• Stranger in the Graveyard

    By Dr Diamond G. Saphire 3rd

    Christy huged her self as the cold of the night washed over her. She could feel her tears begin to freeze on her skin, another wave of sobs shook her body. The wind pushed at her, her dress flowed and pressed aginst her, making her shiver. She stumbled as tears filed her eyes again, and her vision blurred. She let them come, she didn't care. The pain burned in her chest. She stumbled down the middle of the street, the cold light from the street-lamps cast dancing shadows upon the road. The water from her eyes sparkled in the diying coronas as she left the main street and made her way through the park. The wind russled the leaves of the trees, spilled the cold night air around her. She didn't know were she was going, but she had to get away. One of her steletto heel's broke and sent her crashing to the ground. She compleatly lost it. She burst into a fit of shreaking sobs and tears poured from her broken heart. She ripped the shoes from her feet and threw them away. Franticly, she got up and started sprinting, weaving through the park. She couldn't tell her way. She didn't know what turns and twists she was taking. She just ran. She had to. She ran for what seemed like hours. She ran till her feet throbed, and her legs couldn't carry her anymore. Her sobbing shook her in spasams. Tears rained onto the ground. She looked to her right and yellped. She could swear she had seen a human shape leaning against a near-by tree.
    The figure was blurred from her crying, but she knew she saw it. A long, lean frame with a spiky mop, and some sort of odd, shield-shaped protrusion over it's left sholder. She despritly rubbed her eyes clear and looked again. Nothing. She wakled in the directon she had seen it, still crying. She made her way through the line of dark trees. Leaves brushed her face, branches scratched her arms and pulled at her dress. The brush grew thicker as she pulled a path through. Roots tangled around her ankles. Her feet were blackened with dirt. Her tears cut tracks through her makeup, and her eyeliner turned them black as well. After what seemed like an eternity, she broke through the line of growth and stumbled out into a huge, open expance. The stars where countless and blinding, with a huge full moon. A thin, cobbled brick path wound it's way from the woods where she had emerged. The stones felt cold under her feet. She could clearly see under the pale light from the cloudless night sky. The path lead to a big iron gate supported by two large brick pillars. A pair of gothic stone gargoyls flanked the gate on eather side, and a tall stone wall, with rustic iron-work ontop, streched off on both directions to disapear into the dark woods. Beyond the gate, she could make out odd shapes in the moonlight, some almost chest high. She walked up to the gate and placed her hand on the handle. The iron chilled her skin and gave her goosebumps. She peared through the bars. A heavy mist covered the ground, spiraling in and out of the odd shapes. Suddenly, she caught movement from the corner of her eye. The shape again. It flashed between two trees just beyond her line of sight. She grasped the handle of the gate and pushed. It swung open with the shreaking groan of metal rubbing metal. She passed through the rusting portal and stood in amazement. Before her streched a seemingly endless graveyard! Large, ornate tombstones streched of as far as she could see. The mist lay heavy and cold, making dew where it fell. Statues of angels, tall monalithes, and above ground mosaleums cast earie shadows across the yard. There were stone huts that lead to underground crypts, and concreat gaziboes dotted the landscape. It was a picture strait out of an old ghost story. But, Christy was more marvled by it than afraid. She walked slowly through the tombstones, holding herself. As she walked, she began to forget what she had come to this place for. He thoughts kept fading back to that awful moment. Walking into the gym. The lights. The music. Her satin violet dress that her mother had made for her. She had dyed it to match Christy's purple and red streaks she had put in her dark hair. Her mother had never complained about her being a goth and her father loved her just as she was. It was society she rebelled against. Her parents were musitions and artists; just as much outcasts as she was. But the kids in school, other parents, and adults. They shunned her, critisised her for being different. For having parents who where different.
    The girls in her school made fun of her pale skin, her multi-colored hair, and her taste in cloathing; mostly black, leather and plaide skirts and tanks with long stockings and high boots. Her friends where all punks and goths like her, but even with them she felt alone. She had move to this plesent neiborhood not long ago when her parents had recived a huge commision to supervise the renovation of the town's historic districts, so she didin't know anyone very well. Then the school she attended anounced the Spring Formal Dance only a few weeks after she arived. She had started hanging with the local goth sceen, and as the dance drew nearer, she abandoned hope of ever getting asked. The girls and boys in her group where all already together, and she had no one. So one could imagine her surprise when a very cute, very popular boy approched her in the hall at school one day and asked if she would be his date for the dance. She was so surprised she almost didn't answer. But, she finaly agreed, and went home to tell her parents. They hugged her. Her dad spent a week mesuring her and scetching designes for her mother to loom, dye and stich together by hand. Meanwhile, her grandmother gave her a pair of her old dimond earings to wear.
    "These will suite you better than all that other bangely nonsense you have in your face all the time," she had said. This made Christy laugh. Her grandmother always proded her about her multiple piercings. She made a joke about having other's she couldn't even see. Her mother and grandmother spent hours fitting her dress, fixing her hair, putting on her makeup and nail polish. She looked beautiful. Her gray eyes shined, her hair was tied and pinned oriental style, and her dress acentuated her lovely figure. Her father dropped her off at the school, kissed her on her forehead. She made her way to the gym, entered the front door, and saw her date chatting with a group of other popular kids. He had his arms around two girls she had seen in the cheerleading squad. She stood confused until he spotted her. Other eyes joined his on her. He gave a small chuckle and walked over to her.
    "Well, I half expected you not to show. And, I gotta say, you freaks clean up pretty well," he said, amusedly. He stood in front of her now.
    "But, I gotta be strait with you. I asked you to this to proove a point," he motioned to his circle of friends, " See them? I bet them that I could charm even a freak like you into doing what I wanted, and you didn't dissapoint."
    Her face held a look of pure loss and confusion.
    "Wha... what?" she gasped.
    "Oh come on. you didn't think I would seriously waste my time on you with all this much hotter snatch runnin around, did you?" he motioned one of the girls over.
