Ghost In The Graveyard

“Wake up, we’re here.” Eleanor shook her partner by the shoulder.

The old Chrysler was like a boat. It might have been an antique had it not been so used and abused. Still, it ran, barely. The interior was leather and roomy. The car was so old that the windows lowered by handle. Eleanor preferred it. Newer electronic cars were so untrustworthy. She had kept the car for three decades now. It had been brown, but the sun had bleached it to tan over the years. It had nearly two hundred thousand miles. It was destined to explode any minute, still it had proven reliable for decades and she was loathe to part with it.

They sat in the car staring at the gates for what felt like forever. God’s Acre Cemetery. That’s what the sign above the gate read. It was well maintained. The vines that tried to scale it were trimmed and the metal had a fresh coat of paint. She had spoken with groundskeeper prior. His name was Elias. He was a large, dark skinned, kind man who spoke reverently of his career and treated the cemetery like his church. He wore overalls and usually carried a shovel and a belt where the rest of his tools hung at his waste.

“Are we really going in there? Why don’t we wait till morning?”

Regina was a practical partner. She would always suggest the more sensible option. Morning would be safer. They would be able to see. Others would be around. Elias would actually be there. But it wouldn’t be better. Not for what they were hoping to do. For all Regina’s practicality she was just as fascinated by the macabre and unusual. She was also a great assistant. Eleanor wasn’t sure what she would do without her.

“If we don’t do this now, we may never.” Eleanor responded.

She knew Regina was just doing due diligence. She knew that wandering creepy cemeteries at night was her cup of tea. She knew that her protests were just ceremony. It was what they should do, not what they were going to do. For her part, she had to encourage reckless behavior. The chance taking. The dangers were real. It was more than just creepy men and fear of the dark. Those were bad enough, but Eleanor had seen enough to know the supernatural was real, and this place was said to be haunted.

All cemeteries were. She couldn’t see ghosts, but Regina could. She had commented that the ghosts she saw were varied. Some were confused, some were kind, and some were malicious. The reasons to linger were varied. Regina had no real insight into what they were or why they lingered. Some had unfinished business, some were just here to cause trouble or help others, but the worst were cruel, and used whatever they could to cause suffering and pain.

One such entity was said to linger here. When he was alive his name was Tobias Crane. Regina said they still answered to their names, and some even got bound or banished by invoking their full name. It was all a medley. A salad bar of mixed ideas that nobody could agree on. There was probably a whole science to it. Reasons behind every action. There was probably randomness too. Living humans could be pretty random and chaotic. Why not dead ones?

Tobias was said to feed off the living, appear to visitors at funerals, and give general bad vibes. Of course, there were more local legends than there were actual ghosts. The world wasn’t inundated with spirits. Wherever the soul went after death, these had stayed behind. There were more questions than answers. You couldn’t interview even the nice ones. They were just as lost. They wandered somewhere in between. Some chose to stay, but willingness to remain provided no extra insight.

Eleanor got out of the car first. She always did. It was part of the ritual. They left the car running, the headlights blaring. It wouldn’t be enough to illuminate the cemetery, but it was a touchstone for sanity. A way back out of madness. Some cemeteries were huge. You could easily get lost in them.

The gates were tall. The were wrought iron and loomed over the road with an arched top decorated with ornate iron leaf designs. It might have been beautiful in the daylight, but in the dark it was intimidating and ominous. Maybe that was just anticipation playing tricks on her. She was expecting a ghoulish specter so she was projecting malice onto an otherwise inert object. That was the sensible option right? It’s what skeptics and therapists would say.

The gate was soundless. She had expected a creak, a groan. Some sound of protest as it screeched on rusted hinges, but there was nothing. It welcomed them silently. It was wide enough to accept two cars, and it took one of them on each side to open it entirely. They wouldn’t drive the car in. It was a beacon for the exit. Eleanor adopted that on her third venture when a group of cultists or gang members surrounded the car.

