1857-____

• Artist: laughingwarlock
• Description: A young boy encounters a mysterious stranger after throwing a tantrum in the middle of a graveyard.
• Date: 05/06/2009
• Tags: graveyard

Freshly fallen September leaves crackled under the young boy’s footsteps as he trudged behind his mother and sister, sulking. His eyes were still red from an ill-fated tantrum and every now and again he kicked at a passing tombstone. However, the cemetery was calm and quiet while the graves were stone and sturdy. So, ultimately, his protests went unnoticed.

“It’s not fair!” he finally shouted when his foot had become sore.

“We’ve already had this discussion.” His mother said, not turning her head to look at him. “You’re taking this walk with us because I said so.”

“But you promised!” the child whined. His words were met with a glaring silence. “But my feet hurt and I can’t walk anymore! And Suzy looks real tired too! Can we go home now, please? Pleeeeee-”

“MARTIN!” His mother shouted while whipping her head around, her eyebrows narrowed. And after that Martin hushed for a while.

Suzy only gripped her mother’s left hand and treaded forward as best she could. She had been holding onto it for the duration of the entire walk. As they moved further into the cemetery, she found herself relying on it more and more to keep her balance. Her chubby legs kept a steady pace as best they could while she breathed heavily through her mouth. The Zyrtec wasn’t working and she grasped her pocket inhaler through the fabric of her pink windbreaker.

The mid-afternoon sun beat down heavily upon them but the days were growing shorter and cooler. This left Martin feeling too hot, too cold, and entirely unpleasant. Against his better judgment and the aching pain in his pinky toe, he kicked another tombstone in frustration. A squirrel that had been digging for acorns on the other side was startled by the sudden thud and panicked. As it scampered out of its hiding place and towards the nearest oak tree, Martin decided to chase it.

As the mother saw Martin scamper after the bushy-tailed varmint, she opened her mouth as if to holler for him not to wander off. But then she decided against it. They had been wandering the cemetery for thirty minutes and hadn’t seen a soul in the place. Her voice could surely carry over the flat terrain. Besides, it would occupy Martin with something else to do besides giving her a splitting headache.

Unfortunately, the chase didn’t last long. The pitter-patter of the squirrel’s paws was easily able to out pace the clumsy legs of an eight year old. By the time Martin arrived at the base off the oak tree, the squirrel was already out of reach. It looked down at him from the second highest branch and when their eyes met it made a “Chuk chuk chuk” sound as if to say, “Thanks for ruining my lunch.”

Martin simply cursed and kicked the tree.

As he did, a dead branch that had been caught in the oak tree’s limbs since August dislodged itself and came crashing down from above. It landed ten feet or so away from where Martin stood and gave him a good start. He jerked around to see the timber that had settled on the ground behind him. It consisted of a long straight limb some three feet long with a dozen or so brittle twigs and branches diverging from its side. Martin made his way over, cautiously picked it up, and snapped off one of the fragile extremities. He then snapped off another. He continued to do this until all that was left of the branch was its’ long central core. He had turned it into the perfect walking stick for somebody his age. Martin twirled it around experimentally, testing its weight. He then peered around to the other side of the oak tree and his eyes searched for his mother and sister. He quickly spotted Suzy’s pink windbreaker in the distance. They were unknowingly moving along the path towards him.

Martin smiled.

Suzy was now relying on her mother’s hand for support to a level that had become embarrassing. As she gasped for air and painfully put one foot in front of the other, her mother tried her best to hold her up. “Come on Suzy,” she cooed. “We’re almost there. You can make it!”

Her words seemed to give the girl a second wind. Suzy somehow managed to stand up straight and begin marching with the freshness she had at the beginning of the hike. “Good girl!” Her mother exclaimed. “Just a little further and-”

It was at this moment Martin jumped out from the tombstone he had concealed himself behind. Quickly climbing to the top of his hiding place, he held out the wooden walking stick, puffed out his chest, and shouted, “You…shall not….PASS!”

