St. Joseph's Cemetery

Three

My jeans and the palms of my hands had mud smudged on them. My chest and lungs felt heavy and the air coming out of them was sporadic. As for my heart, its strings were wrapped around my lungs and tangled amongst each other, each of its beats making it harder to breathe.

I felt the familiar, ominous presence; chills crawled up my back and down my arms and the hairs on my neck stood up straight. He was here. No words needed to be exchanged for me to know he was here, nor for him to understand the situation. He swept away my cigarettes which were scattered on the ground and sat beside where I was on my hands and knees in the grass.

He and I had become something like friends over the past few months since the unfortunate death of my dear friend, Ed. And now here I was, only months after one death, mourning another. The grave in front of me, decorated with a dozen roses on top of it, read "Madeline Tamer. Wonderful daughter, reliable sister, loving wife."

Silence surrounded the two of us, a comfortable silence. This was normal, us sitting in silence together. Grim never spoke to me. Sometimes, I would ask him a question and he would nod or shake his head to answer it, but that was it.

"I-I better get going." I lifted myself onto my feet, knees trembling and threatening to give out. But when I turned around to walk away, I was stopped by something wrapping around my arm. It was cold like ice, yet oddly soft. Turning back around, I saw Grim. He had his fingers wrapped so tightly around my forearm, silently telling me he didn't want to be alone. "Do... Do you wanna come with me?"

At this moment, the world was silent. All I could focus on were the scars decorating his paper-white arm. In this scorching Summer weather, even the gothic-appearing Grim had turned in his jeans and hoodie in favor of a black t-shirt and dark grey cargo shorts. Some people in town have mentioned to me that in past years much hotter than this one, he had never dressed this way.

Thin streaks of slightly discolored skin with the pattern of lines on a sheet of notebook paper. These scars almost went all the way to the inside of his elbow, stopping just short. Without a hood to hide everything except his face, a deep red scar around his throat was also visible. His dark eyes locked with mine. He nodded.

So this is how I ended up walking home with him. I had every eye in town fixated on me, yet the mouths of their owners never uttered a word.

Everyone in town knew of Grim. They all knew what he did, but none could tell you where he came from, nor where he goes when he leaves. Many have tried to talk to him, to ask for his name, to follow him, but all who tried to start conversations were shunned and those who tried to follow him home lost him when he would suddenly take off into the woods. Every town has its quirks and its mysteries, and Grim was ours. The biggest mystery of all is why he chose me to befriend, of all people.

Couples and families came outside to stand on their porches to watch the incredible phenomenon in front of their eyes. The gothic child walking beside me seemed unbothered by our audience.

When I opened my front door, I almost expected to hear her voice. I expected her to come in from the kitchen or our bedroom and greet me with a smile and a peck on the lips, but instead, I was greeted with cold silence. Still, I listened carefully, just in case she simply had the radio on and couldn't hear me. I waited quietly, listening for her voice, waiting to hear her singing along to one of her favorite songs. But still, I heard nothing. No singing from the kitchen, accompanied by running water from the sink. No laughter of the woman whose smile could brighten the darkest cavern. Only the low buzz of my air conditioner.

Then, in the silence, a soft voice spoke. It was nothing more than a whisper, but it caught me off guard. "Isaac."

I turned my head toward Grim, who was looking up at me. His dark eyes had softened and were glistening in the light of my living room. The only way I can describe the look he gave me is that of a child who had just been told a big secret, or one who had a secret to share.