At first, I sped away without any destination in mind, my only desire was to get far out of danger's reach. However, just as with waking from a bout of sleep paralysis, the initial shock wore off quickly and I was returned to a normal state. Well, other than the fact I remained a bit thrown off to have seen the creature whilst conscious, which had to be something do with Ames.
Trying to blame what I had witnessed on lack of sleep or a bad hit or whatever else was futile and there was no other logical explanation. Running to the doctor here wouldn't help either. During my days in rehab and therapy, I had questioned having some sort of psychotic disorder such as schizophrenia.
It seemed plausible to me that everything would have felt as real as it had if I was hallucinating. Nevertheless, I was assured that delusion needn't be a product of psychosis and that in my case, any confused behavior was thanks to my history of substance abuse. All of this made sense after sobriety resulted in a loss of fantastic events.
But I wasn't using, I wasn't experiencing increased stress levels, and schizophrenia wasn't something I was going to suddenly develop. The only rational conclusion was that I had been wrong in doubting any supernatural occurrences altogether. True, I may have been overreaching as to the extent of what happened to me in the past; delusions of grandeur or wishful thinking amidst my life in the gutter. Regardless, these things were real to some degree.
Slowing the car and pulling off the side of the barren street, I began feeling guilty for running away. What if Ames was in trouble? She clearly hadn't caught on that the shadow person had jumped from its cage. Speaking of which...had that been my fault?
I had thought she had accidentally loosened her hold on it or whatever. She didn't really elaborate on the actual trapping part. But what if I had been the one to do it? Wouldn't be my first time screwing up where spirits were concerned.
A morose grin found my lips. Despite it all, I had always fervently believed that it was my introduction of Tyler to these matters that had led to his undoing. Part of me had never doubted that I had allowed him to lose his soul, his body dying because of its detachment. I guess that same part of me had also been scared to consider returning to said practices.
This revelation brought with it a new sense of despair: what if I had left his soul in torment, some sort of limbo, because I had abandoned my beliefs and not ever gone after him? My stomach fell and my heart began pounding. It was the familiar start of an anxiety attack. Hands leaping for the glove department, I found the pack of cigarettes therein.
I had been trying to switch to vaping, but unfortunately my brain couldn't seem to give up the taste of smoke or the comforting smell of tobacco burning. I quickly lit up and started taking heavy drags until the paper between my fingers was too short to hold, then I started a new one.
Three cancer sticks and a hundred silent repetitions of 'everything is alright' later, I felt the panic easing and finally did away with the habit for the time being. Lifting my gaze to my surroundings, I realized that I had somehow managed to find a graveyard. Surprisingly enough, it appeared more alive than the rest of the town; almost like a park.
Green trees lined the distance with healthy grass from there to the lane where I was parked. Ames had mentioned her father's funeral so surely this was where he had been buried. I knew that a lot of old towns actually had numerous cemeteries, mostly due to being historic markers from the civil war or other similar eras.
However, it didn't appear that Daytonsville was one such place; neither did it seem to have ever been populated enough to warrant more than one or two burial sites. Eyes trained on rows of white and grey markers, I carefully popped the door open and slipped out.
I could barely see the buildings I had left with a glance backward. Coincidence that I ended up here, perhaps thanks to it being on the outskirts of the small town? Or some more divine reason? It didn't matter. I'd probably have headed this direction once I'd had a moment to come up with a plan anyway.
I kept my vision downward as I walked, making certain not to step on the sod covering the graves. During my research many years ago, I had been told rather than set foot directly where bodies lay, to only travel in straight lines between.
It was supposed to show respect to the spirits' resting place and therefore offer protection of your own, which made sense. There were both foot markers and traditional headstones and even a handful of ornate statues, mostly angels.
I scanned the names as I went, catching some of the dates as well. Nothing stood out until I was about fifty spaces in and getting close to the trees. A sudden breeze caused me to squint and turn my head from its path where my brain became drawn toward a particularly shabby tombstone a few paces off.
Still obliging the rules of travel, I made it over and stopped to study. Lloyd McGraff 1953-1983 was all that was engraved on the plain ocular marker, but it wasn't the last sign of attention it had been given. It seemed that, amidst the strangely well-kept yard, McGraff had been both neglected by staff and visited by vandals.
Countless chips, including a massive block of the corner that nearly took the first name with it, discoloration, and even what looked like a dried out wad of gum decorated the placard. Also, there was a terribly unpleasant scent in the vicinity that involved piss and alcohol, if I wasn't mistaken. Just as a grimace reached my expression, so did a new sound reach my ears.
Spinning around to determine the source of the distant voice, I was met with the same call from where I had previously been facing. Instead of turning again, however, I simply took in a deep breath and closed my eyes. The wind picked up. I could feel it slithering past my body, shuffling my clothes. Vaguely, the noise of a car driving, soon accompanied by a child's laughter somewhere nearby.
Mark...
