our hearts
The boy looked at the girl. She
had been stuck for a hundred years. He felt sad. A tear formed and welled
within him.
“You don’t have to be sad about
it,” Jane declared. “I’m over it, and so
is all my family. They’re all dead now, anyway. I’m the only ghost from my
family.”
The boy listened as she chattered
“I’m nothing scary or sad, just because I’m dead. I just thought it might be
nice to meet someone my own age. Most kids don’t come here, after all it’s full
of dead people,” she giggled. The boy laughed too. And as he laughed he
remembered he was in a hurry.
“I have to get home, I’m going to
be late” he looked at his watch. It was
still only five o’clock. He began a question, but the girl had gone.
______________________________________
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Judith Stanley has spent most of her writing
career writing for corporate readers in the adult world of politics and
education. She is now old enough to know what she wants to do and is spending a
lot more time making up stories, many of which are only suitable for the vigorous
imaginations of children. She is married with two children aged 23 and 8. She is also a volunteer firefighter that resides in New Zealand.
