Estimated reading time — 13 minutes

Johnathan woke up in a daze to find himself all alone. The alone part was normal. The alone part wasn’t strange. What was strange was that he woke up in a graveyard.

“What the fuck…”

Johnathan pushed himself, sitting upwards, onto the wet earth beneath him. As he leaned back slightly, he felt his back press against something hard and cold. He went to turn around, stopping mid-turn, to close his eyes tightly. Why was he so dizzy? And why did he have such a mind splitting headache? He reluctantly opened his eyes to peer at the mass erected behind him.

Doris McCloud1943-1995

Beloved Wife, Mother, and Grandmother

You Will Be Missed

Who in the hell was Doris McCloud, and why was he waking up on top of her grave? What was he doing here in the middle of the night anyway? He resigned himself, supposing it was no matter in the grand scheme of things, for it was insanely foggy, making it difficult to see a few yards past his own face. All Johnathan could think about now was getting the hell out of this place. He used the headstone as leverage to pull himself to his feet, and tried to steady himself, which proved to be rather challenging. He stood there for a moment to gather his awareness then turned around to start walking.

The town Johnathan lived in was small, nothing but a speck on the map on the way to greater places. In the old days the town was known for being quite nice, and harbored a decent population. But like with most Midwest towns such as this, industrialization in the nearby cities brought on bigger and better opportunities, thus the ‘mom and pop’ ran businesses just couldn’t compete. Therefore, when little Bobby and Susie move away for college, they often don’t come back, after having their first real taste of the outside world. Some folks stay though, the lifers, breathing the last ragged breaths into the town, determined to not let it rust and die like the rest of small-town America.

During one of the many poor attempts of revitalization to spruce everything up, the town decided about fifteen years ago it needed a new cemetery. The old church’s graveyard was run down and the church itself dilapidated, and served only as a constant dreary reminder of all who had come to pass and were forgotten, rather than being a place to honor loved ones long gone. Most headstones were nothing but rubble now, mostly moss covered with etchings of names that at this point were totally undecipherable. The grass was dead on nearly every square inch of the place, and where it did grow it was nothing but tall weeds left unattended. The supposed ‘hallowed ground’ was horribly uneven from the Earth shifting over time, which always seemed to go unnoticed by most who visited- that is, until their face met the ground after losing their step. But, what it lacked in modern day niceties of your more average present-day cemeteries, it made up for in sheer size. It was the second-largest graveyard in the United States. It stretched further than you could see when at dead center, in every direction possible. And at the center of this graveyard was its landmark, the church.

It was a small wooden building, with nothing fancy about it, neither when it was first built, nor now. A forgotten place built by the bygone Protestant farmers and their families who claimed the land long ago, who needed a place to worship, and grounds to lay their dead to rest. Even prior to the “newer” cemetery being built, the old church was hardly, if ever, used anymore for funerals, leaving many to be buried in other nearby towns or left on someone’s mantle after cremation. Some of this was due to the church’s lack of air conditioning in the summer, heat during the winter, zero wiring for electricity, and an aging roof. It had now remained abandoned for years, not even worth taxpayer money to tear down. This made it a large target for vandalism, from young teens and adults looking for a place to break shit and hang out and smoke pot, but also not wanting to do any major damage to anything that might actually get them into any real trouble. What others would also tell you that was a reason this ancient house of worship sat empty and untouched, was the foreboding unease that spread all over your body, inside and out, that drove all mourners away. There was no sense of peace brought in funeral proceedings there.

