Assignment from Richard: a gothic story inspired by our conversation about cemeteries

From Richard:

Field trip or group of young kids goes to the cemetery and go on a scavenger hunt, trying to find things like The person who was born the earliest etc. after an hour of scavenger hunting one of the kids decides he's thirsty and fills up his water bottle from the spicket with the metal clanging sign that says do not drink the water (great visual). 💦 💧 as he/she drinks the water this causes. . . (Thus begins the horror part of the horror story.).  

 

 

Tommy and Sissy were so proud…the sixth grade history field trip was going to be in their own backyard!

Mrs. Jones prompted excitement in the whole class when she said there would be a scavenger hunt coming up, one that took them to a unique location with a lot of history. Everyone thought she meant the Civil War battlefield the next town over, but Tommy and Sissy knew better. They’d seen Mrs. Jones chatting with their parents at school picnics and had already heard hints of what was in store. Oak Hill Cemetery bordered the Hadfields’ property, and Tommy and his twin sister, Sissy, knew every cobweb and corner of the graveyard.

Bounding off the bus like a herd of elephants, the students ran to the cemetery gate like they were entering an amusement park. Seeing the enthusiasm of his classmates, Tommy, especially, felt pride he hadn’t experienced before.

The kids were grouped into teams of five, supervised by teachers and teacher’s aides, and instructed to give serious thought to each item on the list before deciding, as a group, where to head first. Tommy wasn’t in the same group as Sissy, no surprise there, and was able to show off his knowledge of the cemetery without any competition.

Number one on his group’s list was: Find a grave that has a floral symbol. Tommy knew exactly which grave had a large bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley, which signifies innocence. It belonged to a girl who died at age 19, in 1873. Tommy’s mother said she had died of diphtheria. Tommy didn’t know what diphtheria was, and didn’t want to know what would claim the life of someone so young. After finding the girl’s gravestone, Tommy’s group moved on to tick every single box on the list.

Some of the other groups were struggling. Mrs. Jones wanted everyone to have a chance to complete the hunt, so Tommy’s group headed up to the top of the hill to rest under a big cedar tree. It was peaceful, and everyone sprawled on the grass and dozed. The wind thwacked the little tin warning signs against the water spouts, and if you closed your eyes, you could imagine several bells ringing in succession.

Some kids were starting to complain that it was too hot, they were thirsty. The teacher’s aide in charge of Tommy’s group said not to worry, they would be done soon and headed back to the bus. Tommy pointed out the water spouts that he and Sissy had drank from whenever they visited the cemetery.

“But the little signs say: Don’t drink the water,” Miss Common argued. “I’m fairly certain it’s toxic.”

“Sissy and I drink all the time,” Tommy argued back. And then, matter-of-fact: “And there’s nothing wrong with us.” His classmates stared at him. If anyone wanted to dispute this fact, they weren’t saying.

Miss Common sighed. “We can all just wait a few minutes, can’t we?”

But it was too late. Tommy was already showing his group how he and Sissy simply cup their hands under the waterfall and slurp.

The gleefulness of several children gulping water from their hands to quench their thirst was shortly replaced by the sound of vomiting.

Finally, the only ones left standing were Tommy, Sissy, and anyone who hadn’t drank from the miniature spouts.

“What’s happening?” screamed Mrs. Jones, running up the hill. Miss Common was beside herself.

“They were just thirsty!” Miss Common defended herself. “Tommy said it was okay!” Miss Common began to cry, her face crumpling in an unattractive way.

Mrs. Jones stared at him, bewildered. “Have you drank from the spouts yourself, Tommy?” she asked.

“All the time!” he insisted. Instead of feeling fear and confusion, Tommy had a strange sense of feeling superior, chosen. He never felt this way in school, but, here, he felt like king of the hill. Something obviously made him and Sissy immune to whatever lurked in the water pipes, and he felt strong, invincible. Evidently his classmates were too weak to drink the water.