They almost didn’t make it out of the experience. Raymond was with her then. The tires squealed, and Raymond eventually maneuvered backward out of the situation, but it wasn’t after several nail biting minutes and a lot of damage to the car. She didn’t care much about the damage, the car was old and tired even then, but they almost didn’t escape. Raymond drove, it was his car then. She thought they were just drugged, but Raymond was sure that they were zombies. They certainly wanted them dead. There was no question about that. But zombies seemed like a stretch. They were probably strung out on drugs. Drug addled cultists didn’t make them any safer.

Ever since, she decided not to put her only means of escape in peril.

“Eleanor,” said Regina.

“I’m sorry, I was lost in memory.” She stared up at the iron arch. The headlights behind her illuminated it enough and cast faint beams of light into the cemetery beyond. They were bright against Regina’s back.

“I’m usually the one that goes into a state. We can’t both be doing that.”

“You’re right of course. Do you see anything?”

“No, nothing. Quiet as a tomb.”

Eleanor snorted. Regina was sarcastic like that. The graveyard within seemed peaceful, serene, like a resting place ought to. Eleanor felt a pang of guilt. People’s loved ones were entrusted here to not be disturbed. Still, there were tales enough of this Tobias Crane to fill a small book. His legend went back about a hundred and fifty years.

He seemed typical. An angry, old, dead, white man who used to own a plantation and slaves. He lived alone after his wife and children died. Most claimed it was tuberculosis, but there were rumors of foul play. Some say when he got tired of killing slaves he moved to his own family. Nothing could be proven. Now, he stalked God’s Acre Cemetery, harassed visitors, and there had been a series of homeless bodies found within the cemetery that he was given credit for. It was before Elias’ time. He hadn’t seen anyone harmed, but he believed in Tobias. He claimed even to have seen him.

“Let’s look around. Elias gave us a map of the place.” Eleanor started to unfold a worn map that had been used to exhaustion and fold enough to make the creases natural.

“That’s a big map.”

“It’s a big cemetery. Big and old. Tobias was buried right here.” She had placed the map on the hood of the car. Regina held a flashlight while Eleanor jabbed a section of map with her finger. She drew an imaginary circle. “The lion’s share of the reports happen around this area.”

“Let’s go find this bastard.”

Eleanor folded the map back into a small square and tucked it gently back in her coat. The two women entered the graveyard. Eleanor had her own flashlight and the beam grew stronger the further they got from the radiance of the headlights of the car. The women cast there illumination around as they walked. There were clear roads around the cemetery that led them to the area where they were trying to get to. The decided to stick to them and not deviate over the grass and the interred dead beneath.

The night was cool. It was fall in New Jersey. His family had not agreed with his activities. They shipped him up north to distant relatives that interred him at God’s Acre without much fanfare. He was a disgrace. Not only had he fought on the losing side, but there were rumors of his murderous activities. Still, he was wealthy, and his family had benefited from that wealth. Some recognized this, and still afforded him some concessions.

There was no funeral. No grand headstone. Just a placard that marked the place of his burial. His family had a mausoleum, but it was in another cemetery in Georgia. Even many of the northern relatives returned there in death. The rest were scattered, but none had been buried here in God’s Acres.

They stalked the graveyard methodically. They would have looked ghoulish themselves except for the fact that they held flashlights in their hands and fear in their eyes.

The darkness was oppressive and the beams of light did little to dispel it. Beyond the illumination was a sea of inky blackness where anything could lurk. In popular culture ghosts gave off a glow. Their translucent forms were mercurial, terrifying, and visible. Some spirits might work that way, but none Eleanor had encountered. They were feelings, odd events, changes in temperature. The effects of these entities could easily be dismissed or explained away, but they were often in a string and often too strange to discredit.

Still, nothing would convince an unbeliever. They often had very rigid criteria that their idea of the supernatural had to follow. If it didn’t fit there idea, then they often fled to logical explanations. Most of the time they were correct. It was a pipe, or psychosis, or just good old fashioned imagination, but Eleanor knew that every so often they were wrong.

The supernatural didn’t bend to anyone’s view of it. Even believers were often at odds. There was a reach for validity by making it unified, reliable, definable, but Eleanor often eschewed explanations. She had seen things, she had been terrified and fascinated, and she believed others when they spoke. She needed something to go on. Some demonstration that she found it titillating, but there was no textbook for this stuff. She often quoted Shakespeare to herself. She often told herself that the supernatural was varied and each experience was like a fingerprint. There were some reliable commonalities, some rules you could rely on, but thinking you were an expert was the first step to becoming a victim.

