Prologue
It always seems to be raining whenever I visit the cemetery.
Just my luck. Within minutes, I’m already soaked. I wish my shirt had a hood, something, anything to cover my head. No dice. Despite the year-round air conditioning in my room, I always sleep in a basic tee; it’s the only time I can let the bare skin of my arms go uncovered. My favorite hoodie is probably right where I left it: tossed on top of my dresser. If it wasn’t for the chilly rain, I wouldn’t need it.
I know every inch of this place. I mean, I’ve spent more than enough time here. I head toward the closest mausoleum. The name on the outside says Richardson, and it’s got the widest overhang on this side of the cemetery. I duck beneath it, shrinking against the marble in a fruitless attempt to avoid the raindrops. They’re falling hard and fast, plopping against the flattened grass, spraying dots of mud against the hem of my pajama pants.
A light bobs in the distance. Up. Down. Up. Down. I follow the white splotch as it moves further out. It’s the caretaker, making his last rounds of the night. The glowing blob of light? His lantern going on the journey with him.
I know the old guy’s routine almost as well as he does. First, he’ll check to make sure no one is stupid enough to be caught on the grounds this late at night—especially during another summer storm—then he’ll head back inside, lock up his office, close the gates, and go home.
My eyes trained on the moving light, I keep to the shadows where I know he won’t find me. The shadows have always protected me. I’m safe here.
Not that I can explain how I got here. Hell, I don’t even know how I’m going to make my way back. Acorn Falls is about a half an hour away from Black Pine by car—and I never learned to drive. On foot? Hours, easy.
That’s okay. The cemetery tonight? This is where I’m supposed to be. It’s where I belong.
Closing my eyes, I listen to the pitter-patter of the raindrops hitting the graves around me. The wind screams and howls and I stay tensed, waiting for the clap of thunder or the crash of lightning. A storm’s brewing all right. When I open my eyes again, there’s hardly any difference. It’s too dark to make out anything now that the lantern is so far away.
It’s only growing colder out, too. I hug myself, pulling my thin t-shirt close, shivering when the clammy tips of my leather gloves cut right through the soaked material. The rain has washed the rest of the day’s warmth right away. A few strokes shy of midnight, I’m almost freezing. It doesn’t help that the marble of the mausoleum leeches any body heat I’ve got left.
Still, I refuse to leave.
Not yet.
The storm is my friend. Eager to get out of the rain, the cemetery caretaker half-asses his job. His luck is a tiny bit better than mine and he manages to shine his light back in my direction without even meaning to before glancing away. Like every other time I’ve inexplicably found myself at this cemetery, he doesn’t know I’m here.
Phew. I’m just glad that the mausoleum shields me while the shadows hide me. It was a close call. When he shifts again, I let out a sigh of relief between chattering teeth.
His lantern is nothing but a pinprick in the distance as he moves further and further away. Suddenly, the light is gone.
I wait a few minutes more. My teeth won’t stop chattering and I’m damn lucky that I don’t slice off a piece of my tongue when it slips between my molars. Inside my gloves, I can feel my fingers becoming prunes; the water always finds a way to seep in. I find myself wishing I had a napkin or a towel. For too long I had to be careful to keep my brand new hands dry. All these years later, it’s a reflex. I guess it’s just too hard of a habit to break.
When I hear the roar, I think the thunder has arrived. That’s before twin lights turn on and break up the gloom. Headlights. The caretaker has started his beater of a truck. I duck down, making myself even smaller as I press my back up against the mausoleum. My skin is white, my pale blonde hair a few shades lighter. Even though my t-shirt is black—my gloves, too—if he peeks this way again and I’m not hiding, no way he’ll miss me.
The marble is so cold that it feels like I’ve been stabbed. I hiss through my teeth, but I don’t move away from the wall until I see the truck lurch toward the front gate. Mud sucks at the tires. The car whines as he surges forward, stopping when he reaches the opposite side of the entrance.
The caretaker keeps his truck running while he jumps out and yanks the gate closed. He locks it, trapping me in the cemetery with my demons and my ghosts.
I let out another soft sigh of relief. To be honest, I much prefer it that way.