“I don’t understand!” Mrs. Jones wailed.

Now everyone who wasn’t on the ground, writhing and vomiting, was running in circles around the victims or wringing their hands in dismay.

Tommy and Sissy just looked at each other, smiled, and helped themselves to more of the ice cold, wonderful cemetery water. Had it been tainted by the decaying bones of the dead? Didn’t matter, they were the ones who were living. And after today, Tommy felt like he could become captain of any kickball team on the playground.

Meadowlark Story Society assignment: "write a story about a character from a song"

Song: In the Air Tonight by Phil Collins

Title: Uncle Stan

Her uncle Stan always had time for her. This is something she can recall from early days, time spent together during birthday parties, enjoying cake and ice cream and silly games. Occasionally this went further, when her mother had errands to run and begged Stan to watch Laura for an afternoon. Laura’s mother would drop her off in Uncle Stan’s driveway and she’d run to the front door, held open by a smiling Stan, coffee cup in hand. They’d spend the afternoon with paper dolls, or watching a movie, content in each other’s company.

When the photos of stolen objects first appeared in magazines and online, she didn’t think much of it. She was a People magazine devotee and read each and every article. But seeing two items that seemed to come straight out of her past gave her pause. When the FBI decided to share photos of items that the killer/rapist had stolen, they were essentially asking the public to become armchair detectives.

Her cell phone rang at precisely the right or wrong time, depending on how one would look at it. In any case, she forgot the article; it became a nagging feeling in her mind; not anything to really worry about.

Until.

A friend had asked if she had seen the article. Commented on how the case was coming back into the public eye, after that woman’s book came out. The nagging feeling returned, took center stage, and pushed all other thoughts out of the way. She needed to check again. She needed to force herself to pull up the articles on her computer, take a look.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard of the Buckeye State Killer. When she was younger, around age ten, she recalls her mother talking about how close to home it was. She was uneasy for a long time, Laura remembers, but Uncle Stan and dad always reassured mom.

“We’re here to protect you, Lois,” they would console. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

These platitudes were just that, oft-repeated and meant to reassure but were essentially meaningless, because, hadn’t the other victims had family and friends to protect them as well? A couple was killed while parking on a dirt road. Why couldn’t the man save the woman? No one was safe, Laura decided.

And then, time would pass, and she and her mother would forget about it. Until another crime surfaced. Now, after DNA testing has made long-dead crimes alive again, and that book had renewed interest, the Buckeye State Killer’s case was in the forefront.

Laura watched an online video where the son of a rape victim was interviewed. This man was just a little boy when his mother was raped. He was quiet in his high chair, unnoticed by the rapist, until he heard sounds that made him start to whimper and fuss. His mother told him later, when he was a young man, that he had probably saved her life, simply by being a distraction. When told of this long ago crime to which he was essentially a witness, the young man insisted he recalled bright blue eyes and a feeling so sinister that he was certain this memory was of the rapist.

After watching the video, the shaking began. She shivered and couldn’t sit still. It started when Laura put these pieces together, even before she knew why she was shaking. Bright blue eyes, the china set, the red ring. She shivered as if it were the dead of winter, and couldn’t stop.

That china set was Uncle Stan’s pride and joy at Thanksgiving. He would get it out each year, proclaiming that when one has good china, one should use it, not let it languish in a cabinet or on a shelf. Since Thanksgiving alternated between Lois and her brother Stan, Laura got to know this china well. The gravy boat, so unusual because it wasn’t a part of everyday meals, was an essential at Thanksgiving. The platter, beautiful on its own, proudly held both white and dark meats on Thanksgiving as well.

So when Laura sees duplicates of this set on the magazine’s pages, she doesn’t think Uncle Stan has anything to hide. On the contrary, her first thought is: wow, just like Uncle Stan’s! As if his taste had been copied, or the particular pattern was so popular that perhaps everyone of a certain era purchased Haviland Oasis.

