This is what the Night Brings

In the flickering streetlight, the eerie stillness of the graveyard echoed out. The lights in the cemetery accumulated the mist as it whirled around the ground. The rows of tombstones cast gloomy shades in the midst.

Officer Thomas stood in the third row closest to the chained front gate; the surrounding air had a thick sense of anticipation and dread. The silence was almost deafening. Translucent figures materialized, each carrying the weight of their lives upon their expressions and tortured looks.

Bobby Briggs seemed to float out of the Briggs Family Crypt; his head bent over to his right shoulder. Mrs. Elenore Schmidt appeared amongst several aging rose bushes. Her once elegant evening gown looked sadly out of place and far out of date.

Officer Thomas approached Colonel Jonathon Briggs, who seemed to follow Bobby Briggs out of the crypt. “Colonel, fine evening tonight?” said the officer as a slight wind echoed around the crypts and tombstones.

Colonel Briggs brushed his uniform slightly. “Yes, I understand some more arrived and that they may not have seen the light or the darkness.

Officer Thomas pointed toward the new east garden. “Two were laid to rest in the new east garden this morning.”

Colonel Briggs looked toward the east garden with some interest and a little curiosity. As the two spoke, Margie Sinclair materialized. Her business attire still looked very prim and proper. “Is one of them a lady?” She seemed to glide up above the two men. “I am tired of being the new girl!”

Officer Thomas looked at her, shaking his head. “You’ve only been here for three days.”

Miss Julia Parker moved swiftly around the pushes and tombstones toward the others. “I beg your pardon! I was here for three weeks before another woman appeared, and then she left the next night!”

The Colonel grew tired of nights like these, so much chatter and little said. “Why do we not move on over and find out?”

Bobby Briggs tried to straighten his neck and head up a little, to no avail. Several times before, the newly arrived acted poorly when encountering him. Even Officer Thomas tried to reach for his revolver when they first met.

As the group moved deeper into the cemetery, more apparitions emerged from the shadowy places. The former greasy old talent agent staggered amongst them without a word, followed by the others. Young Master Weaver, the young boy from the old regional children’s ward, rarely spoke despite being there so long. He still grieved for his mother and sisters.

Unexpectedly, Officer Thomas’s path intersected with Master Weaver as they approached a particularly oriental fountain. Their gazes met, and time seemed to stand still for a moment. It was as if they both came from the same neighbourhood. Which, in fact, was the truth, but forty years apart.

The group moved or glided along very close to one another. The new East Gardens was only opened a year ago. It also had a more diverse population that seemed strange to the older residents.

The Colonel stopped near a newer headstone; he cleared his throat loudly. Mattie Simpson seemed to ignore the others. She often said this was all a bad dream and she would wake up anytime soon.

Mattie Simpson’s misty form wandered over from the Eternal Hall of Remembrance. “Well, dear Colonel, what brings you to my neighbourhood?”

The Colonel looked over at his white dress and pale appearance. “I understand we have some new residents that moved in during the day. Have you met any of them yet?”

Though Mattie never grew tired, she liked to yawn as if tired and bored, especially when addressing the officers or government officials who wandered around in the dead of night. “Yes, three came in, though one appeared to not be with us at all.” She pointed over to the large, aging stone angel. She looked over at the others. “One seems to be a scary type.”

Officer Thomas began very interestingly. Mattie rarely said anything wrong or too descriptive about anyone. “Scary?” he muttered.

Mattie got an anxious expression. She looked all around. “I feel him,” she said as she fumbled with her hands, one drifting through the other. “I am going!” A second later, she was gone.

The others moved forward slightly. They all slowly felt the eeriness of his approach, those they had not seen him yet. Master Weaver turned, passing through Julia Parker, something everyone tried to avoid happening. A moment later, he was seen moving quickly back to his own row.

The others form a protective circle, creating a sense of camaraderie. Officer Thomas and the Colonel took center stage. “Damn it,” said the officer. “I hate it when we have to teach the new ones a few lessons of mutual respect and courtesy.”

A dark figure appeared closer to them. A freezing wind seemed to echo his presence, creating a sense of dread in most others. Colonel Briggs clapped. “Very good for a newbie. But stop the theatrics; we all need to get along!”

A middle-aged white male wearing a jean jacket and old black trousers appeared before them. Several marks of death were very visible. “Yha, right, I never play nice.” He spoke in a deep, uneven tone. “I ain’t stupid, you know. So this is death. It does not seem so bad. Better than another thirty years talking to morons and screws in some penitentiary.

Underneath the moon's solemn gaze, the ghosts found a sense of camaraderie in their shared plight. Once a place of solitude, the graveyard became a meeting ground for these timeless echoes of the past. And as the night wore on, their conversations wove a tapestry of emotions that transcended death itself—a testament to the enduring power of the human spirit, even in the face of eternity.

Authors Notes

This is the first chapter of "This is What the Night Brings." A novel about the good, the evil and everything else that can be found in the darkness of a chilly night.

Please, if you enjoyed it, consider following my writing.

Thank you for reading;

Bruce Curle