For good measure, he threw his wooden staff down onto the ground where it hit a stray rock with a loud crash. The sudden shock was evidently enough to send Suzy over the edge, because she promptly started hyperventilating and within seconds had collapsed on her hands and knees. Gasping for air, it was all she could do to try and reach into her pocket for the inhaler. However, her sputtering and wheezing had robbed her of enough dexterity to effectively operate the coat’s zipper. As Suzy’s face began to turn bright red, her mother wheeled around with a look of fury on her face.

“Martin!” was all she shouted before she bent down to assist her daughter. As she reached for the windbreaker’s pocket she said, “Move your hand, sweetie.”

Suzy obliged and within a few seconds the inhaler had been removed and two heavy pumps were unloaded into her lungs. When her mother was sure she was breathing normally again, she focused her attention on the culprit of the incident.

Martin had watched most of the episode standing on top of the tombstone where he had initiated it. His face had been frozen in a blank stare with his mouth hanging open awkwardly. It was the expression youngest children wore when they knew they had crossed a line and were on a head on collision course with a time-out. But when his mother had bent down to help Suzy, he must have decided that it would be a better idea to face his punishment when he wasn’t standing on top of a tombstone and he promptly climbed down. As he stepped down from the stone monument, he glanced at the inscription engraved upon it.

Fisher

1857 Frank P .

His Wife

1858 Sarah Looton 1917

His Brother

1851 Cyrus 1902

His Sister

1854 Elvira S. Lanning 1910

The blank expression remained on Martin’s face. However, a twinkle of curiosity had snuck into his right eye. He continued to stare at the tombstone’s writing while his hand unconsciously went to grab the stick he had flung onto the ground earlier. However, before he could grasp it, his wrist was snatched up by his mother and he was roughly pulled towards the direction of the car.

The three of them walked in silence. The inhaler had done Suzy a world of good, although her face still showed a shade or two of red. With the parking lot around the bend, she seemed motivated enough to actually walk the rest of the way. That was fortunate because she was no longer the proper age or weight to still be carried on her mother’s shoulders.

The mother was walking along the path staring straight ahead and with a scowl on her face. She seemed to be having a hard time deciding between walking fast enough to tug at Martin’s wrist or slow enough to prevent Suzy from having another asthma attack. Like all mothers would have done, she settled upon the later. The time it took to walk the to the car proceeded at an excruciatingly slow pace because of her decision, so she gripped Martin’s hand like a vice.

Martin did his best to ignore it and used his free hand to count. He was of the age where it was assumed that he knew basic arithmetic and the like. But he was also of the age where young boys need their hands to help them count to the really high numbers. Having use of only fiver fingers seemed to hinder his calculation skills greatly and several times he tried to jerk his other hand free to aid him. His mother held fast and every time he tried to break from her grip it tightened even more. Eventually, Martin decided to give up the fruitless battle and settle with what he had.

Eventually a parking lot came into view. It was completely vacant of anything but a yellow Volkswagen Beetle. Martin had the correct answer before he looked up to see it.

“One hundred and fifty one years,” he said aloud.

The silence now broken, his mother decided to speak. “I’m very angry with what you did to your sister.”

“But you promised.” He replied.

She promptly let go of his hand and slapped him hard across the face. Martin’s face cringed as the palm sent pain ringing throughout his cheek. The skin was left with a prominent red mark and the boy’s lip began to tremble. But as his eyes began to well up with tears, his mother simply kept walking towards the car as if she had done nothing. Martin stared at his mothers back as he tried to choke back a few sobs. The two ladies soon arrived at the car and the mother reached in her pocket for her keys.

Martin then clenched his teeth, narrowed his eyes, and began to run forward as fast as his legs would carry him. His sneakers kicked up dirt as they ran along the path and began loudly scraping against cement when he crossed into the parking lot. Before his mother to could turn to see what he was doing, he had already reached her. He then reared back his leg as far as it could go, swung with all his might, and kicked her straight in the rear of her heel. She immediately cringed in pain and fell against the car, cursing loudly. Before she could turn around and grab her son, Martin had already doubled back and scurried into the graveyard once again. As he disappeared from view, his mother bent down to rub her heal and try and comfort a very shocked Suzy.

