by Nicole Lee
Turned away from Grady and Rose was a handful of large black leather chairs, the kind of seats Kings would use when dining at their throne.
That is when a head peeked around and stared at the intruding couple. Another one subsequently did, followed by several more.
It took one long second for them to accept what it had been they were gazing at.
These were not human faces staring back at them, but something much more unnatural. This was confirmed when the bodies attached to the heads rose from their sitting objects, revealing their entire anatomy.
These were moving skeletons. Their auburn bones were splintered in places and primordial, their eye sockets were blacker than the center of a cavern where a thousand men had perished. Staring at rib cages and bare, skinless torso’s was such a shock to the two that the only thing they could think of doing was to run away as fast as their feet could carry them.
They sprinted through the trio of rooms and out into the cold graveyard. They jolted through the grass, leaping over headstones like hurdles, so determined to escape that desecration of something sacred was no longer a fear.
Soon they were in front of her house. Rose was starting to fear that her father could be home from work at any minute now, so she walked inside and had him use the ladder in her backyard. Once she was in her bedroom, she opened up her window and let Bell in.
“What the hell was that?” Grady said with his breath coming in desperate pants as sweat fell from his forehead.
“I honestly don’t know,” she said.
There was a long pause between them, where Grady simply sat on her floor, cradling himself and rocking back and forth.
“Can I stay the night?” Grady finally asked her, pointing to the glass screen. “I can take anyone and anything face to face, but I don‘t want to go out there - right now.”
September 13th
Dear Diary,
It has been a while since I’ve written in this black and old leather-bound notebook. I have to vent.
This school year has started out strangely. I saw something odd in the Cemetary the tonight, though I’ll save that for a later date. I feel as if a few girls I know at the school - most of them cheerleaders - are out to hurt me. They have hated me for a long time because I am different. I don’t listen to the music they do or wear the same clothes, so therefore I’m a witch.
Of course they’re right, but that doesn’t justify how they act.
Where did it all begin? The hatred towards witches, I mean. It’s one that started what feels like since the beginning of mankind. Can we blame the scholars, the Inquisition? That sticky sentence in the Bible, Exodus 22:18, one that states Thou Shalt Not Suffer a Witch to live?
No. Plenty of Saints tried to convince the people that witches never existed in the first place, and chasing after us was futile. I would rather have had my ancestors thought of as imaginary than murdered, but that‘s just me.
Matthew Hopkins created the sink-or-fly water test, where if a woman did not drown after being thrown in a lake, she was partners with Satan. More than two witches are reported to have actually flown.
I read today that Protestant thinker Martin Luther put forth the theory that witches could steal milk by thinking of a cow. Don’t I wish.
Centuries ago, women suspected of using magic for anything were forced to undergo sleep deprivation by the authorities, with the hopes of getting a confession out of them, despite how the parliament in that era said torture was not allowed. I am beginning to think that man’s hatred towards witches runs along the same line as misogyny.
I am smart enough to know that persecution is far less barbaric today in America.
Now we witches have more to worry about when facing each other.
8
She woke up the next morning, happy that someone else was beside her. Or so she thought, until turning over and discovering that Grady was not in bed, but was absent. Groaning, Rose rolled the covers off, and when she sat upright, something took her by surprise. It was a note taped to the wall, written in neat handwriting for a boy.
‘Rose,’ the letter began, ‘I know this looks very bad, but do believe me when I say that I got up a few hours ago, too freaked out by what happened last night, when I found out I had practice after school today. I had my gear at home, and since I need it to play, I had to get there early. I did not want to wake you, so I hope you’ll accept this as both an apology and an explanation. However, last night was still really wonderful because of you, and I am looking forward to seeing you today at school. Maybe we can make more sense of what happened in the under keeper‘s house. Sincerely yours, -Grady.’
There was an astonishingly detailed sketch of a rose beneath the writing,. He had earned her not being angry.
After slipping on her best clothes and walking downstairs, she heard her cell-phone, which was in her pocket, beep. She flipped open the top and read the text message. It was from Melinda, in all caps.
James wrote an article about you and Grady. Read at the school’s news part on-line now.
Flustered, she turned on the computer, staring at the time on the cell to make sure that she was not running behind. Thankfully, there was still another forty five minutes before the first bell rang, so she felt in good luck. Rose sat down and waited for the computer to warm up before going to internet explorer.
She typed in her school’s address, and within a very small number of seconds she was browsing the official website. The first thing that disgusted her was how Jessica, Gina, and Emma were in their cheerleading outfits on the home page, as if they were role models or representatives of the district’s best pupils.
The second thing was the article that James, being a columnist, had written. The article was titled in a way that only James could brand something - arrogantly and yet with a hint of self-effacement. WHY I AM BETTER THAN YOU, YET NOT AS GREAT AS SOME.
After thoroughly reading it, the article annoyed Rose - not the writing itself, but its mention of Grady.