Johnathan had only gone to a funeral there once, so many years ago it was hard to remember every detail. His parents tried their damnedest for months when his grandmother got sick to convince her to be buried in the new, nicer cemetery that was just built- that is, when her time came. Their efforts were all in vain of course, for she refused each time, simply saying it was a part of the town’s history, quite like herself in her old age, and wished to be buried there. Johnathan remembered being in his father’s arms, a tall man he was, holding him over his grandmother in her casket. And instead of feeling feelings of fear or sadness, all young Johnathan could focus on was how grandma didn’t look like grandma anymore. She was sunken and waxy, her lips pursed together in a way that defied her cheerful disposition she always seemed to have when she was alive. Her cheeks looked hollow, sunken in, with a horrid bright pink blush in two perfect circles on her high cheekbones. Her hair in tightly curled wisps on top of her head, barely covering the empty spaces that began to appear not long before she passed. She now didn’t smell like grandma either, but something much more.. chemical. His parents explained to him that she had “gone to a better place”, and that he wouldn’t be visiting grandma anymore, but that even though she was gone for now, he would see her again one day.

If that was true, little Johnathan only hoped she didn’t look the way she did when he saw her last.

Judging from the crumbling stones that marked his path, and the endless sea of headstones, it was pretty obvious that even with the dense fog, where Johnathan had found himself. But why was he here in the first place? What could even be a reasonable explanation? He stopped for a moment to examine himself. No holes or tears in any of his clothes. Did he have his wallet? Thinking perhaps for a second he could be a victim of being drugged and robbed, he reached into his back pocket to find his wallet. He pulled out and thoroughly inspected his bi-fold of its contents, only to find everything still in its place- debit card, license, and a whole three dollars.

“Alright, I guess that answers that”, Johnathan said to himself, still unsure.

He decided to pat himself down, touching his face and then lifting his jean legs and jacket sleeves to see if there was any evidence that he got the shit kicked out of him. And once again, nothing, aside from the pounding headache and the dizziness which had begun to slowly fade out.

“Maybe I got drunk?”, he thought to himself, but dismissed the notion almost immediately. He had not been drunk since he was a freshman in college, and it was the first and the last time.

It must have been early morning. Early, early; before the sun was up, but you could tell it wouldn’t be long. The moon was still a huge guiding beacon that loomed in the nearly starless sky. It had been a warm fall, warmer than most, but this particular morning was frigid cold. His lightweight hoodie wasn’t doing much, but it was all he had, so he threw up his hood and zipped up his jacket all the way and pressed on.

He could just now begin to see the outline of the church in the distance, which must have meant he had woken up on the farthest end of the graveyard from the small dirt-and-gravel road that lead to the exit to the main road. Which also meant he had a long way to go before he would reach said main road, that of which would eventually lead him back to town, and back home to his dinky, little apartment. Even if Johnathan had a cell phone, which he didn’t, it wouldn’t have mattered. Regardless that the cell tower was not even five miles away from the entrance to the graveyard, that was another eerily questionable quirk of this place. As soon as you were on its grounds, nothing worked. Cell phones, radios, hell even cars and lawnmowers would sometimes be known to sputter and act up. You couldn’t even trust a standard compass in this place without its arrow spinning aimlessly around trying to find its own sense of direction. Besides, it’s not like Johnathan had anyone reliable to call even if he could. His roommate was useless with a suspended license and no car. As far as his parents go… Both of them were side by side in the shiny “new” cemetery all the way across town, and had been since he dropped out of college. They wouldn’t be of any help.

Suddenly feeling the exhaustion that followed the determination he initially felt, he looked ahead to see how much further he had. He was almost to the church, which was more than likely not locked up, and almost one hundred percent likely not occupied, so he decided he might as well take a break there since he would have a while before his trek across the graveyard would come to an end.

There were very few trees here, unlike the other cemetery, which had beautiful natural oaks and planted shrubbery lining the walking paths- seeming as though if it were a more pleasant place to behold, you would feel a whole lot better about being there and being dead. No, the trees here were scarce, with some dead, some half alive and twisted in shape, with all the leaves now gone from the change of weather as well as the trees’ inability to grow very many in the first place. With what seemed like only a couple hundred feet left to go, Johnathan immediately fell short.

What was that noise?

It was a soft rustling sound, almost undetectable, but there was something definitely there with him, and more specifically, behind him. To be sure his mind wasn’t playing some trick on him, he continued walking, upping his pace slightly but trying to walk more carefully as to hear his surroundings better. He got about a couple good strides in, thinking perhaps maybe he really was just hearing things, but there it was again. Like a whisper of feet across the ground, but now with the hastened pace that mirrored Johnathan’s. He had no protection on him, his fighting skills were laughable, but he could fake courage like no other.

