Michael and The Cemetery

“This is rather, well, difficult for me to talk about, because there’s just so much, uhm, I just can’t begin to explain-”

Don’t worry, Michael, I understand completely. Why don’t you just start from the beginning?

“Alright, I think I can do that…”

He pauses, gathering his thoughts. Brows furrowing and lips thinning themselves together in concentration. He takes a deep breath before continuing.

“Three weeks ago this Cemetery revealed itself in the lot across the street from our house. I’m not usually the superstitious-type, nor do I believe in ghosts, not even the Holy kind, but this damn graveyard is giving my proclivities a run for their money. And, honestly, I feel kinda foolish talkin’ to you about it, but every other therapist I’ve talked to hasn’t even given me the time of day. You were the only one that actually gave a shit about my problem.”

Don’t worry, just keep talking. So tell me about the graveyard, what do you mean by ‘revealed itself’?

“Oh, right, of course, my bad, I got ahead of myself! You need context... Let’s see, where do I even begin…” 

He pauses, again, while his hands grip and release the ends of the plush leather armrests. A minute passes before he clears his throat and continues.

“I guess it happened out of the blue, really. My wife and I moved into our new home about six months ago. It’s a beautiful historic building with tall ceilings, moldings, big bay windows and all that; one built in a bygone era and positively teeming with remnants of the past. I actually imagined myself retiring there one day, but now… I’m not so sure. 

“Anyway, it was a no-brainer, to us. Location is… well now I ‘spose it was perfect with a great view of the river just beyond this abandoned construction site. For a long while, everything was just swell, we had finished some renovations and were beginning to feel settled in. Then one night, about three weeks ago, I woke from a horrifyin’, skin-crawlin’ night terror, sweatin’ like I just got done swimmin’, and my heart was about ready to jump out of my chest. I wanted to wake my wife - that’s how real it had felt, but she was fast asleep, so I decided to go downstairs and grab some water. I had just stepped foot in the kitchen when I heard someone call my name. Really soft. Almost as though the wind had whispered it. And suddenly I was wide awake, like, like the air had been electrified or something. Goose pimples ran up and down my body. A burnt electronics smell filled the kitchen, too, and the lights weren’t workin’. Thought the breaker was on the fritz, again; we had occasional issues with the wirin’, the home being from a different era and all, so I wasn’t all that miffed about it.”

“I also remember it being uncharacteristically cold outside and cursin’ myself for only wearin’ boxers, heh.” 

“Anyway, I had just started down the front steps, when the block just lit up like the sun, instantly blinding me. A warm, almost tropical, breeze brushed up against my skin. When my sight returned, there it was. The Cemetery. With its red brick wall and rows of precisely indifferent headstones and flickering kerosene lanterns, it stared at me.” 

His eyes are wide, pantomiming how the Cemetery must have looked at him.

“Which, I know, is a really weird thing for an inanimate, hmm, place to do, but it did! Its gate, flanked by those two burning lanterns, faced me wide open like the maw of a great beast laughing at tiny prey. I swear I even heard that laugh...” 

“And then I felt it worm into my brain, rooting around for… something. Buried memories suddenly floated to the surface of my mind and I was suddenly watching my puppy drown right before my eyes. Like it hadn’t happened nearly 40 years ago. Like it was only yesterday. I hadn’t thought about that in decades, but there I was, half naked in my front yard with tears streaming down my cheeks.” 

“And yet, the most painful part has been that my wife has no idea what’s going on. When I ran upstairs and shook her awake that night, she told me the cemetery has always been there and it was one of the reasons we settled on the home. ‘Quiet neighbors,’ she said…”

“Anyway, I’m the only one that seems to be affected by this, this supernatural thing. And as I’m telling you this I can feel it inside me.”

Unease enters his voice. He shifts his feet, places one foot on his knee, then switches to the other, readjusts how he is sitting, his head cocks from side to side.