Rose minimized the window and began to brood. It left her with one message. This was the first time she had realized that James was jealous due to how he had a crush on her. Callously, Rose thought that if he was that infatuated with her, he should have made a move before Grady ever did.
Then it dawned on her that he had done just that, many times in a row.
It was still no excuse. She grabbed her backpack and rushed outside.
9
Rose began to ponder everything, hoping that this would not transform into even bigger problems.
Walking into the school’s science wing after driving through fifteen minutes of unusually difficult traffic, she was lucky enough to find Melinda, who was sitting on the steps leading to the cafeteria. She was reading a book by a man named Sartre called Being and Nothingness. She gazed up at Rose, folding the hardback and putting it aside.
“Where’s James?” Rose asked, trying to not allow the anger to come out in her voice, despite how it nevertheless seethed.
“I’m not supposed to tell you. Yet I will, because telling on people is what I do best. We all have our talents, don’t we? He’s hiding in the janitor’s storeroom. You know, the place that used to be an apple computer lab before apple computers went out of style?”
“I do,” Rose said, turning around and making her way northeast.
“You’ll miss class,” Melinda said loudly behind her.
“It’ll be worth it.”
She had to walk up a stone stairway leading to the pine crest psychology rooms, and then follow a winding pathway through a clearing in the woods before reaching the part of campus where most of the faculty’s math courses were. This was also the location of the custodial storehouse. She quickly peered down a hallway and saw the local janitor carrying a mop and bucket. He was walking in her direction. She waited for him move out of the corridor, and then she quickly went up to the front entrance. Feeling relieved that the door was unlocked, she made her way in and closed it behind her.
Unlike the cleaner, Rose twisted the lock so that way no one could exit.
She gazed around the disorderly area. There were vacuums and orange pails on the floor, along with shelves filled with disinfectants, bacteria killing sponges, unlabelled bottles of window cleaners, thick brushes, and long rows of dust bins hung on one wall to the left.
“James?” Rose condescendingly called out his name the way a master would a lost dog. She took a few steps further into the room, having no other choice but to push aside a trash can on wheels, kicking an enormously wide quantity of plastic wrapped toilet paper rolls out of her way.
She said his name once more. A loud nose fired behind her, and she quickly turned around to see James bounding out from behind a stack of Tuffskin sanitary spray boxes. He jolted for the door and wrapped his hand around the knob, before he released a grunt of frustration at how it was barred. Before he could unlock it, Rose ran up to him from behind and grabbed him. She knew the risk of throwing her back out, so she tried to bend at her knees, lifting him up with all of her strength, which was harder than she thought it would be, seeing as how he was the same height and weight as her. Lifting him off his feet, she heard him say something close to what are you doing, before slamming him into a pile of boxes, which went flying in every direction the minute he crashed into the pile of soft cardboard.
Rose stood over where he had been pushed down, her arms folded as she stared at him with menacing conviction. James groaned and put his hand to his head, groaning with an admixture of both pain and disbelief.
“I didn’t know you were so strong,” he said, sitting upright.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. First things first, why did you write that stupid article in the paper? Don’t you know it’s embarrassing for all three of us?”
“Maybe for you,” he spat. “You’re the one who used to be like me and Melinda. You were cool, Rose. Now look at you. You’re going out with the worst boy of all, Grady, a typical jock.”
“Don’t try to turn this into something about my standing at this school. If you liked me that much, you should’ve made it clear.”
“When haven’t I?”
“Every time you’ve hit on me it’s been in a joking way, or at least that’s what I thought. Some girls dig guys being goofy when flirting, but in my case, I just took it as a form of kidding around. If you were so passionate about me that you felt the need to put me and my boyfriend’s name in print through slander, then you should’ve told me. Instead, you decided to not act like a man and go the journalistic route of dragging my name through the mud. Nice job.”
“You’re welcome,” he spat.
“The only reputation you’ve really ruined, though, is your own. Since I’m dating Grady, there’s a chance my popularity will go up, whereas you’ll only be known as the guy who pined for the girl who was taken by someone much more well liked.”
“Stop it,” he said.
“It’s true.”
The bell rang. Neither one moved for the door, knowing there was no chance they were going to get to run away until both had made their opinions clear.
“No!” James almost screamed the word out. “I mean of all people, Grady Bell?”
“He asked me out like a gentleman.”
“Now you’re like all the rest,” James said, his voice raising. “You started out enjoying being different from the crowd. Sure, people called you names. You were labeled unpopular, introverted, sometimes shy, even a witch. Yet no one could ever say that you were unoriginal. And now you’re striving to be with someone who’s like every other gas station worker? It seems like a sick joke.”
“It’s hypocritical of you,” Rose said. “For your information, he’s loaded with money. And let’s not change the matter here. If you could, you’d go out with the three cheerleaders you know I hate. I’ve seen you flirt with them like you were some kind of dirty old man. By the way, you’re pick up lines are some of the most pathetic I’ve heard.”
