Ghosts in the Graveyard

by Kim Bowman

  Ghosts in the Graveyard

  by Kim Bowman

  Published by Astraea Press

  www.astraeapress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  GHOSTS IN THE GRAVEYARD

  Copyright © 2011 KIM BOWMAN

  ISBN 978-1-936852-68-0

  Cover Art Designed by Taria Reed Photography

  Edited by Kay Springsteen

  I dedicate this book to my wonderful husband and the love of my life, Tony. Thank you for supporting me and being an amazing father and husband.

  To my sister, Michele, thank you for always believing in me and being my best friend.

  Mom and Dad, thank you for coming and letting Cage run you ragged so I can write. I’m not sure who enjoys it more—Cage or me!

  I also want to say a special thank you to author, editor, and my very good friend Kay Springsteen for letting some of her magic rub off on me. You helped make this book possible by working with me day and night. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  I have to give a special shout out to Stephanie Taylor and all her hard work to make Astraea Press a success and for giving me the opportunity to live my dream.

  And lastly, I’d like to especially mention all the loved ones I’ve lost who are still very much alive in my heart. I love you and miss you every day.

  Chapter One

  When witches go riding,

  and black cats are seen,

  the moon laughs and whispers,

  ‘tis near Halloween.

  ~Author Unknown

  “Charlie, I’m scared. I don’t want the bogies to come.”

  Four-year-old Millie Foster looked up at her big brother with wide, frightened eyes as she pointed out the window toward the cemetery. Charlie focused his attention in the same direction and his stomach tightened. He didn’t want the bogies to come either, dreaded seeing nightfall approach. The scene out the window only heightened his fear.

  Dusk had set in, causing long, eerie shadows of the gravestones to stretch toward the house as if reaching for them. The grassy field between the cemetery and the back door of the Foster home was the only barrier of protection they had against the restless souls buried there. The bright, deep red of the setting sun cast a glow across the earth that made it look like blood was blanketing the cemetery. The mist on the ground billowed up, mixing with the dark shadows and the crimson rays of the sun, making it appear that the spirits were rising up from their graves, escaping. And Charlie had no doubt that on this night, the night when the veil between the dead and the undead lifted, the roused spirits would once again descend on their quiet home.

  A chill ran up Charlie’s spine and he wrapped his arm around Millie, pulling her close. He knew if he was scared, Millie had to be terrified.

  “It’ll be okay, Silly Millie. Me and Jack’ll keep you safe.” At least he hoped so, wondering where their eight-year-old brother was. He should have been back from his supply run by now. Charlie hoped he hadn’t been caught by their mother.

  “And Mommy too?”

  “And Mommy too.”

  “Can I sleep in your room tonight?”

  “Sure. You and me and Jack can have a slumber party.” Charlie tickled her and Millie giggled. “But we better not tell Mom.”

  “Cuz Mommy will get very mad if she hears us talkin’ ’bout ghosts. She don’t believe us that we saw them come right in the house.”

  Their mother had scolded him and Jack for hours for scaring Millie with their “silly nonsense” about the dead coming to life on Halloween. Said she’d lived by the cemetery her whole life and had never seen any ghosts and that if she caught them filling Millie’s head with more of their stories she’d wash their mouths out with soap every day for a week. Then she’d make them read five chapters from the Bible. Out loud.

  “I wish Daddy was here.”

  “Me too, Silly Millie.” Charlie smiled at the little moppet. He knew there was no way Millie remembered their father. She’d only been a few months old when he’d left for war. Charlie barely remembered their dad and he’d been six when Charles Senior’s unit had been called to fight. But she talked about him like she knew him, claimed to play games with him. Charlie thought that was good, even if their mother didn’t like it and told him to quit encouraging Millie’s imagination. But he liked talking about their father and told her stories about him, mostly to keep the man fresh in his own mind, just in case…

  Millie puffed her chest out. “He’d believe us. He’d help us keep the ghosts in the graveyard!”

  Charlie smiled at her conviction. “He sure would, Silly M—”

  “I got it! I got it!” Jack yelled as he ran into the room, a flour sack in one hand and one of their mother’s kitchen crocks in the other.

  “Quiet! We don’t want Mother to know what we’re doing,” Charlie whispered as he resisted the urge to clamp a hand over Jack’s big mouth.

  Eight-year-old Jack winced. “Oh, yeah, sorry.” He lowered his voice. “I got everything on our list.” Jack crouched down, sat the crock on the floor, opened the sack, and pulled out a canister of salt, a mason jar full of clear liquid, some string, and some book pages.

