Grave Concern by Norsebard

GRAVE CONCERN

by Norsebard

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DISCLAIMERS:

This poetic & romantic ghost story is to be categorized as a Beyond Uber. All characters are created by me, though some of them may remind you of someone.

This story depicts a romantic relationship between consenting adult women. If such a story frightens you, you better click on the X in the top right corner of your screen right away.

All characters depicted, names used, and incidents portrayed in this story are fictitious. No identification with actual persons is intended nor should be inferred. Any resemblance of the characters portrayed to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

The registered trademarks mentioned in this story are © of their respective owners. No infringement of their rights is intended, and no profit is gained.

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NOTES FROM THE AUTHOR:

Written: For the 2020 Royal Academy Of Bards' Halloween Invitational.

- Thank you very much for your help, Phineas Redux :D

As usual, I'd like to say a great, big THANK YOU to my mates at AUSXIP Talking Xena, especially to the gals and guys in Subtext Central. I really appreciate your support - Thanks, everybody! :D

Description: For one hour on one night of the year, the yawning that separates the realm of the spirits and the world of the living narrows to allow the permanent residents of a centuries-old cemetery free passage into their erstwhile domain. Traveling across dimensions is a severe strain for all but the bravest and strongest ghosts, so a caretaker, Jayne Osbourne, is there to greet them when they finally break through from the Other Side…

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GRAVE CONCERN

The cast-iron gate to the Beaumont City Municipal Cemetery was a microcosm of the place of rest it protected. Not only were the gate and the other sections of the fence centuries old, they were far too ornate seen with modern eyes. Nobody questioned the sublime craftsmanship, but many questioned the need for the countless swooping frills and fusses that graced the dark-gray iron.

Similarly, the cemetery's layout was confusing for all but the initiated. Two circular areas had been formed around altar-like stone tablets: one in the western part, another diagonally across in the eastern part. Twenty-four aisles stretched out from the central areas in two star-shaped groups of twelve to make the whole thing a mathematical marvel - and to make it impossible for anyone to find the right aisle on the first attempt.

Only the volunteer groundskeepers and general caretakers who had been working at the cemetery over the centuries were able to find their way around, and even they had been known to lose their bearings from time to time. Not so Jayne Osbourne. Having just reached seventy-seven years of age, Jayne had been among the squad of caretakers for nearly three decades. She had been the lead caretaker for the past twenty years, and there were no aisles, sections or corners of the cemetery that she had yet to explore.

Standing at the western altar, Jayne looked up at the darkening sky. The first twinkling stars had already broken through the shades of dark-blue. Her hazel eyes lingered on them for a while; the early stars would soon be joined by many, many more. Saturday, October 31st had been a sunny day with few clouds, but like everything else at the mercy of the relentless passing of time, the day would inevitably draw to a close and turn to night.

Her own time drew to a close as well. Although she had been given a clean bill of health at her latest medical check-up for her birthday - for insurance purposes - there was no denying she had turned the final corner and was on the home stretch for the hereafter. She knew it and accepted it as the order of nature. She'd had a rich, rewarding life so complaining about it ending would be improper. Besides, she had someone waiting for her beyond the boundaries.

Thinking of reaching the end of her book of life made a slight shudder ripple over her despite her acceptance of it. To fight it, as well as the evening chill that came from the many open aisles around her, she zipped her pale-green down jacket, pulled her knitted hat down a little lower around her ears, and finally donned a pair of fleece gloves.

She was smaller than she had been - not that she had ever been tall; five-foot-five had been her maximum height - so the down jacket was large enough to hold two of her. There was no point in wasting money on buying new clothes when the old ones were in perfect condition, but she had to admit the tent-like nature of some of her garments annoyed her.

Worse, the cemetery's board of management insisted that she wore a fluorescent-orange vest during the later working hours so she could be more easily spotted by the guests in the semi-darkness. That the darkness had only come about because the same group of managers turned off two out of three aisle lamps after nine PM to save a few dollars on the power bill was conveniently overlooked.

She snapped out of her thoughts when she heard the characteristic sound of the white gravel used on all the aisles and connecting pathways crunching under someone's shoes. Pushing herself away from the stone altar, she moved to intercept the pair of guests whose expressions proved they were in the category known as Hopelessly Lost.

---

Once the last four guests had left the cemetery, she locked the cast-iron gate with a heavy, old-fashioned brass key. It was only for show since the gate and the fence could easily be vaulted by anyone insisting on entering the premises, but the meaty clangs produced by the gate as it hit the post, and then the key as it worked the lock seemed appropriate and reassuring.

The first thing she did after making sure she was alone was to take off the abhorred fluorescent-orange vest. The hideous thing was soon resting safely in the wooden shed where they kept all their gardening tools.

The time had moved around to a quarter past eleven. She had locked up far later than usual, but the cemetery's management had wanted to try longer opening hours on Halloween in the hope of perhaps attracting guests who would get a thrill out of walking around a cemetery in the dark.

Nobody who fit that description had shown up, and that suited the staunch traditionalist Jayne Osbourne just fine. In her view, a cemetery was a place for quiet reflection, not fanciful entertainment.

She moved along one of the aisles with her only accompaniment being the sound of the white gravel crunching under her shoes. A chilly breeze made the bushes sway and rustled the last remaining withered leaves on the nearby trees; she had to admit it had a spooky quality to it, especially on Halloween Eve, but she had heard it all a thousand-and-one times before.

A wistful smile played on her gray lips as she walked down a particular aisle. Before long, she came to a rest at a special burial plot. The inscription on the headstone was hard to make out in the mounting darkness, but it mattered little as she knew it by heart.

Though deaths had obviously occurred in their families, the vague threat of dying before one's time had never played any part in their daily lives - until the Reaper had pointed a bony finger and had swung his scythe at someone who had been far too young, and far too alive, to die.

It had been one of those pre-dawn telephone calls that no one wanted to receive. A somber voice at the other end of the line reading aloud from a hastily written press statement that the red-eye commuter jet her loved one had boarded was missing. That it had disappeared from the radar screens somewhere over a remote, wooded area, and that a search-and-rescue operation was already underway. That the odds of finding survivors were slim but not impossible, and that she should not lose faith.

