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ResTing PLacE

ResTing PLacE

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Published by: stumbleupon on Aug 15, 2012
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ResTing PLacEOn Halloween the Dead Cannot RestI sense they are hereThe air is heavy; not a single blade of grass is moving. It is late evening and thesun sags heavy on the horizon. The long, dark shadows of the huge trees and largemonuments make this desolate and silent dwelling of the dead, even moreunsettling. I feel I am being watched, like an unwanted visitor. I suddenly amaware of a shift in the air, it feels electrified. The hair slowly begins to rise on theback of my arm. Sensing movement, I look to my left. I don't see anything at first.Gradually, a mist appears quickly growing thicker. It suddenly clears, and in itsplace, I see a figure of a boy. But not just a boy, he is a Civil War soldier.He leans against a granite monument with his long, thin legs crossed in front of him. His gaunt, youthful face giving way to evidence of a tragedy... a young lifeprematurely interrupted. He does not look directly at me; however, he frequentlylooks about himself, as if taking survey of his surroundings. As his gaze passes byme, I am frozen in place, unable to move. He looks right through me as if I do notexist. The air is so still the only sound I hear is my own heart pounding in my ears.Turning quietly, I quickly begin picking my way between and around headstones. Isoon realize this place is now occupied, It is full with spirits. They seem to bewandering about. Some are standing; some are just sitting, doing nothing. Someseem distracted, concentrating on tasks that are unseen to me. Pale white andthick, the mist continues to make its way around this sacred ground exposing ineach gradual departure, another lost soul.
Suddenly, a disturbing scene appears before me; a woman sitting gracefullyamong many children. They are playing next to her. She looks toward me slowlyand with such a soulful look. I see there are seven children, both boys and girls.The children gaze upon their mother while laughing and fluttering about. One isplaying with her hair while another is sitting in her lap, sleeping peacefully. She is
enraptured by them… giving them her full attention. Beside the little group, I see
6 small headstones, 5 single stones and one bearing the names of a set of twins.Denied a lifetime of joy with the living, and each other, they now evidently aretogether at last, in spirit form.I begin sprinting towards where I have parked my car, but to get there, I mustpass through several areas that are thick with spirits. As I pass one very old andlarge monument I see an elderly man. He is just lying on top of his grave, lookingup at the sky. His mouth is moving, but I hear no words. To one side of him is anold mausoleum, with a sidewalk leading toward the entrance. Coming from themausoleum is a procession of women with their heads down, weeping, marchingslowly. They wear long, black funeral gowns that are flowing around their legs asthey glide forward. Out of the darkness of the mausoleum an elaborate coffinwith six pall bearers follow close behind.Not thinking, I jump over the legs of the old man lying on the ground, landinguneasily, my foot sinks into a hole. I immediately feel a red hot pain shoot up myleg. I fall forward, grabbing at air. My face slams into the side of a headstone andbounces onto the ground. I feel flesh tear as my face scraps the edge of the hardstone. Cringing in pain, I pull myself up on my knees, gasping for air. In front of meis a large, black dog. He watches me, intently, with his head cocked to one side. Ireach my hand out and let him sniff it; he whines and wags his tail. My head isswooning; my cheek is torn and bleeding. "Good boy" I whisper as I pet him onthe head. To my horror, my hand glides right through him, causing me to fallforward once again.
 I get up and start running toward the gravel road that runs alongside thecemetery. My legs ache from the strain of the fast pace, now put upon them.Behind me, I can hear the dog, barking fiercely, alerting the spirits of mydeparture. Only moments before the spirits were unorganized; however, noweach one is turning in my direction. In the distance, I see the car. I fumble for mykeys, reaching deep into my pocket. Cursing, I jerk the keys up out of my pocket,and they fly through the air. Reaching out desperately with both hands, I justmanage to grab the ring with one of my middle fingers. I reach out and lift the old,rusty latch to the cemetery gate. I half run and half stumble to the car.Snatching ahold of the door handle I give it a yank. In one swift motion, I pull thedoor back, thrust myself inside, and jam the key into the ignition. The engineroars to life; it is the most wonderful sound I have ever heard. I break down,sobbing uncontrollably. I quickly press the automatic lock button. Catching aglimpse of myself in the mirror, I am shocked at what I see. Not wanting to touchthe open wound, I wince, as I dab my cheek with a left-over napkin from a burger joint where I stopped and had lunch earlier in the day. I hesitantly look towardthe church yard cemetery, expecting to see an old, rotting hag glaring at methrough the window. But to my relief the spirits are all gone. The solider, thewoman, her children and the old man are nowhere to be seen. I carefully, scanthe area, even the mist has dissipated.I need to get to an emergency room fast. My cheek has flesh hanging on one side,
and the bleeding is not stopping. I feel sick to my stomach… how will I drive to get
help. It is almost dark, as I make my way out of the cemetery, the crunching of gravel echoes throughout the graveyard. I look in my rearview mirror one lasttime, before turning onto the highway and I catch a glimpse of a big, black dog.

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