The Other World (Short Horror Stories)

The Night Springs Cemetery

An orange sun lowered steadily into a pit of evergreen teeth, valiantly spilling it’s last light upon the Night Springs Cemetery while it still could. If he had noticed, middle-aged Simon Willis might find himself grateful for this light so he might continue overlooking his mother’s grave in peace. After all, the cemetery was dangerous after dark. Not for any mysterious reason, mind you. The forest outlining Night Springs Cemetery was one of the only places wolf sightings have been reported in all of Pennsylvania.

“You know about the wolves, don’t you?”

Simon jumped at the voice and twisted his body at the intruder with anger. He managed to calm himself as he recognized the kindly-looking old man who approached him as the groundskeeper for the cemetery. His cold annoyance further melted when he saw the old man raising his hands in apologetic surrender.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you like that. I assumed my creaky legs would’ve given me away for a mile.”

The old man laughed and continued to approach, as Simon allowed himself a small grin for the first time all day. For a minute, the groundskeeper stared silently at the grave beside him, in solemn reverence. Despite politely declining similar offers from friends and family, Simon appreciated the man’s company here. The groundskeeper brought a sense of practiced officiality to Simon’s mourning and gave him a reason to stay rooted to the spot. The man even seemed to know the appropriate time to break the silence.

“I dug this grave you know. I dig all the graves around here. It keeps my body younger than I really am.” he said, eyes winking with pride. It was true too. Simon knew the man was well into his eighties at least, because he remembered the site of him as a child. He didn’t seem to have aged much in that time. He looked like he could be just barely approaching sixty.

“I’ve had this job for forty years now. Got it from my father after he died. I must’ve been about the same age as you when it happened. My name’s Jeremy Carter, if you’re wondering what to call me. Plain ‘Carter’ does most people just fine.”

“‘Carter,’” Simon repeated vaguely. “How’d your father pass? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“No, no, it’s fine. He just got tired of living, I s’pose. Probably smoked too much tobacco and buried too many good people.” He changed the subject here. “I didn’t know your mom much–could recognize her from passing in town, but I never knew her name or nothing. I heard she was taken by cancer.”

“Yeah.” Simon’s voice sounded so hollow and he wondered if that’s how it’d always sound from now on.

“A terrible way to go, cancer. Wasting by inches. You’re tired of hearing this, but you have my sympathies all the same.”

Carter was right. The “thanks” that tumbled out of Simon’s mouth was smoothed from overuse. The word felt like an overworked muscle–raw and lifeless–and Simon wanted nothing more than to hide away from all the apologetic well-wishing that demanded response and give the word time to rest until it’s meaning could be salvaged once more.

Simon wanted to talk about his mom to this man. He even managed to push out a forced “She–” before he realized he had no words to follow it and found his throat dry. Somehow, the old man seemed to understand this and brought the subject closer to his mother.

“I know your mother always lived here, so am I right in assuming you grew up in Night Springs too?”

The question offered direction and Simon gratefully seized upon it.

“Yeah, I never knew my dad so I grew up here alone with my mom.” He corrected himself. “Well, not alone you know. There’s the whole town, of course, and I used to know just about everybody here. My mom never had another kid or remarried though so it was always just us two in the house.”