  Millie ran to Jack, flopped down on the floor beside him, and picked up the glass jar. “What’s this?”

  “Holy water,” Jack answered.

  “Where did you get holy water,” Charlie asked.

  Jack’s face and the tips of his ears turned almost as red as his hair. “I, um, got water from the kitchen and as I held the Bible over the top of the jar I repeated ‘I turn you to holy water’ three times.”

  Since Charlie had no clue if that would work or not, he just nodded his head at Jack. He bent down, picked up the book pages, and scanned a couple lines. A fine rain now made her still more dismal…“Jack! You tore these pages out of Mother’s Virginia Woolf book! She’ll clobber you!”

  Jack winced. “We need them to make paper straws so we can blow the black salt on the ghosts if they come, Charlie. I’ll put them back. I promise.”

  “Black salt?”

  He picked up the crock. “Yeah. I emptied the salt from the shaker into this bowl and got ashes and soot from the fireplace and mixed it together. That makes black salt and—”

  “You scooped up ashes from the fireplace and put it in one of Mother’s good kitchen crocks. She’ll tan your hide for sure. You’re going to get us all in trouble.” Charlie shoved his little brother on the shoulder, causing the boy to tip over backward onto his bottom.

  “I couldn’t find anything else to put it in,” Jack whined. “And she’ll never know we used it. We’ll clean it up and put it back.”

  “No, you’ll clean it out and return it. And if you already put salt in that concoction, why did you bring the whole canister of salt with you?”

  Jack gave him a toothy grin. “You’ll see.”

  Millie touched her finger to the mixture and sniffed it. Her eyes watered and she broke into a series of sneezes. “That—stuff—burns,” she finally managed, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her shirt then shaking her head vigorously.

  “Goofy, why’d you do that?” Jack pulled the crock back.

  “Because she’s four. Are you okay, Millie?” Charlie asked.

  She shook her head. “I�
�m okay.”

  “Well, genius, I hope it works better on ghosts,” Charlie said in a tone that clearly said the black salt wouldn’t be of any use.

  “It will. Don’t worry.” Jack picked up one of the book pages and rolled it to make a tube. “Charlie, hold this real tight.”

  Charlie did as requested, holding the cylinder at each end. Jack picked up the string and wrapped it around the tube from one side to the other, having Charlie reposition his hands so he could cover the whole thing with string. He made a couple more passed around and then tied the string off. He took the tube and held it vertically. “Thanks. What you do is cover the bottom with a finger, take some of the black salt, and drop it in the top.” Jack demonstrated as he spoke. Then he turned his back to Charlie and Millie. “Then you hold it up to your mouth, take your finger off, and blow.” Black particles flew from the straw.

  Millie squealed and clapped her hands. “Do it again! Do it again!”

  “Don’t you dare. You’ve made enough of a mess,” Charlie said, annoyed.

  Jack squinted one eye and a frown pinched his forehead as he focused on Charlie. “Quit scolding me. You could make yourself useful and help make up the straws. We have to be ready or the evil spirits will come and get us.”

  Charlie glanced at their sister. “Shut up, Jack!”

  Millie let out a yelp and slammed into Charlie, knocking the air out of him. “Don’t let the evil spirits get me, Charlie. I want Mommy.” She began to cry.

  Charlie bent down and wrapped his arms around her. He locked eyes with his brother and gestured his head toward their little sister.

  Jack shrugged his shoulders. “What?”

  Frustrated, Charlie rolled his eyes. “Silly Millie, Jack’s just been reading too many scary books. No goblins or ghouls are gonna come to get you.”

  The frightened girl buried her face deeper into Charlie’s shoulder. “B-but th-they will come. You said so. I don’t want the bogies to get me. I want Mommy.”

  Charlie’s shirt was damp from the tears. He was going to beat Jack senseless the first chance he got. Better yet, he’d make sure their mother found out about her book being destroyed. That would get Jack in a whole mess of trouble.

  He squeezed his sister, not sure how to comfort her when he was scared himself. Maybe Millie had the best idea and they should tell their mother they were scared. But she hated Halloween and all the talk of ghosts and monsters. Called it the work of the devil and said if someone could see those things, that person was evil. Even refused to let them participate or watch the church’s yearly rendition of Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol. But Charlie didn’t feel evil. Millie certainly wasn’t evil. Jack was an idiot who didn’t think before he opened his big mouth, but not evil. Still, Charlie couldn’t deny what he’d seen with his own eyes over the past few Halloweens, whether his mother believed them or not.