    "Hey, don't get me wrong. You dress up well. But I got other ones who look better than you 24/7! However, you did make me 200 bucks richer. So concider this a thank you."
    He pulled out a twenty and stuffed it into her cleavage. She looked back at him, horrified. The other kids began to snicker behind him.
    "Don't spend it all at Hot Topic," he gave her a wink, and the whole room erupted into laughter.
    "Go back to the food court, mall rat!" someone shouted.
    "Yea! Did your mom make that dress?!"
    "No, she stole it off a JC Penny rack!" Everyone roared with laughter. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes. She looked at her supposed freinds. They simply turned away as if they didn't know her. That was when she had turned and fled, tearing through the night to wind up here, in a graveyard chasing shadows.
    She sank to the ground and leaned back against a headstone. She broke down again into a fit of uncontroled sobbing. She wrapped her arms around her knees and put her head down. The tears fell freely. Eventualy they were compleatly spent, and she gave way to dry heaving.
    Suddenly, she heard a sound.
    "There's a moment in time, and it's stuck in my mind. Way back, when we were just kids."
    It was singing. The voice was smooth and powerful. It sounded like it was coming from everywere at once.
    "Caus' your eyes told the tale of an act of betrayal. I knew, that somebody did."
    She recognised the music. It was a hit song by one of her favorite bands, The Offspring. She looked up and serched for the source. she spotted a shadowy figure with spiky hair weaving a path towards her through the tombstones.
    "Oh, waves of time, seem to wash away the sceens of our crimes. For you this never ends."
    As it approched, she could see a shield shaped object over it's left sholder. The singing was getting louder.
    "Can you stay strong? Can you go on? Christy are you doin' ok? A rose that won't bloom. Winters' kept you. Don't waste your whole life trying, to get back what was taken' away."
    As he drew nearer, he let the last note trail off. She could see it was a tall boy. He leaned against a tall headstone opposite from her. He had one hand in the pocket of his dark slacks. He had on a pair of black dress shoes, a white button up shirt, a black leather belt with a siver, ruby eyed skull buckle, and a bright red tie. His hair was as red as a huricane sunrise, and was spikey and unkempt. His eyes wher the same bluish purple as her dress. She saw that the shield shaped object she had noticed was the blade of a shovel. It was as long as he was tall, and it had a black, iron-wood shaft. It sported oddly ornate fittings and desines where the blade was attached, and it had a decorative counter-waight at the opposite end. The blade did not have the characteristic curve in it's neck, but rather, it stuck out strait from the handle. She looked at his hand holding the shovel. It was big, and rough with caluses. His forearm bulged with corded muscle, and he had broad, square sholders. She hoped against hope that his powerful upper-body hadn't come from putting that shovel to regular use. He stood against the headstone, stearing at her as the mist swirled around them.
    "Hey there," he spoke after awhile. His voice was friendly and mid-ranged.
    "Who are you?" she asked.
    "Me?" he acted confused, "I'm just some weird kid hanging out in a creapy graveyard, singing. But who or what I am is not important. What's important is you. So, Christy. Are you doin' ok?"
    She had to take a moment to clear her head befor she spoke again.
    "How do you know my name?"
    "Gravediggers know alot of things." he said. "But, anyone can see that you're upset and you need somebody to listen. So here I am," He twirled the shovel with one hand and spiked it into the ground. He leaned back again and put his thumbs in his belt loops.
    "And I'm all ears."
    She could not belive her eyes. First the crulest prank ever had been used on her, and now a mysterious boy in a graveyard was telling her to pour her heart out to him. And what was stranger, he knew her name, and only God knew how much else. After some thought, she decided stranger things could happen. So she told him everything. All the way from the move to her desperate flight from the school and ending up in the graveyard. All the while he listened intently. When she was finished, he let out a long sigh. He rubbed his forehead with his hand and mumbled something she couldn't under stand. Then he spoke.
    "I wish I had something better to say to you. But the truth is that Tyler Morgan is a royal d**k. And his ignorant enterauge is no different. They will alway's think that anyone without a trust fund and who dosen't buy all their cloths from Eddie Bouier and Anne Taylor is benieath them. Some things can never change, we can oly learn to overcome them."
    He drew closer to her and knelt in front of her. He took her hand in his. His touch was warm and loving. She could feel the strenght in his grasp, and the softness of his touch seemed to warm her heart, making the pain fade away. He brushed her hair from her face and pulled out a hankerchife, which he used to wipe her tears away. She stared into his purple eyes.
    "I'm sorry that had to happen to you. The crualty of teenagers is hard to fathom sometimes. But, now your here, with me wear you belong. And I won't let that happen to you again."
    His words made her feel warm and light as air.
    "Why do you care about me so much?" she asked.
    "I care because I want to. Because nobody deserves that kind of treatment. And no one wants to be alone eather. So, I'm here for you when you need me, and thats all that matters."
    He lifted her to her feet and led her to an open space in front of a mosulieum. He steped into the center and turned to her. He gave a theatric bow and gestred for her to join him.
    "My dear, would you honor me with a dance?" he asked. For a moment she stood pussled, but then he pulled her into the circle and took her hand in his. He wraped his other arm around her waist and hugged her close. She could feel the warmth and power from his body. She put her own arm on his wide sholder and gazed into his burning, purple eyes.
    "I'd love to," she heard her self say. Suddenly she could hear soft, beautiful music coming from nowhere. she wanted to look for it but couldn't turn herself away from his face. She felt herself moving to the rythum, following his lead. She felt safe and free in his powerful arms. He twirled, spun, dipped and lifted her as if she waighed nothing. They moved as one and she could feel the music flowing through her, getting stronger. She felt heat rise up from below. Felt her body pressed against his. She realised she wasas close as she could get to having sex while her clothes where still on. She let herself get lost in the heat and passion of the music. As the beat reached a chrechendo, she felt her body give way in a glorieous climax. The music faded and he held her. She was panting, sweating, and couldn't feel her legs. She felt counciousness leaving her. As she faded, all she could do was stare up into those purple eyes.