“Up ahead.” Regina put out a hand. A signal to stop. Eleanor could not see what she was seeing. She could not experience what Regina was experiencing, but she had seen enough to believe that Regina had some actual skill.

“What is it?” Eleanor whispered. She shined the light in the direction Regina was looking hoping to see something. All she saw were tombstones and a large gnarled tree silhouetted on a hill.

“There, by that tree. A figure. It’s crouching.”

Regina had described spirits as vaguely human in shape. She said they were more like jellyfish. Translucent, amorphous blobs that moved by floated. Some vanished and reappeared some distance away. Others walked like they were corporeal. Still others hovered like the traditional idea. It was probably where the idea sheet ghosts came from. Eleanor wondered if it depended in what the spirit had believed in life. It wasn’t like she was ever going to interview one. There were implements, but they were said to make you susceptible to more than the ghost you were hoping to speak with, and they were cryptic when they worked.

No, the best Eleanor could hope for was to experience something. The malicious spirits were more prone to interacting. Others were docile, passive, and seemed content with just existing in this other place. Regina said there were various reasons for ghosts. Some even hid from her. Others just ignored her. She had said she believed it all depended on the reason why they lingered.

“I don’t see anything.” Eleanor whispered. She never saw anything at first. She had seen things move. She had felt sensations. Touching, coldness, feelings of foreboding, but she had never actually seen a spirit. She was a little envious of Regina. It would have been easier to call her a liar. To dismiss her gifts as chicanery, but every time Regina saw something, something weird that Eleanor could experience was soon to follow.

They approached the tree slowly. Cautiously. For Regina it made sense. Something was up there. Something she could see, but for Eleanor it was just a tree. Sure, it was nighttime in a cemetery and the tree was ominous, but it was hardly enough to intimidate her anymore. She had seen enough to know that far scarier things lurked in the dark. The anticipation put her nerves on edge. There was nothing for her to react to, and when there was, she wanted to be ready. They climbed the hill until Regina stopped suddenly.

“It sees us.”

It would have been frustrating if Eleanor didn’t know that what Regina experienced was legit. It was just a cold, blustery evening among tombstones. It was quiet save for the distant sound a vehicles and the occasional cricket. There was no sign of anything out of the ordinary. Certainly no sign of anything supernatural. Someone else would have just strolled by without thinking twice.

Eleanor slung the device from her shoulder. It was called a spirit box. Of course, it was her own design. Commercial spirit boxes were just radio transmitters that cycled through stations looking for signals. This allowed spirits to manipulate those signals to send messages. Most of the time it was coincidence, but Eleanor had experienced enough to give her pause. This was her safer way of communing with spirits. She had tried Ouija boards, seances, and direct communication, but those made a person more susceptible. This, at least, had the safeguard of distance.

She placed the spirit box on the ground, placed the headphones over her ears, and closed her eyes. Regina would ask the questions, take the recordings. She would experience the spirit in real time. She said she could even hear it. It wasn’t physical. Sight, sound, it was all imagination. It was all in her mind’s eye. A mystic might refer to it as the third eye, a skeptic would dismiss it as delusion, but none of that mattered when objects started flying or a friend started acting weird.

The static droned in her ears. Occasionally a radio signal would punch its way through. Eleanor would repeat whatever it said in the hopes of some form of communication. This was her only mean of contacting these entities. She had heard of manifestations, but had never experienced one. Part of her was thankful. Manifestations, the appearance of any apparition was almost always bad. She had seen things thrown around, she had seen displays of anger, of vanity, of pride, but never a full bodied spirit. Part of her was envious. This was what he research was about.

“Leave.”

Eleanor repeated it. It was common. The ghost that wants to be left alone and says “Get out.” It was somewhat droll. The routine response dulled the experience.

“No. No, no, no.”

The word repeated over and over. Different channels said it differently. There was a low male, a high pitched little girl, but the final No was a guttural, malicious, impatient sound and Eleanor wondered where it came from. What station produced malicious recordings?