He spun around quickly on his heels and said firmly,

“Who the fuck is following me?”

Nothing. There was nothing, no birds, no person, or terror in the night. Johnathan was still, all alone. He truly must be losing it, or maybe he really was drugged up and left there. Maybe that was it. But even if that were the case, what would someone even want with him to begin with? He was just some broke, college drop out still living in his hometown working at the local pizza shop. He wasn’t injured, he still had his wallet and everything in it, so all in all he was technically in decent shape. But the thought of him losing his shit worried him more than being the prospect of some sort of foul play.

More annoyed now than afraid, he turned back around, shoving his hands in his pockets, and continued towards the church, keeping a constant steady stride, and his ears wide open.

The closer he got, the more he realized what an eyesore this place really was. Maybe when it was first built who knows how long ago it was quaint and pleasant, but now there was nothing pleasant left about it. All the windows were partially-busted out, the white paint all but chipped away and faded. The cross on the steeple high above was half broken, barely hanging on, while hanging upside down. The steps leading up to the double doors were completely gone, leaving a rather large drop off between the doors and the ground below. Reaching up on his tiptoes, Johnathan was barely able to turn the doorknob, but successfully got it to open. He pulled himself up, then pushed himself up off the dusty floor and got a good look inside.

It didn’t take but a glance to see the inside too left little to be desired, much like its exterior. The entire place was heavy with a moldy, mildew smell in the air, with cobwebs and dust on every literal inch of the shitty space.

“Looks like it’s been a while since anyone has been in here,” Johnathan said under his breath as he shut the door behind him.

The church in its entirety was rather small in size, with only three windows on the side walls and only six pews on each side, a plain wooden pulpit was at the front and center, and that was it. No piano left behind. No place for a gathering choir. Certainly no bathrooms. Just a small, almost barren room for the people of God.

But Johnathan got the feeling God wasn’t in this place.

As he made his way up the aisle towards the front of the church, he realized he couldn’t hear much of anything, outside the faint sound of his own slow breaths and the steady tempo of his heart thumping in his chest. Obviously it was quiet outside, being it was an all but abandoned church graveyard in the early morning, but he could hardly even hear his own footsteps on the rickety wooden floor beneath him as he made his way toward the front. Every sound he made seemed to be muted. As he came to a stop the front of the church when he saw something on the ground behind the pulpit. He thought perhaps it was a some trash left behind by the stoners or goths that enjoyed hanging around places like this, but it came to his attention it wasn’t trash at all: it was a crucifix. And although Johnathan wasn’t religious, he didn’t think it would be proper or good karma to leave it on the ground.

The moment he picked it up he realized something wasn’t right about it. I mean, nothing is right about a man hung on a cross, but this didn’t look like the ones you see in movies. No, this was definitely handmade, crude in all its aspects. The cross itself was hand carved, with Jesus’ waxy looking body horribly emaciated. His hair was a thin, wiry mess, with a crown of not thorns, but barbed wire. But the most disturbing part was the eyes.

“Aren’t the eyes usually shut?” Johnathan thought to himself as he tentatively looked it over.

The grotesque depiction had wide open eyes, full of terror and horribly vacant at the same time. Someone, whoever made this thing, decided to add another grisly detail. Jesus was crying tears of blood. His wrists, ankles, and ribs too made it appear as though this little non-living wax doll had surely bled to death.

Not wanting to hold it any longer, he quickly went to set it on the pulpit and make his way to leave. He wanted nothing more than to be far away from this place, no longer feeling tired as he once did and feeling a buzzing sense of urgency. Right before he set it down his eyes fell upon the pulpit face, where a Bible would lie, and in carved jagged words read,

GOD DOES NOT LIVE IN THE HEART OFMAN

Johnathan suddenly felt sick. Sick and pale with a cold sweat starting at his neck, with his head splitting from the seams. God may not have been there but something else was. Something horrible stood still, facing him head on at the entrance of the church.