No miracles had taken place on that day. The number of fatalities was 224 and the number of survivors was zero. The only positive note to the tragedy happened when Jayne had been taken to the staging area to identify the body. Unlike some who had been burned beyond recognition, her loved one had been untouched save for some bruising. The fatal injuries had all been internal so she simply appeared to be sleeping.

Even so, the first year after the funeral had been nothing but raw pain and three suicide attempts for Jayne. Countless sessions of grief counseling had made her come to terms with her loss, and she had decided to go on after all. As the years passed, the raw pain had turned to a quiet resignation that had never left her.

After taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she closed her eyes to reminisce. More than twenty-five years had gone by since the crash, but she could still see the freckled cheeks, the mischievous lips and the sparkling blue eyes that could turn dark in moments of anger and passion. She did not need to concentrate to hear the husky laughter or feel the frequent caresses - it was all right there, in her mind's eye.

All those warm memories brought a smile to her aged face that stayed even after she had nodded a goodbye at the headstone and had moved on toward the other of the central areas.

-*-*-*-

Sitting on one of the wooden park benches at the eastern central area at five minutes to twelve, Jayne kept her eyes on the seemingly plain stone altar that stood at the center of the circle. The altar had in fact been conceived as the plinth for a bronze representation of an angel, but the cost of casting the sculpture had exceeded the funds available at the time. After a few years, it was agreed upon that the plinth was striking enough on its own, and the angel was quietly forgotten.

When Jayne had been appointed lead caretaker, the elderly fellow who had held the position before her had told her a few secrets about the cemetery she had found hard to believe until she had witnessed it with her own eyes: as the clock struck midnight on Halloween, the eastern stone altar would act as a magic portal between the various planes of existence. The gap could, and would, be bridged. It would only last an hour, and it would only work if the spirit was quite literally strong enough to cross over.

She had been frightened out of her wits the first time she had witnessed a mass gathering of ghosts around the altar, but it had also ignited a spark of hope within her that maybe, just maybe, she could connect with her long-lost love once more even if it was just for an hour. Alas, even though she had conversed with plenty of spirits, specters, apparitions and other types of old ghosts over the years during the hour between midnight and one AM, the one she had been hoping to see had never crossed over.

The first stroke of midnight rang out from the bell tower located just outside the Beaumont City Municipal Cemetery. Soon, the other churches around the city followed suit; the sounds reached Jayne's ears later because of the distance and the breeze that swept over the city.

Only a short time passed by before the leaves on top of the altar moved on their own. A pinpoint of pale-blue light heralded the first spirit that tried to break through the thin wall between the planes. After a few moments, the pinpoint of light began to pulsate, then flicker like it had yet to accumulate the strength needed to complete the journey. It soon vanished without a trace.

Jayne leaned back and let out a sigh of disappointment. Still, only a short minute went by before the next point of light appeared. The second one was more successful and soon manifested itself as a fully formed ghost. It appeared to be a young woman, perhaps in her late-teens, who wore a white, tunic-like gown that moved continuously. She had bare feet and wore a wreath of daisies in her hair. The woman glanced around with eager eyes like it was the first time she had found the strength to pass over.

When Jayne and the ghostly being locked eyes, it was the ghost who took a startled step backward that nearly saw it slip off the edge of the stone altar. "Oh…" the young woman said in an ethereal voice, "you don't seem dead… I'm… I'm sorry, that didn't come out right…"

"Oh, don't worry about hurting my feelings," Jayne said with a smile. "I'm Jayne Osbourne. I'm the lead caretaker. Is this your first time back?"

The young ghost mirrored the smile before she floated off the stone altar to avoid any embarrassing mishaps. She moved around a little to get used to the basics of levitation before she joined Jayne on the bench. "I… I think it is, yes… I'm sure it is. No, it definitely is. It doesn't seem to have changed much, though. What year is it?"

"Twenty-twenty."

"Oh! Then I've already been dea- away for thirty years! How time flies…"

Another point of light was suddenly seen on the top of the stone altar. Like the very first one, it did not possess the strength to break through. Whether or not it was the original one trying again was impossible to say, but it became a moot point when it flickered twice and then disappeared.

Jayne let out another sigh. There was something unsettling about the failed attempts. She would usually witness one or two failures during the magic hour, but rarely that close to each other. A persistent and certainly niggling worry that it might be important rolled over her - of course, there was nothing she could do about it. Instead of losing herself in ifs or maybes, she turned back to the ghost beside her. "Who were you?" she said with a smile.

"A poet… a struggling poet. I'm sure you've never heard of me. Billie Carson was my name."

"My memory isn't what it used to be, but… no. I'm sorry."

The ghost let out a bitter chuckle. "I wrote soulful poetry in an age where the mighty dollar ruled. I was a dime-a-dozen wannabe nobody… well, the world has never cared about nobodies. What a waste of time my whole life was. And my death for that matter! A couple of days after my seventeenth birthday, I took an overdose of barbiturates… and then I drowned myself in my bathtub just to be on the safe side. A full week went by before I was found and not a single person cared!"

"Oh, I'm sure your parents cared."

"They probably did… but I wish they had cared a little sooner." A deep, ethereal sigh echoed around the central area of the cemetery. The ghost of Billie Carson leaned forward and buried her face in her hands.

Jayne wanted to reach out to comfort the depressed teenager, but she knew from countless failed attempts it was impossible to establish physical contact between the living and the visiting spirits. She was about to add a few meaningless platitudes instead when her attention was snatched away by another pinpoint of light that flickered into existence on the altar.

Billie stared at the struggling light with wide open eyes. "Is that how it looks when we make the journey back? Or try to, at least… it's almost here! Push! Push a little more! No… no, it faded out… how come it couldn't make it the rest of the way?"

