Under The Wildflowers | ONC 2024

Chapter 1.

The Mayborne Cemetery was always cold, even on a summer day.

The phenomenon was widely known by the locals, who often whispered of other strange occurrences they would experience while visiting the graveyard.

Shadows passing by the corners of their sight, ghostly whispers that sent chills down their spines, flowers growing overnight at gravesites. Most of it was hearsay of course, since this never stopped them from making it death's abode. Even with the inexplicable, persistent cold that seemed to perpetually permeate the grounds, the cemetery was a growing necropolis.

The sun had begun to set as the crisp autumn breeze coalesced the graveyard's unfailing wintery gust. An eerie orange glow spread across the sky as the sound of rustling leaves frolicked across the gravestones.

The grass had already browned, crunching under Dominic's black and white converses, still suffering from the fervent scorch of the summer sun.

Dominic zipped his puffer coat up as he trudged across the grounds, placing the hood of his black jacket over his ruffled curls before stuffing his hands in his pockets.

It didn't matter that it was the beginning of autumn, the cemetery was cold all year round.

He made his way south of the large oak tree situated in the middle of the yard and its long branches stretched out in welcome, casting dappled shadows on the ground from the remainder of the sun.

The watchful gazes of the stone angels and weathered memorials seemed endless but he had already memorized the path to his parent's resting place.

This was his 10th consecutive day coming here since the funeral. His grandfather, Joel, with whom they had given custody of Dominic, hadn't even stayed until it finished.

Joel Gray was a quiet man. Dominic always had the feeling that he didn't like him very much. The day he moved into his house, all he had said was to try and move on but how could he?

Every time Dominic looked in the mirror he saw his mother's chestnut eyes, brimming with warmth. His father's dark hair, tawny beige skin, and round face completed his reflection, further haunting him with the memory of his parents.

It was as if he had been caught in a loop of reminiscence and sorrow, tortured by the reminders of their loss.

But grief wasn't the only thing that had brought him back here, day after day. No, there was something else fueling his return. Something abnormal and mysterious.

On the first day of his return, the headstone had been defaced and decorated.

Wildflowers of dashing spring colors bloomed on top of the soil, curving and twisting around the headstone. Sunflowers, daisies, poppies, and lupines bold and daring practically sprung up overnight, a stark contrast to the dreary dull of burnt grass carpeting the rest of the grounds.

The deliberate selection and arrangement of these particular wildflowers suggested a thoughtful and intentional gesture. But as everything else browned and wilted with the coming of autumn, their appearance in this drab cemetery was both striking and perplexing.

As if this was not strange enough, written on to the headstone with what seemed like charcoal were the words "I'm sorry".

The first day he had been so angry at the violation, he ripped out the roots of the flowers and flung them aside. Then, he used the sleeves of his hoodie to erase the words, leaving a dark smudge by his mother's name.

After 3 days of this, he decided he wanted to catch the perpetrator. He did not believe the foolish prattle of the Greenville townsfolk. Ghosts were not real and they certainly were not gardeners. Someone was doing this and he wanted to know who and why.