Meanwhile, Martin was running deeper and deeper into the cemetery and panting heavily. His face was once again wearing that expression of an impending reprimand; only its’ blankness had been intensified ten-fold. Yet he ran further.

Eventually, he reached the oak tree where he had lost the squirrel and collapsed. As he tried to catch his breath, he looked over his shoulder for the first time to see if his mother had followed him. She hadn’t. He managed a sigh and sat up straight, rubbing his face where his mother slapped him. As he did, he noticed somebody else in the distance. A man wearing a black coat and long silver beard that could be seen from a mile away stood at the bottom of the hill, facing Martin. However, the figure seemed to take no notice of the boy. His gaze was focused downwards upon one the headstones. He stared at it with an unblinking persistence, resting on his wooden cane with stillness like that of a statue.

Martin’s eyes went wide, as if he had realized that the grave the man was standing before was the very one that he had used as a hiding spot only a little while earlier. Apparently curious at this new development, he crept out from behind the oak tree and began to slink towards the old man as quietly as he could. As he tiptoed over the grass towards the bent over figure, he remained close to the other gravestones. They could once again provide discretion in case the man’s gaze suddenly went upward. As he got closer, he began to see the man more clearly and Martin’s face twisted in repulsion.

The man was aged beyond all reckoning. His face was wrinkled like a raisin yet the skin hung off his bones like wet towels on a laundry line. Even behind the massive silver beard, Martin could see his jowls hanging to the degree where he took on a bulldog-like appearance. Veins were visible under every inch of his skin and the fingers that rested upon his cane were gnarled grotesquely. Martin was about to observe the yellowness of his overgrown nails when suddenly the old man croaked, “What are you doing over there, young man?”

Martin’s eyes became wide and he immediately stopped tiptoeing forward. Unapologetically expressing his surprise, he remained still for several moments, unable to find any words to respond. The old man’s gaze remained fixed upon the headstone as if he hadn’t said anything at all. After a moment had passed, the old man spoke again. “Well?”

Martin braved two steps forward. “I came back to get my stick.”

“Hmmmm…”

The old man continued to stand still and stare at the grave. Martin cautiously circled around the grave towards the side where the old man was standing. He kept his eyes on the black-coated figure, but he remained immobile. When he finally reached the other side, he glanced below where the old man was staring. Sure enough, there was his stick. It was lying precisely where he had flung it down earlier and had not moved an inch. Martin moved to pick it up but the old man said, “Don’t trouble yourself, lad. I’ll get it.”

With that, he began to lean down and pick it up. As he did so, it sounded like a tree was slowly falling over. Cracks emitted from every nook and cranny of his body with such volume that one would wonder if his bones were splitting apart. He moved with such a decrepit slowness that it was a wonder how he had gotten to the tombstone without Martin seeing him. If he moved at this speed all the time, then he couldn’t have possibly walked all the way to the tombstone in the time it took Martin to make his unplanned round trip. Nonetheless, the old man’s gnarled fingers eventually curled around the piece of wood before he raised himself up again with a pace just as excruciatingly slow.

He held out his arm to Martin and said, “Here you go.” Martin took it without question and the old man asked, “What’s a nice young boy like you doing in a cemetery?”

Martin examined the stick for a few seconds before saying, “My sister’s chubby.”

“…And?”

He looked up at the old man like his answer had been perfectly clear. When he realized that it evidently wasn’t, he said, “We took my sister to the doctor to get her Asthma checked out. The Doctor said that she’s too heavy for her age and she needs to exercise. So me and my mom take her for a walk every day.”

“That’s a very nice thing to do for your sister.”

Martin scowled. “My mom promised me that if I went with Suzy for her walks every day for a whole month, then she’d buy me a game boy for my birthday. But then she broke her promise.”

At this the old man chuckled.

Martin banged his stick on the ground. “It’s not funny!”

The old man tried to contain himself. “I assure you lad, I’m in no way laughing at your expense.”

