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 | ...more gaming than 'sploring intended that night...
entry by Miss_Informed
1/13/2005 11:01 AM
| (circa 1982 ... though since edited)
We stole across the well-manicured lawn, then hesitated as we approached
taller grasses surrounding unkempt stones ... some small and worn so they
could not be read, others looming ... expensive in size and cut.
There, closer to the center of the cemetery, was where we would always begin
our game. Someone would yell "I'll be IT!" and everyone would scatter ...
disappearing from one's vantage as prey surprised by a hunter in the night.
That night, I was IT. (Eat your heart out Tim Curry) {Kidding! Clowns freak me out!
Especially clown cockroaches falling from extreme heights EEK! FLEE!}
I savored the [scattering] visual, then made my way to a headstone affording
an attached carved stone bench, chiseled to resemble the trunk of a tree.
Thereupon engraved script invited passers by to sit, and to rest, and to
ponder. I did just that, save for the 'ponder' part. Instead I ...
... began counting.
"1-.2-.3,"
to the sound of my companions scurrying and their muffled laughter ...
"-50-55-60,"
I'd stepped up the pace of my counting, as I could no longer hear anyone
around me save the trees whispering ... "where've they gone?"
"-80-90-100!!!"
I was amazed by my clarity of vision once I'd opened my eyes. Although the
moon was less than half-full, I chirped "No moon needed!" and leaped to my
feet. "Here I come!"
Silence answered me. Silence and the whispering of trees. I set off
toward the gravel drive to begin my search. As I faced south, I looked to my
left and saw the "cat"-drop, which marked the roofs of the catacombs built
under the hill on which I stood. I turned left and walked in the direction
of the drop, leaned over the edge, "See, no one there." (I crossed my
fingers). I knew, as a local resident, two of the catacombs had been
breached just in the last month ... I hoped no one [known to me or otherwise]
would be hiding in either, and neither was a place I wanted for to search that night.
I made my way back to the road, then turned south. The cemetery is, toward
that direction, bordered by a road lined with streetlights. As I walked, gravel
crunched underfoot. I proceeded on, ballet stepping (toe heel toe
heel) down the hill. I forced myself to breathe slowly and quietly. Suddenly
I was aware of how loud I must be to things around me ... all else being so STILL.
Out the corner of my eye I caught movement to my left ... deeper in and
toward the darkness, away from the streetlights I'd hoped would aid my
search. I stopped - midstep - to listen as a scared rabbit, my ears and nose
twitching ... trying to hear or smell ... anything.
Exactly the moment I was satisfied I'd seen a trick o' the eye and I’d decided
to move on ... a sudden and fierce shove literally lifted me off my feet (thank
the gods I was sporting my Doc's, but blast that 'pleather' mini skirt!) ... whereafter
I lit painfully on hands and knees ... said commencing to bleed from
scrapes plus imbedded gravel.
Astounded and bitchy I whirled 'round [gravel digging into non-mini-skirt-
protected-flesh-oye], ready to CRAWL the jerk with the nerve … No one there …
Empty space made obvious by light colored gravel and beyond darkness of trees
and grass around such. Listening, again even smelling the air … nothing. No
semi-drunk Melinda's muffled laughs at pulling off a good shove-shot. No Dave's
-hahahahahahahahah- laugh, a sound akin to that of a child's toy machine gun.
No Dave's laugh. No Melinda's laugh. No nothing.
Must’ve been Sean thought I. (? ! ?? !! ?!?!)
Slowly I rose to my feet, making a feeble attempt at brushing the dang road
outa my hands and knees [and caboose]. I considered, as I began to walk north
(screw the "safety" of the streetlights!), that it wasn't Sean. Thought I "…no
way anyone could come at me ... from either side nor behind ... without me
hearing ... if not through grass then at least over gravel. And the push came
from behind ... and and and ..."
MmmHmm, I was freaking myself out.
No-doubt-about-it.
Go mind-fuck-yerself whydontcha.
I tread faster ... toe heel toe heel toe heel. "…quieter that way" (... inner cranium
cooing to self).
Finally, I was at the 'Y' in the gravel road. If I went one way I'd go to the
western side of the cemetery ... the part of the 'Y' I'd already [partially]
traversed. If I went to the right side of the 'Y' I'd take the road to the
underground catacombs.
The right arm of the 'Y' is also the central road. It's rarely used as the
catacombs are old, and ancestors visit no longer the "center drive." There are
roads that extend to the east side of the cemetery [essentially forming a 'W' …
I've always been way more interested in the 'Y' ... mmmm ... 'Y'].
There [the 'W'] you'll find the new (1900's +) stones … and there the
streetlights encroach most upon the cemetery.
The underground catacombs exist where a large hill in the middle of the
cemetery was sliced ... virtually in half, and a road put through, then mortared
carved stone created two distinct walls. One to the west and one the east …
which later framed wrought iron gates, which gave access to deep caverns ...
later lined with cinderblock ... now crumbling away. The cats have long been
abused by cemetery defilers ... currently two were open: meaning someone
(or something ?!) had taken the time to wrench apart -again- the iron gates
(meant to keep creatures in or out ?!). Others had been wrenched before.
I stopped, keenly aware I'd heard a "snap" from somewhere nearby. Again I
thought how odd not to hear ANYTHING from my comrades. Then, as if on cue,
I heard Dave and Melinda screaming ...
... toward the south! I turned and ran blindly twenty steps perhaps, 'til I
realized they were laughing [the fuckholes] ... and it occurred to me they were
partaking of the beers Dave had brought with. That pissed me off.