"I don't know, Billie…" Jayne said in a strangled voice. She continued to stare at the spot on the altar where the struggling spirit had once again attempted to cross over and had once again failed. By now, the sense that something important was about to take place was stronger than ever. She thought she had already seen it all over the years she had been the lead caretaker - and she had, from prohibition-era gangsters to Scripture-quoting priests - but this strange pattern was new to her. One failed attempt to break through was common. Two was rarer. Three was simply unheard of, leading her to realize it had to mean something. An icy shiver ran up and down her back at the implications.

"You're waiting for a loved one?" Billie asked. The tone of her ghostly voice proved she already knew the answer.

Jayne was only able to utter a whispered "Yes," as she continued to stare at the altar. Nothing further happened. After half a minute or so, she let out a sigh and leaned against the backrest of the bench. She moved the jacket's zipper a few inches down so she was able to reach the silver locket she wore on a necklace. There was no need to open the charm as the picture inside was etched into her soul, but she clenched her fist around it to hold it tight.

-*-*-*-

Thirteen minutes past midnight, three new ghostly visitors strolled around the central area surrounding the stone altar. In addition to a married couple - who continued to be at each other's throats even after a heated argument had caused their deaths in a traffic accident in 1967 - Jayne and Billie had been joined by a flamboyant fellow dressed in white tights, a purple cape, a dark-green jacket with puff-cuffs, white lace gloves and finally a black, wide-brimmed Musketeer-style hat that was adorned with several eagle's feathers. His shoes were made of patent-leather and carried a wide brass buckle; a row of tassels graced a leather belt on his left hip that held a fierce-looking, but blunt, rapier with an ornate handle.

Jayne and the ghost of the young poet were only happy to give their ears some respite from the married couple's constant bickering, so they invited the man over to the bench for a friendly chat. Up close, both women had to smile at the sight of the fellow's fake beard and pancake makeup.

"Ah!" the fellow cried and whipped off his wide-brimmed hat. "How fortunate I am to be brought into the midst of such charming company! Good eve, my fair Ladies! I presume you are already familiar with the exploits of the great actor, the legendary director, the unsurpassed leading man Archibald Ribbins! 'Tis I, in case of any confusion. Surely you must be! No?" - Upon realizing the stark truth, Archibald's face fell which made his impressive, though fake, mustache wobble. "Typical. My life and death in a nutshell. And please… you can call me by any name you can think of as long as it isn't Archie," he continued in a regular voice that was far removed from its previous bombastic nature.

"I'm Jayne, the lead caretaker. This is Billie. She's a poet," Jayne said with a smile. Even while she spoke, she kept an eye on the stone altar in case another pinpoint of light would appear. The married couple had arrived as two points of light, but she had nearly jumped out of her skin when the actor had arrived as a single sphere who - appropriately enough - burst onto the scene in a flash and a flurry.

"Ah! A fellow creative soul! How exhilarating!" Archibald Ribbins cried in a bombastic fashion as he performed a deep bow at a snickering Billie. "And such a relief from, uh, certain other negatively-minded spirits near us. Why they even bothered to show up for this tour, I'll never know," he continued in his regular voice. He turned around to shoot a quick glare at the married couple who seemed to exist in their own little world.

Jayne could not counter that statement, so she turned to the newest visitor from the Great Beyond. "I presume you died on stage, Archibald? Or did you perhaps enjoy dressing up for the weekends?"

"Ha! I died on stage! At that most wonderful of theaters, the Palace d' Beaumont! I was shot stone dead by some dastardly fellow in the audience who did not appreciate my portrayal of Athos! Yes, indeed!" Archibald said in his customary flamboyant style that ended with him taking off his large hat all over again. At the end of his performance, he broke out in a shrug. "Now imagine my surprise when I discovered I had to go through the afterlife wearing tights, puff-cuffs and makeup… I guess it could have been worse. We could have been doing a Greek tragedy. In the nude."

"When were you shot?" Billie asked.

"In the final act of The Three Musketeers! d'Artagnan, Aramis and I had just cornered the vile Cardinal-"

Billie's ghostly eyes went wide for a moment before she turned to look at a chuckling Jayne. "I presume our poet friend meant which year you died, Archibald," the caretaker said.

"Oh… I see. It was in seventy-two. And that would be eighteen-seventy-two. I've been here for a while," Archibald said before he let out a dark chuckle. He glanced around the poorly lit central area for a moment; not caring much for what he saw, he soon returned to his companions who were far easier on his ghostly eyes. "I have crossed over once before… that particular lead caretaker was also a woman, but I do not think it was a younger you."

"It couldn't have been. I would certainly have remembered you," Jayne said with a warm smile that earned her a beaming one in return. She furrowed her brow for a moment as she tried to count back. "Let me see… the last two caretakers who held the position prior to my appointment were both men, but the one before that was a woman. I'm thinking your last visit could have taken place sixty, maybe seventy years ago."

Archibald reached up under his Musketeer-style hat to scratch his hair that was revealed to be a wig. "That long? It's entirely possible. Time has no meaning for those of us who have traveled to the other side." He opened his ghostly mouth to continue, but he was rudely interrupted by the sound of a fierce slap delivered by a ghostly hand to a ghostly cheek.

Everyone turned to gawk at the embarrassing scene - the married couple had clearly moved from a purely verbal phase to actual, physical contact though of the incorporeal kind. The wife spun around and stomped back to the stone altar where she disappeared in a pale-blue flash. A moment later, the slapped husband shrugged and followed his better half back to the Everafter.

"I swear," Archibald Ribbins said, "there's nothing quite like a woman's touch, eh?" It earned him a chuckle or two from Jayne and Billie before it seemed to trigger an old memory from his performing days. Puffing out his chest, he thrust his right arm in the air like he was holding a skull. "Alas! Poor Yorick! Slain by his conniving mother- wait… that's not right. Is Yorick even in Hamlet? Or is he in The Merchant Of Venice? No, that's definitely Iago. I think. Puck, that's Much Ado About Noth- no… oh, what does it matter now. Did you charming Ladies know my troupe did a seven-city Shakespearean tour a few years ago? We did. I was the headlining star, of course. We lit the red every single night in San Francisco. Frampton Falls and Birchwood Grove were less successful on the whole, but I digress."