“I felt its desire when I ventured a long glance toward it earlier today, and I shortened my breath and hurried to look at something else. Even from inside my home, I could almost hear jeers echoing out of those stony faces. At that moment, I knew it wanted me dead and buried under the worms and dirt it calls its body. And now, even when I’m at work, its presence sniffs around the back of my mind, infiltrating my deepest thoughts, trying to uncover some stone it can toss against my will to stay alive. I know that, in some fucked up somehow-someway, its alive and its stomach is a-grumblin. It wants to assimilate me.”

“I don’t know why it does, but there’s something about me that makes me seem like an easy target. Maybe it's because I’m a little slower than the rest of the people in the neighborhood. Everyone else’s got a nicer car, a nicer house, a prettier wife, a newer front porch… And everything I’ve got is just… worse, I guess. I don’t know, Doc. I feel kinda stupid talking to you right now, and these are probably just the ramblings of a tired middle-aged man that hasn’t amounted to nothin’.”

To be quite honest with you, Michael, I agreed with everything you just said, until that last bit. There are plenty of reasons why a supernatural environment might choose a person and it is very, very rare that they choose that person because of the life they live. In fact, more often than not whatever is motivating the “thing” has nothing to do with you at all. Presidents have been haunted, accountants have been possessed, and bible thumpers have fallen in with demons. So fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, when the supernatural wants something, it takes it. It knows nothing of your life. A test for this is quite simple. Does it show you things? Things you are afraid of, but have never told another living soul? If it hasn’t, then it hasn’t dug into your mind.

He chuckles awkwardly.

“Can’t say I ever felt afraid of a graveyard in my life, but…”

Michael scrunches closed his eyes and points his chin to the ceiling, lips quivering.

“It does… show me things. Things I don’t want to say, because I’m afraid if I utter them, they’ll become real. I know it's listening, manipulating my thoughts and burrowing deeper into my mind, too. As I tell you these things, I can smell the fresh cut grass between the headstones and the flowers laid out before them, I taste the acridity of death in my mouth, and my bones grind together like a dried-out skeleton.”

His eyes are wet.

“I hear my wife wailing at the sight of my body, dressed in funeral attire, my face all bloated and painted, being lowered into a freshly dug grave in the cemetery.”

“I- I’m sorry, I can’t do anymore of this right now. I’m going to start crying, the thoughts… they’re just too much.”

It’s ok, we can pick back up next Tuesday. Don’t hesitate to reach out in the meantime, I know the graveyard still has unresolved business on this plane, so its presence will likely continue to bother you. Take some time to relax, is there anywhere you can go to get out of town this weekend? Physical distance usually helps these things, both for you and for the supernatural environment. It might even resolve its own pain in the process of you being gone.

“Thank you, Doc. I’ll try to do that, my wife’s parents have a lakehouse about two hours from here, we could try going there for the weekend. I bet she would like to get away from all this, too. I’m sure she’s sick of my whining.”

Wonderful, I hope the two of you get some much needed relaxation and can enjoy some quality time together, away from the supernatural. You have my phone number, so should things start to go South, do not hesitate to call me. It’s rare, but you could be marked with an ethereal aura. If you have been, whatever is in control of the Cemetery could use it to track you through the dimension it inhabits. Think of the aura like a thermal camera seeing heat where there isn’t an obvious source to the naked eye. Did you say the Cemetery has followed you to work or on errands?

He shakes his head.

In that case, I would assume you are safe. Do not be afraid to give me a call, though! Even if you just need some moral support. I know how these things can pressure your psyche. 

[Our session ends here, however, I do receive a voicemail from Michael late Saturday night, marking the last point of contact with him.]

“Hi, uh, Dr. Mink? This is Michael Dowry. I know it’s late, but I needed to call anyway. I’m havin’ some trouble with the *inaudible*. It followed me down to the lake and I’m standing on our deck right now lookin’ at it floatin’ on top of the lake. *inaudible* wants me to go down there and swim to it. I’m tryin’ to resist, but the pull is so strong… Anyway, give me a call back in the mornin’, please. Alrighty, buh bye.”

[The loss of Michael Dowry remains the biggest professional mistake I have ever made. His body was recovered on the day of our scheduled next appointment. He had drowned.]