Little Pieces in Search of A Bigger Picture

Lightbringer's Chapel

"There's a wide world out there for those willing to face the darkness."

Indigo Nightshade

31.10.1896 – 31.1o.2016

That's on my Pop-pop's granite headstone. Underneath his name, there's a chiseled keyhole. And yes, he really did live to be 120 years old. He was groundskeeper of an old cemetery, not far from Stow-on-the-Wold. The church that once stood there, The Lightbringer's Chapel, was burned to the ground and reduced to rubble by the locals in the Middle Ages.

When they began to dig up the graves, Conor Nightshade (my 27-great grandfather) shamed them by pointing out that they were on consecrated ground. The tiny town charged him and his descendants with its care and upkeep. Should the family line die out, the land and the fate of the bodies would become property of the township of Tosspot's Pisspot.

It took a few centuries, but eventually the remains of the town found their way into our cemetery. This meant the land was ours. There's always been a Nightshade to care for the place. It was in 1724 that August Nightshade renovated one of the old stone mansions, and it's that house that I've inherited. And the cemetery. Originally, they were to have been my dad's inheritance, but at his advanced age, he's staying in America.

It took me 2 years to get my dual degrees in Paleontology and Anthropology. I discovered within a month or two that finding jobs in either field would take months if not a year or more to obtain. Dad was thrilled when I joined him in his plumbing business. Then there was the Pandemic. Luckily, people always need plumbers! Getting a flight to Great Britain? That took another year.

The grounds had been left in the care of a Peter Ferguson, who died a month after Pop-pop. No one thought to inform us. It was during my clearing away of the briars and thistle and several cartloads of beer cans and liquor bottles that a murder of crows, about 20 in all, perched on some headstones. The largest, whom I'll call Poe, sat the closest. As I opened a bag of grapes during a break, Poe cawed. Needless to say, they fed well, and the bag was emptied.

The next morning, when I opened my door, Poe was waiting for me. He flew away but left at my feet a 6-inch bone key. The bone was more avian than human, but the bird must have been enormous. I looped it into the necklace that held my cross and walked to do more clearing away when I saw Pop-pop's headstone. And the unexplained keyhole etched in it. I don't know why, but I placed the bone key into it, and as I turned it a thin panel appeared and swung open. Inside was a leatherbound tome that said, "Diary of the Fallen," containing stories, notes, names, addresses and some phone numbers.

It's a world of shadows and light, friends. I've been facing the darkness ever since.