Martin seemed to believe this, because he relaxed his grip on the stick. He then moved to stand beside the old man and rested its’ edge on the ground. He stood there next to him, leaning on it in the same manner the old man leaned on his cane. They both looked at the tombstone and Martin saw the inscription for a second time.
Fisher

1857 Frank P .

His Wife

1858 Sarah Looton 1917

His Brother

1851 Cyrus 1902

His Sister

1854 Elvira S. Lanning 1910

The two of them stood in silence for several minutes. A gust of wind raced across the open field and coaxed the fallen leaves into a lively dance. But their swaying to and fro was interrupted as they banged and crunched against the gravestones that blocked their path. Finally, the old man spoke again. “If I could give you two pieces of advice, boy, it’d be these. Don’t take your youth for granted. Life may seem to go on forever but the first birthdays will fly by before you know it. No matter how long you live, you’ll never get them back. But more importantly…”

He tore his gaze from the grave and craned his neck to look at the clouds. “…Don’t take the promises of others hastily. The people who can break them usually will. The people who can’t will only try and fulfill them in the barest sense of the word.”

Suddenly, Martin began to choke violently.

It’s of the utmost importance to note that Martin would have no recollection of what transpired next. Despite being questioned on it numerous times he would never be able to rack from his memories for the following few minutes.

As Martin’s throat tightened and he clutched his stomach in pain, the old man became visibly concerned. “Lad? Are you all right?”

But Martin didn’t respond. He dropped his stick to the ground so he could clutch the tombstone with his other hand to better balance himself. As the pain in his stomach and throat only increased, he clamped onto the stone even tighter and raked his nails against the gritty hard surface. His face contorted, his hair stood on end, and finally his eyes began to roll into the back of his head. The old man, at this point, had become beside himself with worry. “Boy! Boy!? Speak to me!”

Martin answered him with a chuckle.

The choking died down and Martin let go of the tombstone. He moved his hand from his stomach and began to stand up straight. The old man’s shock, however, had not dissipated in the least. And it only increased when Martin smiled and turned towards him.

Martin’s eyes were completely rolled into the back of his head. Nothing but the whites was visible. However, despite possessing only two orbs of ivory in his skull, the boy was able gaze directly into the eyes of the old man. The old man dropped his can, stumbled back a few steps, and uttered some words incoherently under his breath.

At this, Martin’s eyes narrowed and his smile widened. His lips began to move and he uttered in a voice not his own, “So, Frank. Was it worth it?” He then fell to the ground and began convulsing wildly.

The old man just stood there for a moment, his heart beating like a jackhammer. His face had turned chalk white and he clutched his chest breathing heavily. Then, hearing the spasms of the young boy on the ground, he forced himself back to reality and did his best to lean over the boy. The smile had faded from Martin’s face and was now replaced with a gaping mouth that was starting to foam. He was about to stick his fingers down the boy’s throat to prevent him from swallowing his own tongue when suddenly a voice rang out from the other side of the graveyard.

“Martin! Martin! What the hell are you doing to my son?!”

The old man turned to see a woman in her mid to late thirties racing across the graveyard towards them. She had a frantic look about her. Evidently, seeing a black coated old man crouching over her collapsed son had not made a good impression with her. The old man swallowed and did his best to shout, “He’s having a seizure!”

“You get away from him! You get the hell away from him, do you hear me?!”

The old man didn’t want to leave the young boy in this condition. However, when he looked down at they boy’s face, he thought he once again saw the wicked smile Martin had worn only moments ago. The memory was evidently still fresh enough in his mind and it caused him to get up and begin sprinting wildly across the graveyard and away from the woman who was now only a few feet from her son. The old man was suddenly able to move with a speed and athleticism one wouldn’t expect for his age. By the time Shannon had crouched down and cradled her son’s head in her arms, he had already disappeared over the other side of the hill.

“Martin!” she shouted. “Martin! Don’t worry, sweetie. Everything is going to be OK.”

Four hours later, Martin was sitting upright in a hospital bed. He was wrapped in cotton teal sheets, in perfect health, and playing with a brand new game boy.

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[Zack J Fair]

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