Billie and Jayne exchanged a quick glance in the hope the other knew what the flamboyant actor was talking about. When it became clear they had both been lost somewhere along the way, they broke out in identical chuckles - one ethereal and one living.

Jayne looked at her wristwatch. The conversation with Archibald Ribbins had gone so well it had taken longer than she had expected. The watch already showed twenty-five minutes past the hour; only thirty-five minutes remained of the magic hour where the spirits were allowed to visit the cemetery.

Despite the humorous interlude, her face fell when she realized the chances of meeting the spirit she so dearly wanted to see were growing less for each passing minute. By the time the church bell would signal one AM, the chances as well as the spirits would be gone altogether for another year. A sigh escaped her.

It had been an unusual Halloween on several levels. Not only had fewer spirits than normal managed to bridge the gap between the worlds, the fact that there had been several aborted attempts - perhaps by the same spirit, but none among the living could tell - continued to be unsettling. Jayne even began to wonder if the special pathway that had existed for centuries had been disturbed somehow.

Though the question was too big for her to answer, it certainly made her antsy. She excused herself and got up from the bench. Her ghostly companions seemed not to mind as Archibald Ribbins continued his slightly mangled recitations of old plays he had starred in while an amused Billie Carson clapped at the spots she hoped were appropriate.

There was something there, Jayne thought, as the white gravel crunched under her shoes. It was undeniable it was a Halloween like few before it, even if the underlying reasons were still unclear from the perspective of the living. Her back ached and the chill had begun to creep into her old bones. She zipped the jacket all the way up in the hope it could stop the dropping temperatures from having a negative effect on her. The small remedy offered less comfort than she had hoped, but she would not let the adversity stop her - she continued on a slow tour around the stone altar to be near it in case another spirit would show up.

-*-*-*-

The cork in the proverbial bottleneck of the ghostly passage seemed to have come unstuck. As the hands of time moved around to a quarter to one, an entire gaggle of spirits had shown up nearly at once. They had squabbled for space on the altar top which had led to a short altercation of an otherworldly nature: A burly lumberjack claimed that an even burlier bricklayer had nudged him off the altar, and it had almost come to blows between them. Matters had eventually been settled in peace, and the apparitions had gone to separate corners to mingle with their fellow visitors.

One of the late arrivals had been a spiritualist medium who had died in 1949 during a seance where she had tried to communicate with The Other Side - that she ended up there had left her vindicated but somewhat intolerable. She wasted no time in strutting around the central area letting the rest of the ghosts know that she had been right all along even if the rest of the world had doubted her, and that she had in fact been so spot-on in her predictions about the details of the afterlife that she would undoubtedly be first in line to get her angel wings once her personnel files had been processed fully by the overworked administration.

Her self-glorifying style and endless monologues caused a stir among the other spirits present - and Jayne as well - and none of them could even feign unhappiness when the medium was suddenly called back to the Everafter for having crossed over out of turn.

Jayne had returned to the park bench to rest her aching back. She could do with a warm bath and a mug of steaming-hot coffee to get some of her strength back, but the refreshments would have to wait until after one AM. Archibald and Billie were still chatting merrily on the relative merits of modern versus classic storytelling. Although the actor took up a good deal of space on the bench with his rapier and large costume, there was just enough room for Jayne at the far end. She kept glancing over at the stone altar in the hope the next pinpoint of light would be the spirit who would matter the most to her.

Several more did in fact arrive which made the central area quite full. Ancient ghosts mingled with - and in some cases offered tips to - those who had just passed over. Other spirits preferred to stay by themselves while observing the world of the living and how it may have changed since they were part of it. Others again seemed lost and confused by all the hubbub. Most of the latter group only stayed for a brief while, but a few went over to those who had been at the central area the longest to ask how they had ended up there.

The naturally shy Billie Carson was uncomfortable with all the attention and preferred to direct the questions to the natural extrovert Archibald Ribbins. The hammy actor was right at home and whipped off his Musketeer-style hat again and again to underscore important points of his bombastic retelling of The History Of The Spirit World - his wig even came off at one point to reveal that his own hair was held flat to his head by wooden bobby pins. The experienced performer never lost a beat but incorporated the mishap into his grand show.

All Jayne's attention was focused on the stone altar. Each new pinpoint of light that arrived from the other side brought hope and made her heart speed up. Each new spirit who turned out to be the ghostly reflection of someone else made the hope vanish and her heart plummet.

The relentless advances of the hands on the clock meant that the opportunities of seeing her late love for the first time in far too long grew less. Ten minutes remained until the planes of existence would once again drift apart and be separated for another year. There had been plenty of ghosts around, just not the one she had dared to wish for after the three failed attempts early on in the magic hour.

She let out a deep sigh and rubbed her face. It was only when she noticed that Billie Carson cast a worried glance at her that she realized she had been spoken to. "I'm sorry, Billie… I was in another place," she said and sat up straighter though it jarred her aching back.

"Like the rest of us," Billie said with a grin before she turned somber. "We're supposed to be the melancholic apparitions, but the look of sadness upon your face beats all I've seen on my ghostly companions. It even beats what I saw in the bathroom mirror on the day I killed myself… and that's saying something!"

Jayne sighed again and looked back at the altar out of fear of missing out on the important moment that might never come. "Well… to return to the world of the living, the spirits need to possess enough strength to break through the boundary."

"So I've been told…"

"Yes. That's why all of you here have such striking personalities. Joe and Jane Average just wouldn't cut it, even though I'll bet they make up ninety-nine percent of the population of the Beyond."

"Archibald, definitely. That medium, sure. But me? No. I'm just a nobody," Billie said and performed a ghostly shrug, but Jayne shook her head.

"That's not true, Billie. You're somebody who has plenty of inner power. Or else you simply wouldn't be here."

The young poet shrugged again. "I think we need to agree to disagree on that…"

"Mmmm. I have no idea how the connection between the planes is actually established, but that's what's going on. Some just pop through like there's nothing to it. Others struggle but get here eventually… and some will never complete the journey because they're not strong enough," Jayne said with a wistful smile before she looked back at the altar.

