Lacey sighed with relief as she maneuvered her truck through the narrow cemetery gates. Feeling the stress of the day begin to lift as she passed beneath the weight iron gates. She had been coming here for years, the peaceful graveyard with it's towering headstones and stately crypts never failing to bring her peace. She enjoyed the quiet of the place. The silent grandeur and rotting oplulance.
She found a quiet spot, pulling her truck over to the side so any other vehicles could squeeze past if they needed to. Pulling her bag over one shoulder she exited her truck and started off through the gravestones. Weaving her way through the willow trees and skirting crooked grave markers. Finding her spot beneath a towering oak tree she unzipped her bag and spread out a well worn quilt on the ground. Flopping down with a sigh of contentment she pulled her sketchbook from her bag and a small box of colored pencils and charcoal. She began to draw, aimless strokes that had no rhyme or reason.
Letting her mind go blank she moved the charcoal pencil, moving it as if by magic. When she paused to shade, she realized she had doodled a rather good portrait of a horse and rider. The lines of the muscles in the horses neck and flanks were quivering and full of motion, his eyes wide and ears pricked forward. The rider sat erect in the saddle his face in shadow, a pistol drawn and raised to fire.
Lacey flipped the page and began again, this time a rough sketch of a woman holding the hand of a small child appeared. Their clothing was odd, the woman's high necked gown and long skirts a tribute to days long gone by.
This is why she came, the inspiration. The absolute quiet and peace that seemed to envelope her. Noticing the setting sun she began to pack up. The chill of the approaching fall night seeping into her bones and causing her to shiver. She picked her way across the uneven ground, occasionally steadying herself on a smooth marble headstone. Each time a shiver of awareness prickled across her neck, she kept looking over her shoulder, expecting to see a caretaker or another visitor watching her. Instead she was alone. The fall leaves skittering across the pavement the only sound.
Reaching her truck she fumbled for the door handle and the keyboard beneath it. She typed in her four digit pass code. Nothing happened. Her hands beginning to shake she typed it in again. Nothing.
"Shit!" Lacey cursed as she cupped her hands against the window spying her cellphone on the armrest. "The battery must be dead."
She moved to the rear of the truck dropping the tailgate she scrambled up and sat, prepared to wait for the caretaker to come along to shoo her out. She'd have to pay for a tow truck if they didn't have jumper cables. The wind howled, blowing her long red hair back from her face. Lacey shivered as the wind cut through her light sweater. "Okay," she said lightly, "any minute now the caretaker will come around." So she waited, and waited some more. She ended up alternatively sitting on her hands and blowing into them as the sun sank and the moon rose. No one was coming, the gates had long since been locked and she had no choice but to spend the night in the sprawling graveyard. The thought didn't immediately distress her, but the cold definitely did. She briefly considered trying to make her way to the main entrance and shouting for help as people walked or drove by. Unfortunately it was at least a two mile walk through twisting and confusing pathways that crisscrossed and doubled back upon each other like a tangled ball of yarn. Despite her frequent visits, she often got turned around, driving in circles before getting back to the entrance. She definitely did not want to chance getting lost on foot in the dark.
She couldn't stay by the truck either, the wind was whipping at her unmercifully and she was already shivering violently. "Of all the rotten luck." Lacey muttered as she hopped from the tailgate. The sting in her feet as they hit the freezing concrete causing her to let out a cry of pain. She wrapped her picnic quilt around her shoulders like a cape and followed the dim moonlit path towards the mausoleums that were built into the hillside. If she could get into one of them it would at least provide a windbreak. "Could it get any worse?" She asked to nobody in particular.
Just then large fat drops of icy rain began to fall. "Apparently it can." She used her sketchbook to protect her head and broke into a half-hearted jog. Reaching the first tomb she pulled on the door, locked. She tries the next, and the one after that. All were locked tight.
Finally she pulled on one more, mostly out of sheer frustration. When the iron door creaked open she nearly fell on her butt. The long chain that was threaded through the bars allowed the door to open a bit. She could just squeeze in if she turned sideways and shimmied. Once inside, she dusted off her jeans and sweater, leary of what lurked within the raised crypt. Already she was warmer, and the sound of the rain intensified outside. That settled it. She would make herself as comfortable as she could and wait for morning.
Blindly she felt around the small room. Three walls, then the doorway. The double doors creaked in the wind but the crack of light the stained glass and iron doors admitted was welcome. There was a long bench that lay against the far wall, and there Lacey snuggled up in her quilt. The residual smell of her laundry detergent and the out of place, yet comforting odor of old books lulling her into a restless sleep. She used her bag as a pillow and curled up on her side, one hand resting against the stone and the other pulled tight to her body for warmth.