The ring was different. Uncle Stan never wore it, but it sat on the top tier of his watch box. Its gold band and ruby stone sparkling, it appeared that Uncle Stan polished it frequently, but never wore it. Once Laura asked about it. Uncle Stan was dismissive, “Oh, that old thing?” he shrugged. It seemed the next time Laura visited it was relegated to the back of the box, nestled in the dusty velvet lining.

Laura re-read the online article, then decided to buy the book. The shaking had stopped, and she was sure that all of these coincidences would be put to rest once she read the book.

Two days later, after a trip to the bookstore, Laura’s shaking returned. Not only was the list of objects stolen confirmed, but several hints as to the killer’s identity matched Uncle Stan’s life, appearance, personality. Laura didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, she needed to tell someone. On the other hand, telling someone would make it real, and then steps would need to be taken. Some small part of Laura still believed that she would find out that every single thing was a coincidence, and would prove how silly and dramatic she was being. She decided to tell her mother. Stan’s sister would surely be able to shed some insight.

In the shower that morning, and later at work, a voice in her head kept repeating: What to do, what to do, what to do. This refrain nearly drove her crazy, like a musical earworm, and Laura believed it was telling her to bypass her mother and go straight to her father. Her mother would probably deny the knowledge as well, and Laura needed someone who was somewhat objective. Not as closely linked to Stan as his own sister.

Her father laughed at her. Admittedly, she chose a poor time to tell him, but still. They had sat down on her parents’ patio on a Friday, happy hour time of day, with gin and tonics. Her dad’s favorite, and he always loved the end of the week. He loved his backyard, too, and maybe he just wanted to enjoy life on a Friday night instead of contemplating darker matters. Lois was still at work when Laura decided to hint at Stan’s potential secrets, see what her father had to say. She wouldn’t come right out and say she suspected her uncle was a cold-blooded killer, she’d just feel out her dad’s awareness of not only Uncle Stan, but his thoughts on the serial killer as well.

She didn’t do well at being subtle.

“What?” Laura’s dad asked, staring, distrusting her judgment. “You’ve been watching too much Law and Order.”

Laura was silent.

She dropped the subject with her father, wondering who else she could tell. Her days were spent alternating between wanting to tell someone and a strong sense of denial. She started to drink in the evenings, just a couple of glasses of wine to take the edge off of the what-to-do refrain still playing in her head. Becoming an alcoholic was not an option, so Laura knew she needed to do something.

After a week, Laura decided to confide in her cousin, Abigail. Abigail was the daughter of her mother’s only other sibling, Bonnie. Bonnie had raised Abigail essentially as a single mother, far from Ohio, in the wastelands of North Dakota. Laura and Abigail weren’t especially close, but they certainly had shared a lot before the move to the plains.

“Do you think Uncle Stan may be keeping secrets from us? Like, do you think he may be leading a double life?” The sentence sounded absurd as she uttered it, and a nervous laugh almost slipped out. The phone line was still for just a moment, and then, “What?” Abby echoed Laura’s father.

Instead of feeling relief that both her father and cousin doubted her, she only felt frustration. This is how she knew her instincts were on track.

“I’m speechless. What clues are you talking about?”

“The FBI has released photos of some of the objects stolen from people’s homes. People he raped, or killed. You know the china set that Uncle Stan loves, with the green border? And there’s a ring he has, in his watchbox. I remember seeing it as a little girl.”

Abigail sighed, then huffed. “You’ve got to be kidding. What are you going to do, turn him in? Call 911? Ask him is he’s a murderer?” She listed these things as if this was a game, a trick Laura was playing on her.

Laura thought of that little boy, sitting in his high chair, now an adult. She thought of how finding the Buckeye State Killer would bring peace and justice to his family. She then thought of how it might bring chaos and strife to her family, if Uncle Stan were found to be the killer. She thought a bit more about it, then realized that she’d need to trust her father and cousin. Two outnumbers one, right?