Her face fell as the logical conclusion to her own explanation seemed to come to her. Clenching her fist, she thumped it onto her thigh. "But the one I'm waiting for had plenty of strength, dammit! Plenty of passion, plenty of spunk, plenty of… of… life! Why that doesn't translate into an easy crossing, I- I just don't know," she said before she let out a long sigh. A few moments went by before she continued in a quieter voice: "Perhaps there's a simple answer to my questions. Perhaps it stems from a lack of desire to revisit the world of the living. To revisit me."

"No, Jayne! Don't even begin to think that!" Billie said sternly. "I know such negative talk all too well… that's how I ended up six foot under decades before my time. Don't go down that path. Please!"

"I-"

"Promise me!"

A wistful smile played on Jayne's aged face as she looked at the ghost next to her. "I promise. I just wish I knew what was really going on," she said before her eyes moved back to the stone altar to keep it under constant observation. "There must be a stumbling block somewhere, but… where? And how? So many questions… so few answers. Oh, I wish I knew someone among the living I could ask…"

-*-*-*-

The next visitor to arrive on the stone altar did so in a flash far brighter than those produced by the lower-level spirits. As the ghost of an elderly woman appeared atop the altar, the other ghosts all piped down and faced her to show the proper respect - even Archibald Ribbins who had been demonstrating the fine art of stage-fencing for a fascinated audience.

Wearing a white bonnet and a full-length, dark-green silk gown fit for royalty, the female ghost floated off the entry point without speaking. Her hands were hidden inside her oversized sleeves, but they were soon pulled out and held aloft to get everyone's attention.

The appearance of Lady Clara of Beaumontville always signaled the official end of the hour of otherworldly magic. She and her husband Lord Fenton had been the driving force behind the funding and building of the church and the adjacent cemetery back in the latter part of the seventeenth century. When Lady Clara had died of old age in November of 1691, she was laid to rest next to her late husband in the family mausoleum. Their coffins were later transferred to the cemetery itself when the mausoleum grew too expensive to maintain two centuries later - and the ghostly events on the night of Halloween had started not long after.

Once the spirit with the second-longest tenure in the entire cemetery graced the central area with her presence, it meant the planes of existence had already begun to drift apart. Jayne sat up straight on the bench and let out another deep sigh - it also meant the hopes and wishes she'd held of seeing her special someone had just been snuffed out like a candle.

'My dear friends,' Lady Clara was heard to say in a clear voice despite not moving her lips, 'we must soon be homeward bound. The time for our crossing is nearly upon us. I grant thee another moment or two to bid a farewell to your new acquaintances. Then we shall leave behind the realm of the living and travel together to a far more rewarding place for our well-deserved rest.'

As the various ghosts floated back to the stone altar to be ready for departure, Billie Carson rose from the park bench. She tried to embrace the caretaker, but her ghostly arms just went through the living being next to her. "Oh…" she said in an amused voice when all that happened was a slight crackling of the pale-blue light where her hands were. "Jayne, we have to settle for saying goodbye. I've had a really awesome time here… is that phrase still in use these days?"

"I believe it is," Jayne said with a smile. She tried to reach out to establish physical contact, but all she got out of it was a strong tickling sensation where her hands went through Billie's incorporeal presence. "Goodbye, Billie. Maybe we'll see each other again at some point… in this world or the next."

"Now that would be awesome! I know you must be really disappointed that you didn't get to see your loved one this year, but you'll have another chance next year or the year after that. I know you're not eighteen anymore, but you have plenty of strength left in you. Please don't give up hope. I know all about giving up hope… it's a dead end. Literally," Billie said as she floated away toward the altar. Before she reached it, she paused to say: "If I had known someone like you when I lived, I wouldn't have been in this position now. Goodbye, Jayne. Thank you."

"And thank you, Billie," Jayne said as she watched the young poet float on top of the stone altar; once there, her ghostly figure dissolved until it was a mere pinpoint of light that eventually flickered and disappeared.

Archibald Ribbins was slightly more reluctant to exit the stage. He was in the middle of a flamboyant recitation of a grand speech from one of Shakespeare's countless plays, but a stern glare from Lady Clara's pale-gray eyes convinced him it was time for the final bow. He did so by whipping off his Musketeer- style hat and twirling his fake mustache. "Alas! I must leave you before I have any desire to do so! A higher power than even the famed bard is calling me!" he cried in his customary bombastic fashion. "And since she's right over there, I better do what she says," he said in his regular voice. He added a wink to his ghostly followers who were lapping it up.

"Thank you! Thank you! You've been a remarkable audience! Thank you! For autographs, please get in touch with my tour manager!" he continued as he strolled over to the stone altar. Stepping up onto it, he did indeed perform a final bow worthy of a retiring stage legend - his hat and his purple cape were given the final flutter before he disappeared like Billie Carson had done earlier.

Jayne watched how the other visitors stepped up onto the altar one by one to begin their own journey back to the Great Everafter. When only a few remained, the all-too familiar sense of loss flooded over her. She had only known the visitors for less than an hour, and yet her heart and soul responded like they did when she lost one of her real-life friends or acquaintances.

Soon, only Jayne and Lady Clara of Beaumontville remained at the eastern central area. The night claimed the cemetery once more turning everything dark, chilly and even foreboding. The encroaching darkness robbed the small corner of the vast universe of the life it had seen during the magic hour between midnight and one AM. Jayne knew that was an odd phrase to think of considering the otherworldly nature of the visitors who had been there, but it was the only one that fit.

'Caretaker, I thank thee for the hard work you have put in yet again,' the ancient ghost said without moving her lips. 'It is only because of you that we can even attempt these challenging soul crossings. I dread the day where we can no longer enjoy this small miracle.'

"You're very welcome, Lady Clara," Jayne said and did a slight bow though it hurt her aching back. "No one can foresee how many Halloweens I have left, but rest assured I'll make my successor know exactly what to do and what to expect. He's a smart fellow. He won't let it go to ruin."

The ancient ghost mirrored the gesture by bowing at the caretaker. 'Very good. I thank thee, Lady Jayne.'