He couldn’t speak.

He couldn’t move.

All he could do was stare back. Finally, it moved first, after what felt like years standing there. An awful gasping, guttural noise came from the head as it slowly reached its arm up, pointing directly at Johnathan.

It wasn’t human.

It wasn’t alive.

And yet it began to slowly walk itself closer down the aisle, dragging it’s feet, making a shuffling noise Johnathan recognized as the sound he heard earlier when he was outside on his way to the church. Realizing he was still grasping tightly onto the crucifix, he threw it aside, having to make a quick decision. He ran off to the right, going along the other side of the pews to avoid whatever hellish creature was after him, to try and make it to the church doors.

He twisted the door knobs to only find resistance. Locked! How in the hell were they locked? Did they even have locks? He pulled and pushed and tried to kick the seemingly fragile doors open, but to no avail. He checked behind himself briefly and saw that the creature rolled its head slightly to look back, seeing that Johnathan was now not so far behind it. Johnathan kept trying to get these damn doors to open, and then looked behind himself again to see if the creature had gotten any closer, and it was gone. Gone. He looked around the church and nothing. Almost freezing in time out of shock, he shook himself back into the now and turned around to face the church doors again.

And there it was.

The figure was touching him, its face right in his. It smelled putrid, like the rot of an endless pile of bodies. It grabbed Johnathan’s face and stared into his eyes. It opened its mouth and screamed. It emitted a sound like a dying animal, of pain and torture. It was the face of fear. Johnathan saw all his fears and horror in that face and felt it all in that ear-piercing scream.

Not loosing eye contact with the creature, he reached his hand out to grab the knob to the door behind it. He twisted and pushed again on the door, now unlocked, and out of pure terrified instinct, plunged himself forward with the being, down to the ground below.

Johnathan woke up in a daze to find himself all alone. The alone part was normal. The alone part wasn’t strange. What was strange was that he woke up in a graveyard. What was even more strange was the fact this wasn’t the first time this had happened to him.

“What the fuck is going on?” he asked quietly aloud, a tinge of desperation and exasperation hanging on every syllable.

He went to stand up, but instantly was floored. He was no longer dizzy like he was last time, but now his headache roared unforgivingly inside his skull. Something else was definitely different, or at least felt different. He slowly opened his eyes to look around and realized he was in the same spot as before. But now this spot felt like an entirely too familiar part of the graveyard. Like a distant, hazy dream it all came rushing back. There he was, standing over a six-foot deep hole in the ground. He’s smaller, and his mother has her arm around him while she’s crying, and there’s his dad with a somber, tear-less face next to her. Why was she crying? He looked down and saw the casket at the very bottom on the hole, now remembering who was inside. He looked back at his mother and wanted to tell her it was okay, that she would see her again one day, just like his parents had explained to him not but a day earlier, but his mouth couldn’t form words. He was then brought back to the present and looked around and the scene had changed; he was now older, and his parents were gone, and he was staring at a tombstone in front of him. This one wasn’t as old as the rest, but starting to show some age. The scenery had changed, but this remained the same.

He recognized the name instantly.

Doris McCloud

1943-1995

Beloved Wife, Mother, and Grandmother

You Will Be Missed

He was on top of his grandmother’s grave.How did he not recognize the name before? I mean sure, he called her granny when she was alive, and he couldn’t remember ever hearing anyone use her real name around him. But how could he forget? He crawled closer to the headstone and put his hand over the words. He felt sick and cold, like a giant stone was sitting at the pit of his stomach.

That was when Johnathan realized he was no longer alone.

He heard a rustling behind him, a whispering of feet. Johnathan hung his head and closed his eyes again and wished this nightmare to end. When he lifted his head and opened his eyes he no longer saw the tombstone. He saw a face staring back at him, its eyes locked onto his, its face touching his. The same smell of death and decay filled his nostrils.It grabbed him by the face and screamed.

Johnathan screamed back.

Credit: L. J. Ruggiero