Eikee
Kikilicious Berry Pie
Joined: 07 Sep 2007
Posts: 54
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 Posted: Sat Feb 02, 2008 3:12 pm Post subject: |
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The Chapel was empty. The lonely bells had just stuck for the twelfth time; the hollering echo was still ringing. Treth cursed as he looked beyond the gate to the graves as they stood in rows. The little dog in front of him turned his head and waited patiently. Treth cursed again, the dog had been hounding him for days. He wasn’t to be ignored and at last Treth had decided to follow him. Treth began to slide the gate open, looking around him all the time. He didn’t like where he was going, but the dog seemed eager to get moving again. He walked with a quick pace between the endless new made graves, following the little shadow beyond him. Groaning he stood between the old and the new graveyard. The hedge ran along its lengths and he stopped. The old graveyard was somewhat eerie, many people no longer went in it, and no graves there were ever touched or cleaned. It was said to be haunted. Treth searched for the dog and spotted him pawing between to stones that rose. Making his way slowly through the zigzag of the dead Treth searched in the dark for light, the canopy of trees above him had blocked the moon. The dog seemed to know where he was going, and Treth relied and hoped for the fact that he was going somewhere important. It had grown too dark to see now, and Treth could no longer see the little dog. Annoyed with himself now he turned the corner around the old oak tree and stopped dead. In the shadow of a large gravestone sat a girl, no older than himself. And slowly she placed her last rose on the grave in front of her. Treth didn’t move, and the little dog slowly walked towards the girl, sitting himself in her lap. The girl turned to face him, her black hair cascading over her shoulders, her white dress unsettled by a hidden wind. And those piercing blue eyes looked straight as him. Treth felt heavy, he could feel the sadness in the girl. And suddenly, from the lighthouse a beam of light clasped the girl, and shone right through her. Treth muffled his scream and turned to run. His feet pounding back of the path he had just come. The girl had had no colour, no life. And yet she sat there as clear as the sun, and yet now Treth knew that ghosts did exist, and this girl was one of them.
Treth couldn’t concentrate at school; the lurking image of the girl by the grave was too much to bear. Grimacing he made him way slowly home, the weather was perking up now and the clouds didn’t hang as low. He dragged his feet along and turned into his street. Still in deep though he opened the door and it took him a while to become aware of the muffled sobs from his parents room. Glancing around, he found his father drinking his way through another bottle of Vodka. He moved quietly into the next room and threw himself onto the floor next to his sobbing mother. Her face was red and bruises were beginning to swell up over her body.
‘Oh mama.’ Treth hugged her tightly and began to sway her from side to side. The door opened and his father came into the room, the bottle trapped tightly in his fist. Treth jumped up and stood himself between his father and his mother.
‘So ya home, ya little f***** bastard? Trying ta help ya lousy mother?’ Treth dodged the bottle as it smashed into the wall behind him and shattered into a million little pieces. His father grabbed him by the collar and tore him out the room. Trying not to cry Treth covered his face with his hands as he was thrown onto the floor and kicked by the fury of his father. Becoming tired his father grabbed himself another bottle and disappeared into the bathroom. Treth took the chance and ran out the house, the tears already streaming down his face. Panting he paused to catch his breath and looking around realised he was once again by the graveyard. Pushing the gate open with ease he made his way to the grave again, half hoping half dreading to see the girl again. As he took the bend by the oak tree he was relieved to see the grave was there but the girl was not. Walking slowly towards it he smiled at the roses that lay by grave. Treth bent down by the stone and stroked the petal. Rubbing away at the dirt and moss he revealed long lost letters enscripted into the stone.
Jock Saarje
Died 29th February 1996
Treth sighed, 17 years ago. A year before his birth. He stood up again, and dusted himself down, and slowly, almost unwillingly made his way home again.
The nights were chilly, and Treth shivered under his blanket. His room was alight and the moon was out. He tossed from side to side, but he could not sleep. The silence made him nervous. And it was a bark, low and shallow that caught his attention. He waited, and it came again. Pulling on some clothes he walked towards the window and slowly pulled the shabby curtains to one side. Leaning out he looked down to the broken garden and dead plants below. There he was again, sad looking as before, the little dog stood between the only living weeds. And near him, still standing in the shadows, the girl. Her eyes looking directly at him. Treth stepped back, and it took a while before he looked down again. The girl didn’t move, but her eyes beckoned him. And with a final absolution Treth heaved himself out of the window and landed gently on the weeds.
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