"Lady Clara… please," Jayne said and began to wring her aged, bony hands that had turned icy despite her fleece gloves. "Before you leave, I have a question that I hope you'll grant me the answer to. I've been the lead caretaker for over twenty years now, and in that period, I've met dozens of your visitors. A fair number of the cemetery's permanent residents have shown up on Halloween, but never the one I so dearly wish to see. Tonight, a spirit tried to break through on three different occasions without any success. I have to admit it rattled me… what if it was my love? Please, Lady Clara… I need to know if it was. And if so… why weren't the efforts enough to cross over?"

Silence fell over the cemetery as the ancient ghost closed her eyes to seek the information she had been asked about. Though only a short minute went by before the ghost answered, the pause seemed to last an eternity for Jayne. 'The three failed attempts were made by two different spirits,' Lady Clara eventually said.

"And?"

'I fear that neither was the one you-'

"No! No, that can't be, Lady Clara! I- I felt it… I felt in my heart that it was! The connection was so strong… it's never been so strong since- since Laurie died…" Jayne said in a voice that trailed off into nothing. As the grim truth dawned on her, her knees buckled and she fell backward onto the seat of the park bench. The hard landing did no favors for her aching bones, but at least she could stop herself from continuing down onto the white gravel.

'I wish I had a better answer for you, but, alas… I do not,' Lady Clara said as she moved back to the stone altar. 'Now I must bid thee farewell, caretaker. The Great Spirit permitting, we shall see each other next year.' As a single stroke was heard from the nearby bell tower, the ancient ghost floated up on top of the altar and disappeared like the others.

Jayne was too stunned to speak. An immense tidal wave of disappointment fell upon her and threatened to drag her down into a bottomless abyss of despair. She needed to concentrate on keeping a steady breath going or else it would have stopped altogether; her heart sped up while her body turned cold.

Seeing the three failed attempts at crossing over had led her to believe so strongly that it would finally be the night for seeing Laurie again that the failure had ripped all the old emotional wounds wide open - it was the soul-numbing aftermath of the crash all over again.

After several minutes of trying to gather her wits about her after the bad news, she pushed herself off the bench and got to her feet. The shock that continued to course through her veins made her light-headed, so she needed to grab hold of the backrest until she had regained her equilibrium.

The weather had evolved from being merely chilly to outright freezing during the magic hour, and her breath came out as large plumes of steam that drifted across the central area and the dormant stone altar. High above, the dark sky and the millions of twinkling stars seemed to mock her with their eternal beauty.

Everything had fallen silent - or as silent as a cemetery in the middle of any modern city could be. The familiar background noises of the distant traffic remained, as did all the strange clangs, groans and bumps that were common during the night but rare guests in the daylight hours.

Within the cemetery itself, the breeze continued to rustle the last remaining withered leaves on the nearby trees; the proud branches and trunks let out small creaks of annoyance as the wind leaned on them and made them sway. Jayne added to the sounds by making the white gravel crunch under her shoes as she walked back to the cast iron gate on her way to the building housing the groundskeepers' workshop adjacent to the church.

Pausing for a moment to consider whether or not to visit the special grave, she decided against it and carried on in a slow and labored walk. The shock and disappointment of yet again not being allowed to see her long-lost love had perhaps grown less intense than the moment when Lady Clara had given her the discouraging news, but her seventy-seven years were suddenly undeniable as she made her way past the many aisles and headstones.

When she reached the last spot where she would be able to catch a glimpse of the central area and the stone altar, she turned around in the vain hope that something, anything might happen though the hands of time had already moved far beyond one AM.

She stared intently at the dormant altar for so long her eyes began to dry out and ache. Though she tried with all her might to will something into happening, she was unable to break through the boundaries and create a firm connection with the spirits resting in the Great Beyond.

"No. It's pointless," she said quietly as she closed her eyes to allow them some rest. "I must wait for another year… if I live that long. And if I don't, I'll just have to search for Laurie in the afterlife. Perhaps it would be best for all if I-"

Jayne stopped talking to herself when her ears caught a faint sound that she was sure had not been there before - it had been a cry of some kind. Not of anguish, pain or even terror, but like someone had yelled a name from a great distance. Her name. She brought a glove to her mouth as battling emotions of hoping for the best and fearing the worst once again blasted through her.

Her heart sped up as she strained her hearing. The regular ambient sounds of distant traffic and leaves rustling on the trees had returned. They offered little hope in something magical happening, but she refused to give up regardless of what time, logic or even sanity said.

She took a hesitant step back toward the stone altar that was plainly still dormant. The first step was soon followed by a second, then a third. Then she tore back as fast as her old legs could carry her across the crunching white gravel. In all her years as the lead caretaker, she had never seen a spirit break through outside of the altar - or even after one AM for that matter - so if it would in fact happen, it would do so there.

Reaching the stone altar, she held her breath despite an urgent need to get air into her burning lungs. The seconds began to tick away as she stared wide-eyed at the insignificant, flat-topped plinth that no one could ever believe acted as the portal between the planes of existence. Half a minute went by with no ghostly activity of any kind. Her need for air had grown too strong to ignore so she took several deep breaths; like before, vast plumes of steam drifted across the central area. A minute went by with no activity. Two minutes. Three minutes.

A sigh that came from the bottom of her soul escaped her as she realized her mind had run off with her. Her hopes had been snuffed out once more - perhaps for good this time. "What an old fool I am," she whispered to herself. "Old and senile… and hearing voices. Wonderful."

Turning away from the dormant stone altar, she let out another deep sigh when she took in the sight of the endless footpath ahead of her. She had already made it more than halfway down to the cast iron gate when she had thought she had heard the strange cry. The workshop building - where the temperature would be pleasant and the cushions soft - waited for her another fifty yards beyond the gate. Not only had she wasted precious energy to race back to the altar, now she had to follow the entire path all over again.

Her walk was slower and even more labored than it had been at the first time of asking. It seemed the distance back to the building grew longer rather than shorter as she followed the aisles; at one point, she began to worry that she was walking around in a circle, but a look at a few points of reference told her that she was still on course for the workshop.

