STory A Day In May - Story 24

Wednesday Night Ghost Story

by J. Smith Kirkland

He met his true love in the middle of a field of tombstones. She just walked up to him and asked if he always ate his lunch in a cemetery. He replied, “on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” Which was a half truth; he also ate there on Mondays and Fridays, but he was afraid she would think that was weird.

“Wednesdays I eat in the park. There's a concert there at lunch on Wednesdays. But this is sorta like a park. Landscaping and flowers. Sculptures. And not many people.”

Well, not many live ones I guess.”

She smiled. He smiled back.

“My name is Harry.”

“Gwen.”

She stayed and talked with him as he ate his lunch. She agreed with his thought of the cemetery being like a park. And she said she loved reading the tombstones because each one had a story to tell, even if you had to make it up yourself. He offered her half of his sandwich. She asked if it had mayo on it. He said it did, and she said that she would rather die. He fell for her that first day.

It didn't take her long to catch on that he was there 4 days a week, not just Tuesdays and Thursday, because she was there those days too. They started looking at the tombstones together, taking turns making up elaborate stories about them. Some funny, some sad.

“Why don't you come with me to the concert on Wednesday?”

“I would say it sounds fun, but I hate crowds.”

“I get that. Why do you think I eat my lunch here. But I like the music, and the food trucks. But I would enjoy your company more.”

She smiled, “What we should do is meet here on Wednesday after you get off work.”

And that began the Wednesday evening ghost stories. Instead of just making up stories about the tombstones, on Wednesday evenings they would talk about who the people buried there would haunt and why.

One Wednesday he suggested going to one of the old crypts to get names for their story that evening. She didn't like the idea.

“Why not, they must have great stories.”

“Their names are on the inside wall. You can't see them even in the daytime.”

“I have a great flashlight app on my phone,” he counters.

He convinces her to go look, but she is certain it will be a futile attempt.

“You'll never be able to read them, but we can make up names I guess.”

He is illuminating the little room with his cellphone as he peers through the bars on the door's window.

“I can almost make it out Wendell Hastings. 30 March 1853 to 29 July 1890. And Gwendolyn Cartwright 30 March 1853 to 29 July 1890. Wow. Same birth and death days. That must be a story.”

He turned to tell her, “And she has your name,” but Gwen was gone. He looked in every direction. She was no where. He walked around the crypts to see if she was exploring the other side. But she was gone.

He waited longer than his usual lunch break on Thursday, but Gwen never showed. Not on Friday eiher, or the next Monday or Tuesday. Harry didn't know what to think. She didn't want to go to the crypt for some reason, but that was no reason just leave without saying anything, and then to ghost him like that.

Doubting she would show, he went the the cemetery on Wednesday after work. He sat on a bench where they often sat and talked. He waited for about an hour, and was about to leave when he heard Gwen's voice behind him.

“I know their story.”

She sat down next to him like every other Wednesday, and began her ghost story like nothing had happened. He did not question her. He figured he could do that after her story.

“They were twins. They were inseparable growing up. He was an artist, and she a writer. when they turned twenty they went together to Paris to study. They met Henri Raymond, Vincent Van Gogh, Hendrik Andersen, and Claude Monet. They hung out at coffee shops with Henry James, Oscar Wilde, Ernest Hemingway, and Edgar Poe. They both found welcoming friends that encouraged their respective pursuits. Oscar was the first person to ever call her Gwen. Ernest refused that saying Gwedolyn was a more fitting name for such a brilliant young woman.

“She me a man named Cartwright, and against the advice of Henry and Oscar, she married him. I should have listened. He became an abusing drunk.”

Harry didn't catch that first use of first person, but as she continued, he began to understand, and to worry that she might be too caught up in her own story.

“One night, with a black eye and a bloody lip, I ran to Hendrik's home, where my brother was staying. They took me in.”

Her eyes were tearing up. Harry put his arm around her.

“But Cartwright came looking for me. He was going to drag his property home. My brother stepped in. They started arguing. Cartwright tried to push his way into the house. Wendell shoved him back to the road. Then Cartwright pulled a gun. He killed my brother.”

Harry wasn't sure what to do. He just pulled her closer as she cried. When she could speak again, she looked at him, “So I know their story. And it's hard to remember it.”

“Did Cartwright shoot Gwendolyn too? She died the same day as Wendell.”

“No. I was in the back room. They said I collapsed at the same time my brother hit the ground. But I don't remember. I just know everything went black, and one day I was here. And Wendell wasn't. I don't know why I am here, but I know he found peace. I always knew when he was happy or sad. I know he's happy.”

Harry thought for a moment, “So this means my girlfriend is a ghost?”

“I'm your girl friend? And you're okay with a ghost girlfriend?””

“Well the whole dislike of mayonnaise made it touch and go there for a while, but if I can live with that, I am sure the ghost part is something I can work around.”

She smiled.

The Prompt

Opening Line: “She met her true love in the middle of a field of tombstones.” 

Michele says: I love cemeteries. They have so many stories, so many characters. I find them comforting.

So it does not have to be a scary story, although it can be. It could be the story of people who are interred there.

Their pre life doesn’t have to have a connection to the cemetery. That could just be the starting point.

It could be people who meet there because they are mourning the loss of someone.

Could be your traditional zombie story, horror story mystery story as well.

But I’m just drawn to the idea of cemeteries as places for stories.

Story A Day Framework

boy meets girl, in a graveyard

fall in love

she reveals she is a ghost

happy ever after