“Leave.”

Eleanor wondered if the voices were the same being. Was it trying different tactics? If so, it was moving too fast. A little girl pleading quickly followed by a nightmarish growling was mixed messages. Or, did it even really care? Maybe it knew that a request to leave would only make his gawkers more curious. Maybe he wanted the attention. Maybe it was just a trap. She removed the headphones.

“It’s a ruse.” Eleanor remarked.

“What do you mean?” Regina questioned.

“I mean it wants us to get closer, to be more interested. Why, I have no idea. Have spirits ever shown active participation?”

“A little, but most are just confused and wandering. I think only malevolent entities would actively participate. We should go.”

“Agreed.”

But it was already too late. The image on the hill was some kind of distraction. An illusion for us to focus on while this spirit closed the distance. I saw it too late as it attacked Regina. It’s spectral fingers disappeared in her flesh. Eleanor was curious what that felt like. What Regina was experiencing? She dismissed that when Regina screamed, recoiled, and started convulsing on the ground.

She wanted to go to her friend. To protect her and make sure she was okay. Regina had arched her back. Every muscle in her body seemed to tense and her mouth was open in a silent wail. Her eyes were rolled back in her head until they were totally white. Her fingers clutched at the ground. They slowly became raw and bloody as they clawed into the soil.

The spirit turn to her. It was visible now. She had never seen an apparition before. Shadows at the edge of vision, sparks of light, faint, wavy mirages, but never before had she seen, with her own, naked eyes, an image. It was horrendous. The skin sloughed off, the distended mouth that hung open stretched even wider to reveal rows of sharp teeth. A multi-layer scream issued forth that kept her frozen in place. Her mind rebelled, but her body obeyed the entity’s whim. It wore ratty clothes over an emaciated form. It was roughly human, but was more monster.

“Are you even Tobias Crane?” Eleanor managed to ask. Her words felt feeble, weak. She could die any moment, but she was still trying to piece it all together. Still trying to figure out who, or what, this creature was. What it wanted. Why it was here.

The lips of the thing upturned in a mocking sneer. It’s mouth was still agape. It turned to Regina and advanced on her. She had recovered enough to panic. She tried to scramble backward away from it. Her eyes were wide with fear.

It pounced her her without much delay. She screamed, but her scream was cut off when it disappeared. She lay inert on the ground.

“Regina?” Eleanor said weekly. She wondered if her friend was dead.

That was until she jerked her head to look at Eleanor. She did not move the rest of her body. Maybe it was paralyzed. The expression on her face was one of satisfaction. Eleanor looked at it in horror. Whatever was staring at her was not her friend. It looked like Regina, but it wasn’t her and wasn’t interesting in pretending. It had got what it wanted. Eleanor knew that they had been reckless. Too casual. This thing had simply taken advantage.

Eleanor felt an anger rise in her. A righteous indignation. Maybe there was nothing she could do. Maybe she would die here, but she had to try. She was inexperienced, young, but she could not just leave her friend to a fate she had goaded her toward. Regina was her own woman, but coming her was Eleanor’s hair brained scheme. Not doing research was impulsive. Not taking any precautions was foolish. Now, Eleanor was paying that cost with her friend’s life, but maybe there was still a chance.

“Begone unclean spirit!” She had never tried it before. She had never had too. There was always someone else with more experience, more conviction. This was her first tie actually seen an entity. Before this is was rumor and hearsay. She believed when others, including Regina, had claimed to see spirits, but there was always a kernel of doubt. It was gone now, but it might be too late.

The thing in Regina’s body looked offended, then it smiled. It wasn’t more a pitying smile than anything. A smile that suggested a valiant, but futile, attempt. It raised a hand and examined it. It still seemed mostly immobile. It flexed Regina’s fingers like a glove.

Eleanor didn’t think. Her mind was a cacophony of thought, emotions, and white noise. She had not taken this seriously enough. The stakes were everything. She had seen this like a great adventure where she was the heroine braving odds she would overcome with gumption and bravado. But this was proving much different. She was the cautionary tale. The warning to the real heroine.

She straddled her friends body.

