John stirred as the girl's hand relaxed against his tomb. He could almost feel her touch against his cheek, as they were separated only by a bit of mortar and marble. Careful not to disturb her, he willed his spirit to rise up, he had been asleep for so long. It wasn't often he received visitors. Long ago his mother and sister had come regularly, but then they had come less and less. Seeming more tired and grey each time, until finally they had stopped coming. Then one day his mother had been laid to rest nearby, but even now she slept. He felt the familiar tingle of energy as he materialized.
Standing before his tomb, he was quite shocked to find an uncommonly pretty girl stretched out in repose. Her flame red hair spilling softly over the stone. The red, auburn and streaks of gold begging to be touched.
With shaking fingers he reached for an errant strand, concentrating hard he was able to tuck it back behind her ear. Feeling weak from even that small effort he leaned against his great aunt Lucinda's tomb. He felt her spirit stir and mentally cursed his clumsiness.
"Who is it? What's all that noise then?" Her creaky voice reverberated on the marble tomb.
"Shh auntie you'll wake her." John murmured quietly, gesturing to the sleeping girl.
"Grave robbers! We've been invaded! You'll not get my rubies you blackguard!" Aunt Lucinda howled as she clutched at her ruby brooch that lay pinned to her collar.
"Auntie don't make a fuss. It's just a girl, taking shelter from the storm. Nothing more."
Lucinda paused, her rheumy eyes clearing a bit as she squinted at the girl sleeping on her great nephew's tomb. "We haven't had visitors in some time. A relation I suppose?"
John shook his head, "No auntie I don't think so. Her hair is as red as a flame. Nothing like the black Irish of our line."
"I should tidy up, I wasn't expecting guests." Lucinda fretted using her energy to shoo a few stray leaves out the door and into the storm. The effort seemed to tax her and her form became a bit more transparent. The edges of her long dress faded leaving her a legless floating specter.
"She must have been seeking shelter from the storm." He mused, pushing the door a bit wider to peek out into the gale. He no longer felt the icy wind, nor could he smell the soft damp that came with each storm, the earthy scent of wet leaves and moss. Sometimes he missed it, but he knew had he been able to smell his own body rotting in the casket he would have surely gone mad. Not that watching had been much easier, but at least he could choose when to wake and when to fade away into nothingness.
Lucinda tutted softly, "Poor dear is half frozen. Look at her shiver."
Her comment pulled him from his morose musings, and he turned his attention once more to the girl laying atop his tomb. "I could fetch her my coat if you think it would help." He said uncertainly, wrinkling his nose at the thought of shaking his bones from the worn wool coat.
"That's a lovely idea dear." Lucinda yawned. "I'm off for bed then, too much excitement for me." She smoothed her black crinolines as she floated back into her tomb. She of all his relations was the most active, but even still she could sleep for months at a time.