Although the clarity with which my name had been whispered was startling, I forced myself not to react. Instead, I kept my eyes shut and continued listening. There was no chance of me figuring out the truth of my past if I didn't remain calm and act only with rationale.
The air circled with an abrupt exhilaration, bringing with it a chill most unusual for the region's summer weather. It was a rush I recognized from former spiritual encounters and I could feel the energy within me becoming elated, almost like it was begging to leave this flesh it was trapped in.
My eyes shot open and I found my chest heaving as the fear of what I was doing overtook me. It had been so long since I considered a return to any paranormal belief...even greater was the time I had gone without practice. As I stood in the cemetery, hazy, unfocused vision resting on the serial killer's grave, I tried to make slow, deliberate breaths.
Trepidation was stronger, yet I also felt a certain amount of relief. I hadn't expected it, but everything was exactly the same. Blocking my sight in order to dull my physical senses and feel the unseen around me had instantly brought with it awareness of greater things in all my surroundings.
It was as powerful as it had been in the past. Furthermore, I could feel myself easily slipping into the beginnings of astral projection, should I have chosen to pursue it. At last regaining some semblance of control, I turned and gazed across the graveyard. There were no new visitors and only one vehicle nearby: mine.
I settled my vision more directly at the stones, allowing my eyes to pick up minor details and hoping that something would prick my focus. When I had finished searching to no avail, I rotated once again and stared at the trees behind me.
It wasn't quite a voice, but what I did hear seemed to be speaking to me. There was enough space between the trunks I had been staring at to walk through and I felt called to do so. Cautiously navigating around McGraff's grave to avoid making contact with the one absolutely known evil spirit, I crunched my way over a few twigs to the opposite side of that perimeter.
"Oh shit," the curse left my lips upon the revelation of hundreds of more plots past the natural barrier.
None of these people had more than simple, identical tombstones. It was as if nobody had been there to care about making sure they were laid to rest with pretty markers or comforting words. It almost looked like a mass burial. One, two...yeah, there had to be at least two hundred people buried there.
My feet began mindlessly carrying me further in until I caught the sight of a building out to the side. Shifting my attention, I quickly judged that there were in fact a pair of buildings. One was constructed of the metal typical to car shops and the other looked like an old house.
The residence was a wooden two-story with white paint chipping and flaking off down its entire length. The porch was small and ascended by ten or so concrete steps that appeared to be a replacement for its former planks. I put a foot forward, having decided to check the place out.
However, the soft sink into wet soil beneath me caused pause and I found myself gandering at a marble block I hadn't noticed before. It was a beautiful marker with a symbol akin to a cave drawing of a hammer with an x through the center. Offhand, I didn't know its meaning, but it was abundantly clear it was some manner of rune.
"Maggie McGraff, honored mother and friend. She loved too well. 1955-1990," I read aloud.
1991, the end of an eight year horror...
Ames hadn't told me her mother was dead. Actually, she didn't mention the woman at all except to say she lived with her. Had Lloyd killed her as well? Ninety-one... It was possible she was the last victim before the case was officially closed. Suddenly, the urge to hit my head against a wall came as I realized a few basic questions I had failed to ask in the midst of my social anxiety.
The biggest one that bothered me was 'How did this malicious ghost finally meet his end?' It wasn't like I could just walk back up to North Terrace and expect her to entertain me again. Well, I suppose I technically could, but not only would it be rude, it'd be extremely awkward and I didn't know if I could handle that right now.
My mind flitted back to the coffee cup she had loaned me. I would just have to come back at a later date when it wouldn't be weird. With that concluded, I set my sight on the odd structure in the distance and continued my trek. The closer I got, the colder the air seemed to become.
Initially, my brain concocted the scenario that something ill-fated was about to transpire; perhaps an accident or some sort of ambush from the unsettled spirits buried here. I had to fight away the thought and purposely reach for an explanation more sane.
It wasn't until after noon that I had made it to town. I had neglected to keep an eye on the time so it was quite possible that the hours had passed quicker than I was aware. In which case, the weather might have started to shift into that of a cooler evening.
Even so, each moment brought with it that unsettling inkling of matters more sinister. This unshakable feeling had me glancing over my shoulder frequently, expecting someone to have appeared. Nonetheless, my vision remained empty outside of the graveyard.
It caused me to question what exactly this place was all the way out here by itself. If there was indeed something greater to be read into this chill vibrating my body, then what about the building spawned it? Did anyone live there or had it been abandoned like so much of the rest of Daytonsville?
And why would it be in such a grim setting? Maybe it was a funeral parlor or... These inner ramblings were cut short when I stopped dead in front of those cheap stone steps. My gaze hovered around the railing, the front window, and finally the door, where I noticed a small placard. Hale Funeral Home. Huh. Well, I called that one. I guess that makes sense though.
Arm shaking, I leaned toward the bar and took firm hold of it to help me carefully climb the stairs. The wood creaked and wavered underneath my grasp. I should have placed better trust in the solid steps than the crikkity banister. Nevertheless, I made it into the porch and approached the entrance without incident, immediately lifting a fist to knock.