    Later, she woke in her bed room. Bright sunlight poured in through her window. She looked around, not fully understanding. Just a few hours ago, she had been dancing in a graveyard with the most amazing boy she had ever met. Now she was lying in her bed, in her room with it's violet walls, red drapes, and posters of rock bands everywere. She pulled off the covers and got out of bed. She was in her nightgown and her feet were no longer covered with dirt. She tried to shake the cobwebs from her head and make sense of it all. what had happened last night? She remembered the dance, and the graveyard clearly, but they seemed so much like a dream. She waled over to her vanity, and was about to resine her self to the fact that everything after leaving the school was a dream, and the boy was no more real than her social life, when she saw the envelope.
    It was made of a heavy, parchment-like paper that rustled when she picked it up. On one side her name was writen, and on the other was an old-fasioned wax seal stamped with a symbol she recognized; she had seen it on the gate to the graveyard! She broke the seal and opened the letter. It was adressed to her and writen in bright red ink with the most ledgable and beautiful handwriting she had ever seen, and had the musky sent of expensive aftershave on it.


    Dear Christina,
    Yes, last night realy did happen. Both the good and the bad. I am real, and so is the graveyard. You realy did dance with me in the moonlight, and yes you did experience that special feeling "down there." But rest assured, you are still a vergin. I swear on my life to that. After you passed out I brought you home, bathed you and put you to bed, nothing more. Please understand, I had to cross normal lines of decency to do even that, but I hope you will forgive my good intentions. I realize you deserve an explanation and you shall have it. Meet me to night in the graveyard after dark. Don't worry, your heart knows the way. When you arrive, all will be expained, you have my word as a gentalman. I look forward to seeing you again soon.

    your friend,
    Ramon DeSaldoria