As I got closer to my family’s area of the cemetery I had finished feeding the little kitten the last of the cat food I saved for him which I broke up into little pieces that he could handle. Then, I watched as his eyes began to close as he drifted off to sleep in my arms from a food coma. When I had reached the top of the hill where my family’s plots lay at its bottom, I started to make my way down the ‘S’ curved dirt trail which led to the gravesites. As the trail made its way around the first of the two enormous willows, I thought I could hear someone speaking from somewhere down near the bottom. Apprehensively, I crept my way further along the trail hoping it wasn’t my mama. Then, when I could see the graves come into view, I …show more content…
Looking just beyond her I saw that my mama was right. That the cemetery people had indeed installed the headstone she had ordered for my Grandma Lyanna’s grave. I could also see lying perched upon it was the black cat I’ve come to know as Midnight. Keeping quiet, I watched as Katelyn held in her hand the pentagram she wore around her neck. She used it to draw an invisible pentagram over the ground that encompassed my grandmother’s grave. She then spoke in that strange tongue I couldn’t understand, but her gestures were much like that of a priest. Like how a clergyman would’ve moved his arms in solemn when he blessed you with the sign of the cross. How did Katelyn know my grandmother? I thought. Were they both witches? Did the pentagram I saw in my house’s basement have the same meaning as the one Katelyn wore around her neck? Did she and my grandmother use the pentagram in their witchcraft as some sort of shrine? Were Katelyn and my grandmother part of the same …show more content…
Midnight still at my feet mewed again and began rubbing herself even more vigorously against my legs while pawing at me. I bent down picking her up and held her opposite the sleeping kitten in my other arm. The rest of the cats stayed behind me still riled up and meowing in an almost perfect harmony. “They’re protecting you,” Katelyn said, giving me that mischievous smile of hers. “They know who you are. They know you’re a Barrett.” “What are you talking about?” I responded dismissively. “They’re just a bunch of stray cats. They live here in the cemetery. The place is probably full of mice. They did the exact same thing to me and my mama and step daddy the last time we were here, too.” “No, they know who you are,” Katelyn reiterated. “They know what blood flows through your veins.” She then turned to nod her head towards my grandmother’s grave. “You still haven’t told me what it is you’re doing down here?” I then asked her trying to put the conversation back on her and not me. “What were you doing to my grandmother’s grave with your blood? What were you
Walking into the cemetery, I noticed that the night shined brighter than the day and the music was more alive than ever. I could hear the song, “Puno de Tierra” by Ramon Ayala, playing in the background and there were many families gathered around the graves of their loved ones. I could smell the fresh copal burning into the air and I noticed that my uncles tumba (tomb) looked cleaner than any other day. His grave was decorated with marigolds, candy skulls, pan de muertos, and white candles along with a few of his favorite foods and a portrait of him placed in the middle for everyone to see. Then, I suddenly open my eyes to see myself sitting down on a sofa from our living room, and in the background I heard my grandmother continuously repeating
Remaining on the gravel road, passing the first curb with a big old pine tree on the left. The sudden calmness takes over my body, as I approach her gravestone feeling her presence. The smell of fresh, crisp pine trees in your nasal cavities. The smell is much stronger this morning from the rain storm the night before and so relaxing like the smell of a little tree air freshener. I approach to her gravestone, as the summer morning warmth hugs me tightly and the morning breeze runs through my long black hair. The chorus of birds flocking in the blue sky. As I walk up the little hill to her gravestone, I pass the baby boy that lays beside her. His old, dirty gray gravestone in a heart shape with his name engraved in between a ribbon. His bright,
“I swear, I don’t know. I’ll tell you everything she told me, but she didn’t tell me where she was going.”
“Who’s they?” he wanted to know. “Who, specifically, do you think is trying to murder you?”
“Then how do you explain all the things that still happen to them now?” Savannah then asked me now sounding implacable.
“I thought you were one of them,” he admits, squirming under Walker's punishing hold. “I told them last time I saw them that if I did see them again, then I’d kill them.”
During the current Easter break, I ventured to Denver, Colorado with two others. The day after our arrival, I broke away from the group for a short period of time to visit Riverside Cemetery. Peering through the cemetery’s aligned headstones as if they were rows of filled bookshelves, my pupils skimmed from one headstone to the next, searching for an appealing name to take home to investigate like it was a book to check out from the library.
“Like you aren’t already keeping secrets from the others,” Willa sneers. “You and your family. Are you going to tell the others?”
"I don't know, apparently she was given the idea that we were dating or something. Weird, huh." He said.
I walked towards the Bleeding Heart Cemetery. The cool October wind blew against my frame, making me wish I wore a coat. I readjusted my grip on my oxygen tank. As I neared Augustus’ grave, the sun light captured the diamond ring Isaac gave me. My stomach flopped upside down. Although the wedding is in 2 weeks, I still felt unsure. I mean, who in their right minds marries their dead boyfriend’s best friend? I slipped the ring into my jean pocket. I located Augustus’ grave and sat down. I felt my stomach churn, realizing I haven’t visited him in months.
The day was gloomy and a bit chilly−a perfect day for a funeral if that was possible−as she sat on the folding chair staring at the bronze casket a few feet from her. Ruth recalled while growing up her grandfather always treated her special and they shared many good times. A tear rolled down her cheek, but she wanted to smile knowing shortly her grandfather would be laid to rest beside the love of his life, her grandmother. Since his heart attack she had visited him daily at the Mountaineer Nursing Home. He told her stories about the ghost on Putney Mountain, the loud screams in the day and the lights at night. Sometimes he talked about the secrets of Howardsville and promised one day he would divulge them to her. However, he passed away before
“You don’t have to talk. That pale face and haunted look tells me everything I need to know. It’s Joan, isn’t it?”
“You remember that what else do you remember, and no I don't know where your mom is sorry.”
“Kaylie, you are not allowed to know just yet, as a precaution. Do you happen to have any other questions?”