“You’re being intolerable,” he said. “It must be jock itch rubbing off on you.”
“Oh yeah? Well, I’m not the one so enamored with somebody I can’t have.”
James paused for a second. It was the quietest he had ever been since she had gotten to know him years ago. He lowered his head, before finally putting his face into his hands, as if he were about to start crying. Rose really thought he was about to shed tears. A pang of guilt suddenly hit her.
Since when did my relationship with a close friend become so volatile?
“I’m sorry, James. You know, I hope you can hear me out and believe me when I say that maybe I over reacted to your article. Please don’t take any of the things I said personally.”
She put her hand on his shoulder while he was sobbing. Not a lot, but he was only releasing a few smalls tears, and in no time he caught his breath and looked up at her.
“No,” James said. “I’m sorry, Rose. It’s not you. It’s me.”
“What do you say we get a shake or something at Sharp’s Diner after school, and make it up to each other? This will all be in the past.”
“So am I,” Rose said. “I mean, this custodian’s closet isn’t the nicest one I’ve ever seen, but-”
“You don‘t understand,” James said, holding her hand gently. “I’m jealous. Do you know what I am saying?”
Rose looked at him for a quick second, absorbing what it had been he was trying to tell her.
“Well, you still can’t have me. You know that, right?”
“Of course. I’m over it anyways. I’ll delete what I wrote from the school’s website soon as I get to a computer.”
“That would mean the world to me. It’d help all of us out.”
“And let’s still go get milkshakes, what do you say?”
“Sounds good,” she said while opening the door. They both walked out of the front, moving away from the storeroom. A calming silence, this time a positive one, fell over them.
Rose turned to him. “Again, this isn’t a date, right?”
During the hour break she met Grady in the cafeteria, who made sure to sit down in the very back. This was a deliberate move on her boyfriend’s part, so as to allow them some measure of privacy, where they could converse whilst being out of earshot. Rose tried to pretend like everything was normal, eating an orange slice from a zip loc bag that she had prepared in the morning, but it was only two minutes into them having met before he decided to discuss just what they had been through.
It had begun to rain. Perspiration and small particles of water clung to the glass walls, ones providing a view of the charcoal hued woods outside.
“I think we should talk about last night,” Bell said.
“What is there to talk about?” Rose asked, leaning in towards him.
“No. In the graveyard.”
“Oh.” She opened up her cranberry soda, trying to enjoy the flavor enough so as to get her mind off of the topic.
“What were those things?”
She shrugged. “Nerve endings firing off at the wrong time in unsuitable ways. Byproducts of our imagination. You‘ve heard in Science class what adrenaline can do to the mind.”
“I don’t knows about yours, but my fantasy life has always been pretty bland. I’m not capable of visualizing something so vividly that it walks, breathes, and maintains detailed looks right in front of me. Usually, they evaporate the way figures in dreams do.”
“Apparently you don’t know yourself that well.”
“So you’re saying we imagined the same thing at the same time?”
“How do you know that what you saw is what I did?”
“Well, explain to me what you were a witness of.”
“Maybe I could’ve observed a gigantic crimson rhinoceros making out with a sewer pipe.”
He gave her a blank look.
“It’s called free association, Grady. Look, I’m just kidding. I saw the skeletons as well. Hey, I loved your letter this morning. It was beautiful to wake up
to.”
Her attempt at changing the conversation proved unfruitful, for he brushed what she had proclaimed aside.
“So, we both saw the same thing with our own eyes. Isn’t that a little strange?”
“Someone must have slipped something into that soda we were drinking,” Rose said, trying to sound serious enough to believe the lie herself. “That‘s the only cogent explanation. We hear about it all the time in the warning video‘s that we see in Health. I‘m guessing that someone slipped acid in our soda‘s.”
“We hardly drank any of it,” he responded. “Like, two sips each before you spilled it on my coat.”
“Sorry about that. It must have been powerful, is what I‘m saying. Two sips is more than enough to make two people trip out. At least, that‘s what I‘ve read.”
“If I ever find out who drugged us, I’m going to kill them.”
Rose nodded, feeling good after having convinced him of her story.
“I want to see you again. We should have another date, and we’ll do it right this time. We’ll bring our own Cokes. How does Sunday sound? I have a game on Monday, so I’ll be busy then. Maybe you can see me play?”
“Absolutely,” she said with a smile. “Sunday it is. Here’s my phone number.”
A half hour after school, James and Rose were sitting in the diner, overwhelmingly pleased to be out of the storm. The inside of the eatery was typical to the outdated fifties era - red leather booths, white and black floor tiles, lamps made of iron hanging by chains from the ceiling, immaculately white counter tops and unlabelled ketchup bottles, pictures of Buddy Holly and Chuck Berry playing their vintage guitars were hung on the walls, and an indigo lit juke box in front of what appeared to be a concession stand, one begging to be fed money by any person with quarters who enjoyed the oldies. All of the waitresses wore poodle skirts, and the male bartenders donned leather jackets.