I always knew I was different.
I never could've imagined what was really going on.
"Good night, sir, see you tomorrow. Beautiful service today," I said quietly to my boss as he nodded to me and moseyed back up the path to the parking lot. He was headed home for the day, and my shift had just started, though I'd caught the end of the day's last ceremony. I turned back toward the empty plot of land, where moments ago, two dozen kalons stood solemnly, silently, save for the occasional sniffle. I walked up and stood beside the freshly packed dirt, and placed my hand on the cool stone slab that lay before it.
"How long until they stop coming to visit you, too?" I wondered aloud, tracing the name carved into the headstone.
Not many kalons would choose to make a living as a groundskeeper at a cemetery, nevermind working the night shift. But it suits me perfectly-- I rarely have to interact with anyone, save for the occasional co-worker, and when there are visitors, I keep my distance out of respect. Personally, I find it to be a peaceful place. I do most of my work at night, since it's usually empty after dark, and I can get things done by the light of the moon and the stars, without disturbing anyone.
I turned away from the newly dug grave, intending to begin the night's duties, when I spotted a figure some distance away, seated on one of the benches by the path. Surprised to see someone still here so close to dark, I approached her slowly, and cleared my throat as I came up beside her, so as not to startle her.
"Excuse me, miss, were you here for Mrs. Markham's service?" I asked her softly.
"I believe everyone else is leaving now, I wouldn't want you to get left behind."The young woman looked up at me with pale eyes that held a hint of sadness. She was silent at first, regarding me carefully before speaking.
"I was just visiting someone," she finally told me, in a small, velvety voice.
"Oh, then in that case, take all the time you need. Sorry to have bothered you," I replied, bowing my head and making my way back up the main path.
When I reached the shed where the equipment and gardening tools were kept, I turned back to get another look at the girl-- but she had already gone. I scanned the grounds carefully, sweeping my gaze back and forth, but saw no sign of her. I furrowed my brow, but shrugged it off, grabbed the keys to the lawnmower, and got to work.
-----
The next night brought with it a cloudless sky, and the moon shone brightly down on me as I weeded around the flat-marked graves, clearing the overgrown bits of grass from the edges, so the inscriptions could be seen properly. The air was beautifully balmy, and I hummed a quiet tune to myself as I worked.
"That's beautiful," came a voice, startling me as I whipped my head around to see who was there.
It was that same girl from the day before, with the sad, pale eyes. I blushed in embarrassment, and sat back on my heels.
"Sorry, I... didn't know anyone else was still here," I stuttered.
"This place is usually empty at night."The girl shrugged and gazed around.
"I'm not afraid," she told me.
"I've heard the stories-- about the spirit who guards Greenwood Cemetery at night, how she'll capture intruders and bury them alive." I blushed deeper, and lowered my head, pretending to be focused on the task at hand.
"The stories are about you, aren't they?" she asked.
I nodded, without looking up.
"Well you're not a ghost, and I don't imagine someone with such a pretty singing voice would have the guts to bury folks alive." She chuckled quietly to herself.
I met her gaze finally, and smiled faintly despite myself.
"Thank you," I mumbled.
"I don't know how the stories started really; I chased off some vandals one night last year. They were just a bunch of kids causing trouble, all I did was shine a flashlight at them. I always assumed they made up a ghost story to scare their friends, but I'm not sure really."The girl smirked, but it soon faded as she looked up at the stars.
"Things do seem to get blown out of proportion around here, don't they?" she murmured. I didn't know quite what to say-- I'd never been much of a conversationalist-- and we were quiet for a moment, until she eventually sat down with a huff in the grass opposite me.
"Mind if I sit with you a while, Greenwood Ghost?" she asked me.
I laughed once, and shrugged.
"Sure, if it suits you. But, Mel will do just fine."She nodded.
"Mel it is, then. I'm Irene."We didn't say much for a while as Irene watched me, clipping the stray bits of grass around the edges of the gravestones, row by row. I'd mention the weather, she'd mention the moon, mostly just small talk. But I let it die down after a while; I had a sense that she was just looking for some quiet company. And I was more than happy to oblige that. She stayed with me for most of the next hour, studying the inscriptions on some of the stones, moving up the rows with me to take a new seat if I moved too far. Eventually it was time for my break, and she accompanied me back to the shed where I traded my tools for a sandwich.
As I ate my lunch on one of the nearby benches, Irene stretched herself out in the grass, lying on her back to look up at the stars. I took a good look at her for the first time, really. She really was a beautiful young girl; her hair was bleached white, long and straight, and she had a thin, angled face and dark lips. She reminded me of a porcelain doll in the moonlight... but a sad one. Despite her careless demeanor, she just seemed so blue behind it all.
When my break ended, I told her she could join me again if she wanted to, but she shook her head.
"I think I might just lie here and watch the stars for a while," she said.
"It's a pleasure to have finally met the Greenwood Ghost, though." She offered me a slight smile and a wink, and turned her gaze back to the twinkling night sky.