She was no exorcist. Was this even a possession? She had no idea what to do. Many of the exorcisms she had read about were unsuccessful, or ended fatally. She had no cross, no holy water, no Bible to quote scripture. She wasn’t even Catholic! There were exorcists from around the world, but she had only studied, never prepared. She knew about the sangoma from African and their ukufemba rites and about Shinto harae, but she was as ill equipped to perform those. Academic knowledge was useful, but impractical.

She had to try something. Regina began thrashing under her. Eleanor was bigger, heavier, and she had the forethought to pin Regina’s arms. Still, whatever had taken control of her was strong and gaining the upper hand. It wiggled her body. Twisted it at odd angles. Eleanor was sure she heard a crack as it bent Regina’s arm at an odd angle trying to free itself.

Eleanor was near panic. What was the alternative? Free it? Let it loose and do God knows what?

“Kill me.” Regina choked from bloodied lips.

It had bitten them raw. It was still biting them. It was trying to stop Regina from speaking. From fighting back. Her friend was somewhere in there. Whatever she was struggling with was winning, but she still fought. Eleanor wanted to help her friend, but there was little she could do. It had all been theory and slowly moving furniture. Sure, she believed, but she had experienced only strange coincidences up until this point. She had watched exorcisms, discussed them, even attended one, but she was never up close, never participated, and it certainly wasn’t someone she cared about.

“It’s… okay.”

Eleanor didn’t want to listen. There were other voices coming from Regina’s lips. A little girl, an older man, and something animalistic and guttural. They were the voices she had heard through the spirit box. The ones that had told her to leave. Regina’s was her own though. It was choked on blood, and there was fear, but there was also determination and not a little anger.

Regina had always imagined she would go out in a spiritual battle. Eleanor had patronized her, she thought Regina meant a figurative battle. She figured Regina would struggle with disbelief and never once considered what was happening to her friend now. The thing inhabiting Regina freed an arm and clawed at Eleanor. She caught it with both hands. Whatever it was it, was strong. Had it struck her she may have been knocked off.

“Eleanor… do it.”

Do what? Regina sounded almost annoyed. How much time had past? Minutes maybe, but what did that feel like for Regina? Something was trying to wrestle her out of her own body. Eleanor picked up a large stone. She dug it from the ground with a force she didn’t expect. She held it high above her head. She could bring it down at any moment, but her arms refused. This was her friend. She couldn’t do this.

“Do… it.”

The voice. Regina’s voice was strained and far away. It was sounding panicked and forlorn now. A thousand questions raced through Eleanor’s mind. Why had she convinced her friend to do this? Why hadn’t she prepared? The answer to nearly everything was belief. Up until this moment it was mostly fun. An adventure. Sure, there were scares, but that was part of the excitement.

At some point she had brought the stone down. It slammed into the side of Regina’s head and destroyed the right side of her face. Eleanor felt it skid off bone. Her hands vanished in red and Eleanor screamed and dropped the rock. She scrambled backward on her hands and feet and began to cry harder. Tears rolled down her burning cheeks. It was hard to see now. She had just killed her friend. She had just taken a rock to her friend’s skull.

That was when the thing parading as Regina sat up. It turns its half destroyed face toward Eleanor and regarded her with a grin. Half of the mouth was shredded and teeth showed through the flaps of blood flesh. It gave her an almost friendly, rictus grin.

Eleanor didn’t get scared, she got angry. It was playing with her. It had survived her attack, enjoyed it even, and was now staring at her from Regina’s face. The right socket was smashed, the eye was bloodshot and malevolent. The things expression was one of victory. Eleanor felt a righteous indignation building up in her. She was going to commit herself to ending this thing. It’s what Regina wanted. Who knows what it would do in the world. It hardly mattered. She owed it to Regina.

She turned only moments before it grabbed at her. It chased her throughout the cemetery. It grabbed the back of her coat. It was a small price to pay when she let it slip off. She stumbled and rolled down a hill. It was a faster, more painful way down. She tumbled into a large statue of an angel. She look up, quickly and quietly asked it for help and continued running. It didn’t matter if she believed. Whatever it was was in Regina’s body and it was closing on her. She could hear it laughing and snarling through the gasps the air. Striking the statue had knocked the wind out of her, but a moment later she was running again.

