The Graveyard Chronicles (A Short Story) By Mayur B. Thakkar
Author: Mayur_Thakkar_3634© WebNovel
Chapter 1: The Graveyard Chronicles (A Short Story) By Mayur B. Thakkar
The only thing I remember about my past is my name. It's Johnny Mays. I hardly remember who I was before I began my new job. I don't exactly know where to begin my story from. So I'll start from the point that signifies my current existence – at least to me.
I fell in love during a burial. It felt live traveling on a path that had no destination. That is how people like me feel about an emotion like love. I am one of the people who are not supposed to fall in love you know. No woman in her right mind would like to spend her life with a man like me. I worked for the dead, you see.
But that doesn't mean I couldn't fall in love, does it?
I saw her on a grey, gloomy, rainy day. It was a long time ago. I don't remember when. I have lost track of time. She had come to the cemetery with a small group of people to bury her father. I heard my fellow diggers talking and found out that he had died of cancer, leaving behind a huge fortune for her. I had not been interested in their conversation as always because they rarely spoke to me and besides, I couldn't speak anyway. I had lost my voice for some mysterious reason that I don't know of and can't remember where and when either.
I had almost finished digging a fresh grave besides one of the many trees spread throughout the graveyard. I stopped digging, threw the shovel above the grave, climbed up and walked towards the nearest tree to cover myself from the rain when I saw the group with the coffin, led by her. And that's when she caught my eye. She looked so beautiful, the rain drops streaming down her innocent face mixed with tears. Her pale blue eyes shimmering like two miniature stars. She stood there as the priest read the last rites (I didn't remember the word for it then and I didn't care) or whatever it was. She was weeping silently, her chest heaving up and down as she struggled for breath in the heavy downpour. She was the most beautiful being I had ever seen in my life or whatever I could recall of it. As I kept looking at her, suddenly I felt something move inside my chest. I didn't want the rain to stop anymore. If it did, I would have to go back to digging and I wouldn't be able to see her magical face anymore. I hadn't felt longing for quite some time now. And I was surprised at the emotion that took over my mind and heart. It seemed like such an alien feeling. She wasn't holding an umbrella like the others surrounding her, which showed how much she seemed to have lost contact with the world around her. The rain didn't bother her. And I suspected for a moment that she wasn't even aware that she wasn't alone. The rain got heavier and slowly, one by one, the people around her started to walk away. She was left standing alone, drenched and shivering, still weeping. I wanted her to smile. For some strange reason, I thought that if she smiled just once, then I would get my old life back and she would somehow, miraculously forget all her sorrows and beckon me towards her and ask me to touch her. I wondered how it would feel to touch her creamy velvet skin. I felt that she wouldn't even bat an eyelid if I did that right then. Such was the intensity of her grief. In fact it was so powerful that I saw something that I had never thought possible. Slowly – one by one, the dead rose up from their graves and walked towards her (And that's not the impossible part. It was a familiar site for me to see the undead. It's what happened next). Slowly, they formed a circle around her and started crying along with her, sharing her grief. I saw them every time a new body was brought here to be buried. But I had never seen them crying or mourning before. The sight scared me somehow. All I had ever seen them doing was laugh and howl and celebrate the new arrivals with malicious, unearthly grins. Some strange part of my mind was beginning to think that they weren't their usual self that day because they too were mesmerized to see such a beautiful creature of nature suffer from such intense pain and sorrow. I smiled at the thought - Beauty that could move the dead. Then I laughed. I was scared at the same time. The whole scenario somehow felt as if a universal rule had been disrupted. Shivering, I shut my eyes tightly and lowered my head. When I looked up, the undead had vanished. As they always did - suddenly. She was alone again. As I kept watching her, the heavy rain turned into a soft drizzle. I don't know how long we stood there, her and I. At some point, she took a hand kerchief out of her purse, wiped her tears, and started walking away towards the enormous gate. As I watched her go, I felt a strong feeling of an irreparable loss. As if something inside me had died a little. As if someone had taken my most precious possession away from me. I had been devoid of emotions for a long time now. I had never thought I would feel again till that fateful day. But there I was, hoping for some miracle to happen and bring her back to me, to the God forsaken place that was my home. Not all of them come back here you see. I had rarely seen the same people come back to visit their loved ones who now rested (well, at least a few of them) in peace six feet under. But for some reason, I was sure she would be back. There was something different about her. Something that I couldn't explain, for I lacked imagination then.
Now I know what it was. She was bound. Bound by the love that she felt for her beloved father, the love that was the very essence of her existence that couldn't let her stay away from him even though he was dead. As I watched her go, I walked towards the grave to finish my job,
unaware of where I was stepping, my eyes still fixed on her, I tripped on the shovel and fell into the very grave I had dug some time ago. My head hit the ground and I felt a terrible jolt of pain run through my whole body and everything went black.
She was back the next day and the day after that. Kept coming for a few more weeks. Then one day, she didn't show up. I don't know what happened to her. Maybe she had moved to another place or maybe she had died of the sorrow that she so strongly felt for her father. The latter seems more of a possibility to me. But I don't really know. I waited for several days. I don't know how many. I have lost track of time. Time didn't matter to me when I was alive, and it doesn't matter to me now. I don't know if she will come, but I wait nonetheless. I have plenty of time now as I don't have much to do. I join the others in the celebration of the new arrivals sometimes. Mostly, I keep to myself. Sometimes they stare at me with their damned hollow eyes, as if to accuse me of the love that I still feel for her. Maybe they think that I have no right to feel love now that I am (un)dead. Which is ironic, considering the show they put up when she had come to bury her father. But well, I haven't seen them do it since. So…
Besides, I can experience a lot more emotions than I did when I was alive. Because I can partially feel now. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I smile at the memory of her magical face. Sometimes I think about the life I had before I started digging graves. I can now recall some of it. I have vague memories about a beautiful woman and children. About friends laughing and drinking with me. Something about a fire that destroyed my home. I remember a lot of people shouting my name on the day my house burned down. Speaking of names, it just occurred to me that I don't know what her name is. Figuring out what it could be gives me something to daydream about and makes me feel oddly good inside.
My fellow diggers come to visit me sometimes. They stand by my grave and talk about me. About what a miserable loner I was. I laugh at their jokes, grieve at their misfortunes. I don't mind them as long as they lend me some company. I am very lonely. The one whom I wait for has still not come. I know she will be back someday. When I look up at the skies in the night, I see pale blue miniature stars that remind me of her shimmering eyes.
I suffer and I wait. But I don't feel desperation anymore. That's one of the advantages of not being alive. You feel, yet you don't really feel. You will know what I am talking about someday. We all die. One day, you will too. When you do, you'll feel things you have never felt before. I am glad to be one of the undead. I can suffer without feeling pain. What more can a being wish for? Well, that's enough for today. I have to wait now. She might be here any moment. If not, I can always wait longer. Time doesn't matter to me...
- Mayur B. Thakkar
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