A Friend from the Graveyard
It was one evening when my wife went out to the shops and never came back. We had been living with her and our children at her mothers house for five years.
The next morning, I went to the police to report her missing, only to be told they could file a report only after three days had passed since her disappearance. I filed the report as soon as they allowed.
Three years have gone by since then
Every day, I held out hope that the front door would swing open and shed walk in. Until she disappeared, we lived with her mother, whod never been very fond of mein truth she harboured a quiet loathing. After the disappearance, things with my mother-in-law worsened dramatically. She seemed to lose her grip, telling neighbours wild stories that my wife had been killed by my supposed lovers and dumped in the local quarry.
I bore it all, expecting shed see sense. But it only escalated. There are indeed quarries outside townsome over three hundred feet deepand yes, women did sometimes give me a glance, but Id never so much as thought of an affair. Family was sacred to me.
My relationship with my mother-in-law broke down completely, with arguments sparking over the slightest thingwhere I put a spoon or left my mug.
My patience snapped. I started looking for ways to trade the flat for a new place. She was livid:
You wont get yourself a nice flat, not on my watch! Dont even dream of ityoure a murderer!
Every time an opportunity to move came up, shed find a reason to object. If it was the third floorher legs were bad. First flooryoungsters would make too much noise. Second floorit wasnt her neighbourhood.
Finally, a suitable option came up across the road: Second floor, just right, shops near by, and in the same area as before.
But then she said, I dont want to look out my window and see the windows of the flat my daughter vanished from.
She drove me to despair. I was ready to move anywhere, just so the arguments and misery would end, and my children could have peace. In the end, I found us a place: a ground floor flat in a run-down old building right on the edge of the cemetery.
We parted as enemies. It was as if the years wed lived together meant nothing, and it was clear she hadnt any fondness even for her grandchildren. She did not care that theyd now hear funeral marches each day, and grieving loved ones, instead of children laughing on a playground, would be what they saw first outside.
It was sheer vengeance. But I had nothing to do with my wifes vanishing.
I had to pick up the pieces. First thing, I bought heavy blackout curtains for the windows so we wouldnt have to see the hearses. By evening, our home was draped as if we lived in a basementbarely any sunlight coming in.
A month to the day after moving, I was in the kitchen cooking porridge for the kids when I heard a commotion in the stairwell. I went out and found my neighbour, groaning and gripping her ankle, groceries scattered everywhere. I helped her to her sofa, gathered her shopping, and saw her in tears.
I offered to call a doctor, but she shook her head. Its not the pain, she managed.
She then told me, This place is cursed! Rarely a day goes by without some misfortune. Anyone living next to a graveyard gets trouble, mark my words.
I tried to reassure her, told her Id been there a month and, aside from the funeral marches, things were fine. People get used to anything.
She just said, Youll see for yourself soon enough.
She was right. After that, one thing after another went wrong. First, my son dropped a dumbbell on his foot and ended up in a cast. Then my daughter developed stomach pains and was diagnosed with gastritis.
But the worst happened a week later.
One night, I woke up to a strange sounda slow scraping on the windowpane, fingernails dragging across the glass. It was exactly two oclock. I felt compelled to approach the window. I pulled back the curtainand froze, horrified.
A woman about my age was standing right outside, her face bathed in bluish moonlight, twisted in a ghastly smirk. Her face looked almost inhuman.
I was rooted to the spot, unable to shout, every muscle locked, clutching the curtain for dear life. Without a word, she turned and drifted towards the cemetery gates. I watched her until she disappeared among the gravestones.
After that nightmare, I barely slept. I couldnt get the vision out of my mind. I told no onewho would believe it? I tried to reason it out. Maybe my mother-in-law plotted this, hiring someone to scare me, or perhaps the funeral company wanted to frighten me into selling the flat cheap and convert it into a wreath shop.
But soon the bad luck intensifiedfar too often for random chance.
Two days later, I was made redundant at work. Family or not, were letting you go, they told me. I had no choice but to resign myself.
A couple of days after that, I lost my wallet on the busmy last bit of money gone. I sobbed right there and then. I grabbed my wedding ring and my wifes, gazed at them, and set out to the pawnbroker.
He offered barely anything for them, so I thought Id try to get more elsewhere. As I left, I spotted a man holding a sign, I Buy Gold, and showed him the rings. He gave me nearly fifty pounds more than the pawnbroker. Gratefully, I pocketed the cash and made my way to the bus stop.