No not the fact they were imbibing when I was not, but that I'd been worried
for them. Ready to lend aid. Friend to the end ... blah blah fucking blah.
... and more blah for a bit, until I noticed the machine gun had stopped.
How long? ... Again I tried the ears and nose trick. I heard nothing
and smelled only moss growing over cat walls ... walls in which were screwed
fittings which held weathered and wrenched iron gates that lent entrance
to cats that I so did not want to investigate ...
I reminisced on my first mid-night W******* Cemetery excursion.
I'd come with my older sister Becca and friends ... some two years earlier.
We came only to look at and be charmed by the age and decay, and
black-and-white photo ops ... we were always respectful.
I remembered how we'd spent that afternoon picnicing in the cemetery. We all
wanted to come back at night. We did indeed return after dark. Having
explored a bit, we decided to investigate the catacombs. When first we
entered the south/western-most cat, Michael held the Bic lighter, our only
torch. Becca was behind him, me behind Becca, and so on ... a line of 8 or
more. As we creeped deeper into the catacomb the smell worsened----- Piss -
we could barely make out graffiti on the walls. Becca decided we should go
back, I was sure because Becca could tell her little sister was spooked.
Suddenly, I was slammed from my reverie back to the present by another
"snap" in the long grasses surrounding me. The slice in the hill that is
the catacombs beckoned ... yawning ... and I made a run for it. As I ran, I
crossed my fingers and tucked them tight in my left-hand (careful to cross
the fingers on only one hand, as crossing on both hands is double crossing
your own damn self ack!).
I sprinted and was plunged into a deeper darkness. There, approximately 8
feet below ground level, was the darkest spot in the whole cemetery. There
la Luna did what little she could to cast her light upon the secret shadows ...
there the streetlights had been stripped of their use and import.
I was standing next to the first catacomb I'd ever entered, those years back
with Becca. I felt the dank breath of it giving a sigh as into it I risked a
furtive yet imploring stare. I knew those gates had been re-chained, only to be
broken open, again. I turned my eyes back toward the deepest gut of the hill,
again toward the south ... where from I heard Melinda scream. I squinted into
the matte blackness that stared back at me. I saw nothing ... stark, storm-cloud
gray filled the void of sight. I knew the effect was similar to looking into
the absolute white of a snow-clad mountain ... it created a blindness.
Blink Blink
I heard a sharp sound in front of me ... the catacombs not yet investigated ...
I didn't move. Again, I was uncomfortable with the lack of human sounds ... the
scuffling shoe, the muted giggles, the muffled reprimands.
Still I waited silent as could be ... no breath escaped me. I wanted not to
cover a sound I could perhaps recognize as a comrade.
I felt a sharp pain ... grabbed my skull ... blaring sensation. I immediately
ducked to the gravel and rolled to my left. I slammed into wrought iron, the
chains above me clanging a horror-movie sound. Just ... stay ... still ...
There I remained, in a fetal position up against the gates of a presently-
chained catacomb, until I'd counted from 1-onethousand to 100-onethousand
at least five times. I took care and adhered to counting slowly, as I was
trying to regain my wits and my nerve.
Eventually I stood ... as silent as ever any black cat had been ... I breathed
slowly. Still I smelled the dank depths of the catacomb behind me.
Stealthily I took two steps forward. I was nearly in the middle of the road
that sliced the hill ... at the southernmost end of the cat cut. I gave a
slight shiver as I hanged my right leg out ... hokey pokey-esque [an aside:
what if that *is* what it's all about?] ... unsure whether to put said
leg down. I did, and the step made a noticeable "smunch" ... Doc's on moss on
rocks. Another step, then another and I was heading toward the last cat on the left
(when facing north)- the one where I was sure to find someone (! ? !).
toe heel toe heel toe heel ... silent as could be ... dressed in black I was
difficult to see (*gulp* 'cept perhaps for my so-pale-they're-nearly-see-through gams).
"Sean?"
-nothing-
-dark dankness-
"... hey Melinda?" pleading.
Still no sound.
What waited to pounce?
I had got the creeps crawling over me. I decided to run toward the end of
the hill, up and to the left. Smunch-Smunch-Smunch! I came again to the edge
of the hill that is the roof of the cats. I squatted in a bunch of overgrowth,
some perennial planted ages ago that served well enough as my hidey hole. I was
breathing fast, partly from the run, mostly from the fright.
A voice reached me and made itself known as "alive" - Sean - singing the Femmes'
"...why can't I get just one fuck..." I was so relieved I nearly fainted.
I shuffled forward ... moments later to be dangling pale gams (now so brave!)
over hill/cat roof edge. Sean came and sat next to me. I asked him where
the hell he'd been. He replied: "over there" with an indistinct left arm swing
toward the north.
He commenced to planting himself, legs over cat edge, and had just become
relatively settled ... when the pebbles began to fly. Both he and me made to
duck away from the shower of small stones. He screamed obscenities. I kept my
pie-hole shut.
As we retreated, the pummeling slowed, then stopped. We were perhaps 15ft from the
hill-edge/cat roof when the screaming started, this time seemingly in earnest ...
Sean heard it too. "What the fuck?" ... no answer ... Sean was silent as the graves.
Just then I had a *strong* feeling we should be heading back. Flight response
kicked in: Head on a swivel, I detected a path behind me, which lead roughly
toward our point of entry ... toward the road and the car. I whispered to
Sean "I'll be at the bug." [Melinda's VW]
I heard Sean as he kept perfect step with my terrified gait.
I slipped into the front passenger seat, Sean slinked his 6'6" frame into
the back. Eventually Melinda and Dave walked up and climbed in ... "Guess what
happened to us ..." said Melinda.
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