As she reached the aisle where her loved one's burial plot was located, she suddenly remembered that an almost new park bench had been put up just recently - she would have a good view of the grave while she rested her back and legs. Acute fatigue made her turn down the aisle in question instead of carrying on toward the gate and the cluster of buildings.

---

She sat down gingerly on the wooden bench so her aching back could keep up. When she did a quick inventory, she arrived at the sobering conclusion that her hips and knees had suffered from the unusual amount of walking she had conducted. At least her hands did not ache as such - they were merely frozen.

"What I wouldn't give for some hot coffee…" she mumbled as she flexed her fingers to get the blood to circulate a little better. It proved not to be enough, so she took off her fleece gloves to blow a little hot air on the icicles that had appeared where her fingers usually were. All she got out of it was to create even larger plumes of steam.

Despite her worries of having finally grown senile, her memory remained in good shape as the important burial plot was just shy of twenty feet further along the aisle from the bench. She smiled and shuffled around on the seat so she could avoid sitting with her head turned in a crooked angle - that would ease the short-term strain on the muscles in her neck.

The aisle lamp closest to her was still lit which meant she had a clear view of the burial plot. The headstone itself remained in the shadows, and it was that fact that enabled her to see a small pinpoint of pale-blue light floating around and around like it had lost its way somehow.

Jayne's breath hitched and she needed to grab hold of the park bench with both hands to stay upright. Her throat tied itself into a knot as she entered a state of utter disbelief at the sight of the ghostly-blue orb that continued to fly erratically: it zipped one way around the headstone, then it backpedaled for a moment. Several dizzying loops and corkscrew spins were carried out followed by a series of figure-eights and even a maneuver resembling a bow-tie - then it zipped back to where it had come from. In short, the orb never stood still for even a second.

The tiny point of light could be mistaken for a firefly by a casual observer, but Jayne knew exactly what it was - and who it was. Clambering to her feet, she hobbled across the aisle though the cartilage in her left knee had chosen the worst moment to act up. Her eyes never left the pinpoint of light as it continued to fly around in unpredictable circles, swoops, climbs and dives.

"Laurie…" she said in a croak. She had to clear her throat several times to get the strangling knot untied before she could try again: "Laurie… come on… come on! Break through the barrier! Come on! I know you can do it… if anyone can, it'll be you! Please… come on… come on, Laurie!"

The orb of pale-blue light seemed to respond to the familiar voice egging it on; its maneuvers grew less frantic until it stopped altogether and simply hovered in front of the headstone.

"Laurie, please… I need to see you… just once more… pl- please," Jayne croaked in a thick voice that soon broke. She tried to swallow several times to unravel the emotional knot that had somehow claimed her throat, but she was unable to - her voice failed her.

The pinpoint of light returned to its erratic flying for the briefest of moments before it began to pulsate; for each cycle it went through, it grew in size until it vaguely resembled a human figure. Unlike the other visitors, the cloud of energy was too blurry and unfocused to make out any details at first, but as the pulsating continued, the contrast grew stronger which in turn allowed it to manifest itself better.

Two comfortable shoes came into view. The shoes were soon joined by the lower half of a pair of dark slacks. The process stalled for a moment before it continued upward past a pair of hands - the fists were clenched like materializing took an incredible toll on the individual.

"Come on, Laurie… please," Jayne croaked while tears ran freely down her cheeks. The crystal droplets escaped her chin and stained the collar of her down jacket, but she had no time for irrelevant things like that. She held her trembling, gloved hands to her mouth like it would help speed up the process she witnessed.

As the line between the blurriness and the far clearer areas climbed further upward, more and more details came into view. Above the dark slacks, it was revealed the individual wore a loose-fitting blazer jacket over a blouse of some kind - the outfit Laurie had worn for the fateful flight that had taken place not too long before her fifty-first birthday. The arms became visible; then the upper chest. At long last, the round face and the short hair took shape and turned as crisply detailed as all the other otherworldly visitors.

Jayne stared at the fully formed apparition with wide open, unblinking eyes. Down in her chest, her heart leaped and took off at a wild gallop. It was Laurie Kirkland. She had come back, if just for a brief visit.

Black spots had time to dance around on the edges of Jayne's vision before she remembered it would be best for all parties if she actually breathed. While she took several deep gulps of the chilly air, she noticed that Laurie's mouth moved but no sound escaped. "Wait… wait, Laurie… I can't hear you," Jayne croaked as she hobbled closer to the ghost of her loved one.

The news seemed to annoy the perpetually short-tempered Laurie who put her hands on her hips and assumed a surly expression. After a moment or two of inactivity, she narrowed her ghostly eyes and made another attempt at speaking. 'Been… yelling… my… lungs… out… calling… your… name… why… can't… you… hear… me… when… I… can… hear… you?!' she said in a voice that was never really synchronized with the movements of her mouth.

"I don't know, Laurie… please don't stop trying! We'll figure it out… just keep trying… please don't leave before we've spoken!" Jayne said and reached out instinctively. The results were no different from when she had tried touching the young poet Billie Carson earlier in the evening: she was unable to obtain actual, physical contact. All that happened was a strong tickle almost like she had touched an electrical current.

'I… this… gonna… oh! I'm… I'm…' Laurie shook her head in a classic display of sublime annoyance. Baring her teeth in an angry grimace, the additional fire in her ghostly gut was finally enough to enable her to speak clearly: "I'm gonna kill that damned booking agent! Oh no, ma'am, this airline has a perfect safety record! My hairy butt!" she said in a mocking tone before it dawned on her the message traveled further than she thought.

"I can hear you, Laurie…" Jayne said wearing an expression that was equal parts blank disbelief, unbridled happiness and good old-fashioned love. "I still love you! I always have and I always will… for as long as I live, I'll love you. I've missed you… God, how I've missed you! Oh, why did you have to die like that? We were supposed to grow old together… we promised each other we would!"

Laurie floated away from the headstone to be closer to the one she had been forced to leave behind. With levitation being new to her, she still moved as unsteady as a newborn calf, so she needed to concentrate fully on getting where she wanted to go.