She could see the headlights of the car. If she could make it she might have a chance. For what, she did not know, but she knew she couldn’t die here. Not only did she not want to die yet, but Regina deserved better. Where was she now? Was she trapped? Was she being tortured in some fiery pit? Did it matter?

She threw the door open, crashed into the driver seat, and slammed it shut. She hadn’t looked back, but she heard the grunting, the snarling. The thing inhabiting Regina had given chase. Good. Her eyes narrowed and she slammed the key into the ignition and it roared to life. She would become an avenging angel and her car would become her flaming sword.

The headlights caught Regina in there illumination. She was bloody and battered. Eleanor had done that to her friend. She tried to remind herself that it was just her friend’s body, but what if Regina was still in there? What if she saw Eleanor strike her. Would she be upset? Proud? Her last words were to end her, but that was easier said than done. The inhabitant bent Regina’s body like a feral thing. She foamed at the mouth, and there was madness in her eyes. She was nearly unrecognizable.

Eleanor put her foot on the gas. She had contemplated going in reverse. She had contemplated fleeing. Living for another day. But she couldn’t live with herself knowing this thing was violating her friend’s body and maybe even her soul. Knowing that she was the reason this was all happening. The tires screeched on the asphalt, there was smoke and an acrid smell, and the car lurched forward. The inhabitant grew bright as the headlights closed in and then, with a thump, it vanished in under the car.

Eleanor paused. She had just hit her friend. She had just had a harrowing experience that she had thought was fun until her friend became a ravening monster. Just a little ghost hunting. Just a little paranormal investigating. Bumps in the night, shadows at the edge of your vision, feelings of dread or being watched. All that she was fine with. It was spooky, but fun. The adrenaline was the point. Now her friend was dead and she was the killer and something else had taken her body. The fun was gone. Eleanor just wanted to go home.

The was when Regina’s bloody hand reached out and grabbed at the hood.

Eleanor reacted swiftly. She put her car into reverse. It protested with a squeal but relented. She pulled herself backward. The inhabitant lost its purchase and hit the ground again. Eleanor had back away enough to see Regina’s broken body in the illumination of the headlights which were now stained red. The creature stood. Regina’s body bent at awkward angles but the entity didn’t seem to care. An arm was folded backward across the neck, her left leg bent at multiple awkward angles. A human could not survive, but what inhabited Regina’s body was no human. Eleanor doubted it ever was. This was no ghost.

She rammed it again. It snarled as it hit the hood. It’s lower half, Regina’s lower half, separated from its torso and vanished beneath the car. The upper half, snarling and wild with rage tried to crawl up the hood toward Eleanor.

Eleanor screamed, but it was more out of rage than fear. When she hit the statue the car lurched and she blacked out. When she came to she moaned and realized she was still alive. Her body hurt, her head was filled with a ringing, but otherwise she was in tact. One of the headlights had gone out, but the singular beam was enough to illuminate the scene outside.

That statue had toppled. The angle had fallen onto what remained of Regina. Regina was quiet. Whatever inhabited her was no longer there. It had been crushed out of her.

Eleanor put the car in reverse and slowly withdrew it from the rubble. With a screech and a thud the statue slid off the hood taking what remained of Regina with it. The car bounced over rubble, and the front was severely dented, but it seemed to operate fine. She paused to examine the grisly scene. She would not get out to retrieve Regina’s broken body. Elias would find it in the morning. Her family and friends would mourn a coffin. Eleanor would not attend. They wouldn’t want her there anyway. She would flee the scene and lay low.

The spirit box squelched to life. She could barely hear it coming from the headphones. It was quiet, but the static punctuated the silence as it came alive. She hadn’t realized she had grabbed it in her flight. It lay sideways in the passenger seat. She didn’t move to listen. It was probably some ominous threat. Some promise of vengeance that whatever inhabited Regina wanted to level toward her to scare her.

She turned the car and began driving down the road. She slowly exited the cemetery. The dust of the rubble made a small cloud as it blew off the hood. The car moved slower as if age had caught up with it and it felt the passage of time seizing it.

She drove in silence for a while, but then turned the radio on and vanished into the night.