Morning finds Laura coughing, her body suddenly ill. Just a day earlier she had been at a graveyard in the outskirts of York, cleaning the tomb of her husbands grandmother at Stephens request. While Stephen searched for his relatives burial plot, ValerieLauras sisternoticed a flock of crows perched on a rusted fence. Feeling a cold stare on her back, she turned toward a weatherworn stone. The blackandwhite photograph on it showed an elderly woman in a headscarf. Suddenly a sharp male voice cut through the chill:
What are you staring at? Get moving!
Without understanding why, Valerie began sweeping the strangers grave. The oddities didnt stop there. When Stephen finally located his grandmothers marker, the old stone seemed replaced by a sleek marble slab, and the photograph now showed a young woman with a bright smile.
Ive got no idea! Stephen stammered. Who could have done this? There are no relatives left. Everyones buried.
I cant fathom how this happened, Laura muttered, wincing.
Valeries hands throbbed with unbearable pain. Her thoughts kept returning to the mysterious replacement of Stephens beloved grandmothers monument.
Could it be a hallucination or some sort of witchcraft? she asked Stephen.
See a doctor, Stephen advised. As for the tomb, Im no clue either.
At the hospital, Lauras ordeal turned into a fullblown crisis. The surgeon prescribed joint injections, which she refused. An Xray revealed nothing, and she was sent home with a script for ointments and painkillers. Her arms grew weaker, her blood pressure fell, and she felt every organ in her body turning against her. Days slipped by with doctors finding nothing, and Laura began to brace herself for death. When her neighbour, Mrs. Green, stopped by for a pinch of salt, she didnt recognise Laura at all:
Love, whats happened to you? Mrs. Green asked, concern in her voice. You look dreadful.
Laura recounted the story of the disembodied male voice demanding she tend a foreign grave and the sudden metamorphosis of the monument at Stephens grandmothers burial site.
A voice, you say? The stone and the photo changed? the old woman murmured thoughtfully. Thats the keeper of the cemetery, forcing you to take on someone elses ailment. Maybe he felt pity, maybe he was paid.
How? Laura sobbed.
Black magic! the neighbour gasped. You need to go to church.
The parish church offered no relief. Laura languished with the unknown sickness for a year, eventually having to quit her job. She moved around her flat with great difficulty. After Easter, on Remembrance Sunday, Stephen suggested she visit the departed relatives:
Think you can?
Ill try, she whispered.
Youre the keeper of the cemetery! Laura wailed, her voice cracking. Accept my plea! I dont want to die! I have children, a husband! Take these foreign illnesses back!
She broke down, tears flooding her cheeks. It seemed the dead watched the frail, sorrowful woman, and a flicker of compassion crossed Stephens eyes in the photograph.
Take the money! a whisper rustled in Lauras ears. Go with God! The one who summoned you will get a reckoning.
Why are you weeping at a strangers grave? Stephens voice, tinged with urgency, called out. Lets go!
The original marble monument reappeared, the photograph now showing the grandmother with a mournful expression.
Good grief! Stephen shrieked, horror in his tone.
I want to live! Valerie cried again. Keeper, protect me!
The next morning Laura awoke completely recovered. Her mind swirled with yesterdays events. She guessed who among the family had wrought the evil: Stephens sisterinlaw, who had disliked Laura from their first meeting, soon fell ill and died. Accepting what had happened felt impossible, yet the truth lingered, heavy as the London fog.