When she finally arrived at Jayne's side, she let out an ethereal breath at the effort required to float. "I know, Jayne… and I can't tell you how much I regret ever getting on that damned flight! When I was taken to the other side, I fought them so hard. I really did… I begged and pleaded with them to send me back, but they wouldn't listen. They pulled the old baloney that they were merely following orders, blah-blah-blah. Trust me, if I'd had any say in the matter, I would have come back to you. Hell, I would gladly have walked home!"

"I don't doubt it… you always were a go-getter…"

"You better believe it! Ah… Jayne… this is kinda embarrassing, but… how long has it been since the accident? It feels like it was only two or three weeks, but, I mean… how can I put it? You kinda look different… now don't get me wrong, you're still beautiful, but… uh… definitely different," Laurie said, moving a ghostly hand along Jayne's aged face to illustrate her point.

Jayne let out a chuckle at her partner's uncharacteristic vagueness. "I should. It's been twenty-six years, four months and eleven days. Your plane went down on June twentieth, nineteen-ninety-four."

The ghostly reflection of Laurie Kirkland came to an abrupt halt. All she could do was stare; it went on for so long her incorporeal shape began to get fuzzy around the edges. Then she exclaimed: "Damn! Twenty-six years?! That's it, I'm gonna kick some major butt when I find the ones running this show!"

Despite Jayne's state of being an emotional wreck balancing on the precipice of a proper breakdown, she leaned her head back and let out a croaking laugh before she tried to reach out for Laurie all over again. "I don't think it's as easy as that, love! I've cursed everyone I could think of for a quarter of a century, but it didn't help any…"

Laurie shook her ghostly head repeatedly. "I can't believe it… twenty-six years! Oh! Wait a minute… somebody's coming… look, lady, do you mind? We're in the middle of a conver- oh, what the hell?" she said as she suddenly looked to her left.

"What? What is it, Laurie? Please tell me," Jayne croaked; she stared in the same direction Laurie was looking but saw nothing - it could only mean the disruptive element had come on the spiritual rather than the physical plane.

"Some old lady in a weird dress and an even weirder bonnet-thing! She's telling me that I'm out of bounds or some shit! Can you believe that?" Laurie said and slammed her hands onto her hips to mirror the stance she had performed so often in life.

"That's Lady Clara. She's in charge of the visitors… the… the ghosts…"

"Yeah? Then she's the one whose butt I need to kick!" Laurie said and turned back to speak to the unseen interloper. "Listen, lady, will ya gimme a break? You've kept me outta the loop for twenty-six years, you can damn well grant me another five minutes talking to the woman I love! Beg' pardon? Oh, is that a fact? Well, you can take your rules and-"

"Laurie! Laurie, it won't do you any good. Lady Clara's calling all the shots," Jayne tried, but she knew too well that when her love got into such a confrontational mood, only a kiss could calm her down. They had already tried, and failed, to achieve physical contact, but she could not let Laurie's famed temper run off with her in the present situation - it would undoubtedly harm their prospects of finding each other in the future.

Taking a deep breath to concentrate, Jayne whipped off her fleece gloves, put her arms out wide and took a long step inside the fuzzy boundaries of the pale-blue cloud of energy. To begin with, the strongest sensation on her skin was the crackling of static electricity, but that soon gave way to something that could only be a pair of arms wrapped around her body in a loving hug.

She closed her eyes, released her physical inhibitions and let her heart and soul guide her along. A ghostly touch traced her eyebrows and the side of her face. A warm breath caressed her cheek. Lips brushed against her own to get reacquainted after so long apart; those lips were soon connected in a deep kiss that held every last ounce of the sizzling passion Jayne and Laurie had shared in life. Ghostly fingers ran through her hair and caressed her neck as the kiss continued. The exquisite touch created a wave of heat inside her that could only escape as a throaty moan.

Though one of the kissing partners no longer had any need for oxygen, the other certainly did, and Jayne eventually had to pull back from the unexpectedly erotic ghostly encounter. She stayed within the pale-blue cloud of crackling energy for a few seconds longer before she took a step back to fully re-enter the world of the living. The chill promptly hit her flushed skin and made her reach for her discarded gloves at once. "I can't tell you how much I needed that…" she said in a whisper.

"So did I. We haven't lost a thing," Laurie said and reached up to touch her tingling, ghostly lips. "I love you… dammit, how I love you."

Jayne and Laurie gazed at each other across the planes of existence. The two old lovers broke out in identical goofy grins as they were joined by Lady Clara of Beaumontville - the latter's facial expression seemed to be torn between annoyance over someone blatantly breaking the rules and understanding why she did it.

"And I'll love you forever," Laurie continued as she reached out once more.

Although Jayne tried to catch the ghostly tendril, she was unable to as the deep connection had been cut - her hand simply passed unhindered through the pale-blue field of energy. "I've never stopped loving you. Will I see you again next Halloween?"

Laurie glanced at Lady Clara who performed a brief nod. "Looks like the bosslady okays it. I'll be around. I guess I better read the rules first, huh? Wouldn't want to get into too much trouble here. Wherever here is… oh, I need to go, Jayne… never forget I love you."

Tears once more streamed down Jayne's face, but these were tears of joy rather than despair. Her throat tied itself into a knot so her only reply was a jerking nod. Instead of speaking, she blew several kisses at Laurie Kirkland as the ghostly visitor and Lady Clara both began to dissolve.

After a few moments, Jayne stood alone in front of Laurie's headstone. The typical night-time sounds soon claimed the cemetery once more: the leaves continued to rustle, and a police siren cut through the concrete canyons in the far distance. The nearby bell tower struck a single blow indicating it was one-thirty in the morning of November 1st.

The magic hour of Halloween Night was truly over, and it'd had a happy ending for all involved. Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, Jayne turned away from the burial plot to begin the long, strenuous journey back to the building housing the groundskeepers' workshop. The graveled pathway had not grown any shorter since the last time she had used it, but the ghostly kiss had replenished her inner strength. A warm, satisfied smile spread over her features as she made the first step of her long journey home…

THE END.

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