-----
Life continued on this way for a few months. Every few days, Irene would come looking for me in the cemetery, and spend a couple hours nearby. I always let her steer the conversations; some nights she had lots she wanted to talk about, and some nights she had little to offer other than a simple 'hi.' We grew to become friends, and got to know each other better. There wasn't much else to know about me, and I didn't remember much of my childhood, but I always answered her questions anyway. I learned that Irene lived in a small house nearby with her parents; she told me she worked at a clothing store as a cashier but didn't like it much. I didn't usually ask about things too much, usually preferring to let her offer information as she was comfortable. I think she appreciated that, and she offered me the same courtesy. And to be honest, I didn't really know how much I did enjoy her company, until she stopped coming.
Fall was coming to a close-- and though it didn't snow where we lived, it was getting chillier at night. I assumed maybe she disliked the cold, and that may have been keeping her away. But when a few weeks had gone by and I still hadn't seen her, I began to grow worried. I found myself picturing her in my mind as I worked-- the way her eyes lit up a little when she smiled, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was thinking, the longing look she would give the sky when the stars were out. I had never minded the solitude of my job before I met Irene, but now that I'd been spoiled by her late night visits, I was starting to grow lonely.
And just as suddenly as she'd gone... one day, nearly a month later, Irene was back.
I was just preparing to take my lunch break when I looked up and saw her bright white hair, shimmering in the moonlight, flowing down the back of the same bench she'd been seated on when I first saw her. I dropped my tools, and rushed over to her, calling out her name as I did. I pulled her into a hug, and she stiffened in surprise before gingerly wrapping an arm around me as well. I let her go, thinking I'd overstepped a boundary.
"Sorry, sorry, I... I've just really missed you," I admitted.
She shrugged, in classic Irene fashion.
"It's okay," she said quietly.
"It's just been... a long time since anyone's hugged me. I didn't think you'd be so glad to see me, really.""Of course I'm glad to see you," I said with a shy smile.
"I was worried, embarrassingly enough. You're... probably the best friend I've ever had."Irene looked up at me, with disbelief in her eyes.
"I am?" She studied my face for a while, and then dropped her gaze to her lap.
"No, that wasn't the truth. I can tell."I blinked in surprise, furrowing my brow, and took her hand in my hand.
"Of course it's true. I... can't think of anyone I care about more than you."She stared at her hand in mine for a moment, then swept her gaze up my arm to meet my eyes again. I blushed fiercely under her scrutiny, but realized she still didn't seem convinced. Why didn't she believe me? Why would I lie to her?
"What do I have to say to convince you?" I stammered.
"That I... I think you're... that I might even... love you?"Irene pulled me into a fierce hug, much to my own shock. I hugged her back, my face burning, and my heart racing. I'd never told anyone I loved them before. I felt her tears fall onto my shoulder, and her arms trembled slightly.
"Thank you," she whispered shakily.
And then my arms were grasping empty air. I fell forward, confused, and whipped my head around in confusion.
"What?! I... Irene? What happened?" But Irene was gone, just like that. Not 'gone,' like she'd ran off, but just... completely gone, like she'd... faded out of existence. I felt tears sting my own eyes now as I struggled to understand.
"Did you really not know this whole time?" came a familiar elderly voice from behind me. I whipped my head around, and this time I fell backward, staring in slack-jawed shock at the woman standing before me.
"Mrs. Markham?" I breathed, shaking my head in disbelief.
"But I... I... your funeral was... I was there, I saw them--""Quit your blabbering, girl," she cut me off.
"That's right. I'm dead. You're not going crazy.""B-but then, that'd mean you're a-""A ghost, yep, that's right girl. Sheesh, you'll develop a stutter if you keep that all up! Get a grip. I've been watching the two of you floundering around the cemetery all summer, I would've chimed in sooner if I knew you were so clueless.""Irene..." I murmured breathily.
"She's... not real?"Mrs. Markham rolled her eyes and plopped herself down on the bench.
"Oh boy. Course she was real, just as real as I am! You're a medium, girl. You can see us. And apparently even touch us." Uncharacteristic to her very forward nature, Mrs. Markham reached out a tentative hand and rested it lightly on my shoulder.
"Remarkable. We can touch you even." She straightened up, and took a breath.
"Listen, girl. I've been watching the two of you youngsters, and I saw what you just did. You helped that girl cross over. Whatever it was you said to her, it's exactly what she's been waiting around for all these years." The old woman placed a gentle hand under my chin, and lifted my head so I would look her in the eye. Much to my surprise, I watched as a tear ran down her own cheek.
"I want you to help me find peace, too."I always knew I was different.
But now I know that I'm special.
Now I know what to do with it.
-----
future plans:It will take Mel quite a bit of time to come to terms with what she is, to remember her traumatic past that she's buried so deep inside her mind. But somehow, she has found herself the perfect profession, working in a cemetery full of lost spirits who need her help. It will be hard for her at first, but over time, she will learn to recognize the subtle differences between the spirits she sees so clearly, and the living people around her. Some spirits will need more than just someone to talk to-- some will need messages delivered. And she will learn to do so, and develop a great talent for mimicking the handwriting of the deceased perfectly. She will write out the things that some spirits never had a chance to say, and mail the letters to their loved ones.
It will be especially difficult for any living souls to believe that her ability is real, but one day, she will meet someone who understands mortality all too well. Someone who will have no reason not to believe everything Mel says to her. Someone whose own life will be much shorter than most. Someone who could use her help not only now, but also once she does pass on.
Someone named Samantha.