Suddenly, a young lad dashed past and dropped a small bundle. I called to him, but hed already vanished round the corner. I opened itinside, a wad of fifties.
At that exact moment, a scruffy woman appeared.
Looks like weve found ourselves some money! she said, snatching the bundle. No need to take it to the police, theyll just keep it for themselves. Lets split it!
She tore out a handful for me, handed it over, and hurried away.
I shoved the cash in my pocket, ashamed, but part of me was overjoyedI needed it desperately.
But my joy was short-lived. A dozen steps later, I turned a corner and the lad was waiting, this time with a hulking, bald bloke carrying a baseball bat.
So, youve got my cash, the lad said threateningly.
No choiceI returned the money.
Its not all here, he barked.
He ignored my story about the woman, accused me of theft, said Id handed some to accomplices. No matter what I said, I looked like I was just making excuses. In the end, they took everythingeven what Id got for the wedding rings.
Utterly dejected, I barely remember how I got home. I broke down and recalled my neighbours words about the cursed house. Id never felt so low in all my life.
That night, I was once again woken by the sound at the window. Terrified, I found myself moving towards it. Peeling back the curtain, there she was againthe same ghastly woman.
If my children hadnt been sleeping nearby, Id have screamed. Instead, I clamped a hand over my mouth and stared. Her face seemed to show flickers of life for a moment, then she turned and drifted toward the cemetery. I slid down the wall and stayed there until dawn.
I found it hard to believe this was my life.
The next morning, there was a knock at my doormy neighbour again, with the rent bill. Barely holding back tears, I opened it. She offered to pay for me, and I couldnt hold it in anymorewent to pieces right there, spilling out all the trouble: the fights, the kids struggles, my missing wife, the job loss, the absolute lack of money. She just stood there, listening, then pulled me into a tight embrace.
Calmer, I finally told her about the woman who appeared at my window.
Right, said my neighbour, wash your face. I want to show you something.
Ten minutes later, we walked through the cemetery. She led me to a grave, and I recognised instantly the woman from the photograph on the headstonethe woman from my nightmares.
That her? my neighbour asked.
I nodded, unable to speak.
She took my hand and led me home. She told me she, too, had seen the womans ghostafter which her own son died, her husband left, she developed diabetes, and everything went wrong.
For a few days, the apparition didnt return.
But I developed a burning urge to visit the grave. It grew stronger by the day. At last, I gave in on a bright, sunny afternoon.
The grave was overgrown and seemingly forgottenperhaps the woman had no family left. I cleared away weeds and leaves, avoiding the photo. When I finally looked at her face in daylight, she seemed almost beautifularch brows like a gulls wings, delicate features, a graceful dress.
I desperately wanted to knowwhy was she visiting me, terrifying me?
I found myself pouring my heart out to her: What am I doing wrong? Why are you haunting me?I even found her name, Alice, on the headstone. Alice, what do you want? Do you think Im happy? Im not
I must have sat there for ages, talking, unburdening myself. To an onlooker, Id have looked mad, sitting by a grave pouring out my woes to the deceased. But as I spoke, I felt lighter and lighter.
When I left, I said goodbye to Alice as I would an old friend, both of us bound by misfortunehers, losing her life and happiness; mine, having let go of hope while still alive.
That night, I dreamt. Alice appeared, just as she looked in her photographnot as a ghoul, but as a kind, beautiful woman. She sat beside me on the bed and spoke:
Listen carefully, you have no sins following you. If you do as I say, all shall be well. Your wife is alive, but she owed a gambling debtshe lost a fortune. She was drugged and sold as a slave in the North. She is guarded and forced to work, kept numb by drugs. Theres no hope of finding her; shell die there, and youll not see her again. You must sell your flat to the funeral company and move far away. I will help you. Soon, you will meet a good woman who will love your children as her own. Farewell.
She faded away like mist.
I awoke in tearsthe dream was as vivid as reality: her voice, her lace dress, the brooch with an emerald stone. The smell of earth and rotting leaves seemed to linger in the room.
Three days later, funeral agents came, urging me to sell them my place for an office. I was stunned at how quickly Alices prophecy came true. I agreed and contacted an estate agent. Within a week, they found us a decent flat in a much better neighbourhood for about the same money.
Now, we live in a lovely area. And, indeed, before long, I met a wonderful womanwho truly loves my children. Everything worked out exactly as Alice from the graveyard foretold.
And I never forget her kindness. If I learned anything, its that sometimes hope returns from the unlikeliest placeseven, impossibly, from a friend beyond the grave.