  Jack rummaged in the sack. “Hey, Silly Millie, I have something that’ll for sure keep you safe. Ah ha!” He pulled out a string of garlic cloves and offered it to the crying girl.

  Millie lifted her head and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her shirt. Her face was stained with tears and covered in red blotches. “It smells funny. What is it?”

  “It’s the best protection you can have. Nothing will come near you as long as you’re wearing this.” Jack leaned over and looped the necklace around her neck.

  Millie pinched her nose. “It smells bad.”

  Charlie gagged. “You moron. She can’t go down to dinner wearing that. How will we explain it to Mother?”

  Jack thunked his head with the palm of his hand. “Oh, right. Sorry, Millie, we’ll have to wait until after we eat.”

  “Okay, Jack.” She pulled the string over her head and held it out to him, then jerked her arm away before his fingers touched the garlic. “You promise to give it back, don’t you?”

  “Of course. I made it just for you. I got one for me and Charlie too.”

  “I’m not wearing that thing.”

  “You gotta, Charlie! Please,” Millie said, throwing her arms around his neck.

  “Jack! Ugh! Now see what you’ve done! All right, all right. I’ll wear the stupid necklace.”

  “What did I do?”

  Charlie rolled his eyes. “Where do I even sta—”

  “Millie, Charlie, Jack, dinner!”

  “We’re coming, Mom,” Charlie called. He pointed to the supplies scattered about the floor. “Jack, get that stuff picked up and hid somewhere in case Mother comes up here.” Then he took Millie by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Listen, Millie, remember not to tell Mother what we’re doing up here. She won’t like it and we’ll all be in trouble. And we won’t be able to put on the garlic necklaces Jack made and make paper straws.”

  “I won’t say anything. I promise.”

  “Good. Once we eat and Mother goes to bed, me and Jack’ll come get you.”

  “Okay! Come on. Let’s hurry and eat before it gets dark.” She jumped up and ran out the door.

  Charlie was slower to get to his feet, dreading the night ahead. Jack scooped up the things from the floor and dropped them in the sack then carried it and the crock to the closet and set them inside, covering them with a quilt. As he crossed the room toward the door, Charlie whopped him upside the head.

  Jack rubbed the spot. “Ouch! What did you do that for?”

  “Because you’re an idiot.” Charlie stalked out the door, disgusted.

  “Charlie.”

  He jerked around and stared at his brother. “What?”

  “We’re gonna be okay, aren’t we? I mean, this stuff’s gonna work to keep the ghosts out of our house this year, isn’t it?”

  “I hope so, Jack. I hope so.”

  Chapter Two

  All adventures, especially into new territory, are scary.

  ~Sally Ride

  Knots twisted and turned Charlie’s stomach. Whether it was from the foul odor of the garlic necklace around his neck that Jack and Millie had forced him to wear or because he was a nervous wreck at the prospect of facing another Halloween full of ghosts he didn’t know. But one thing was for sure. He hated being downstairs with the back door open so close to midnight. Supper had dragged on forever tonight, followed by Jack being scolded for not having his homework done. By the time he’d finished it and they’d brushed their teeth and said their prayers, it had been after nine. Then they’d had to wait long enough to make sure their mother was asleep before putting their plan into action. Or rather Jack’s harebrain scheme.

  Moonlight spilled in through the open back door, bouncing off the shiny wood floors. The reflection gave the room enough light without needing their flashlight, so Charlie had turned it off to keep from attracting the attention of the graveyard spooks.

  His eyes had adjusted to the dull glow around the kitchen, and he could clearly make out the whole area. On his left, in the center of the room was the antique farmer’s table their mother loved so much she’d had the floors and cabinets stained to match it. The window on the other side of the table let in more moonlight, so Charlie could even see the white counter and make out the canisters, breadbox, and toaster lined up along the white marble top. He glanced right. Nothing greeted him but the blackness of the stairs leading up to their bedrooms, and he gave an involuntary shutter, longing to go back to bed and bury himself under the covers.

  Charlie looked down at Millie. She was spinning in circles making her nightgown billow out, seemingly oblivious to the dark stairwell or the cemetery. He was glad.

  His thoughts now on the cemetery, he glanced out the door in that direction. The moon seemed to be spotlighting the graves. Branches from the trees planted along the perimeter danced and swayed as the wind whipped them back and forth. When Charlie’s gaze drifted down to the ground, to the headstones, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Maybe his eyes hadn’t adjusted so well to the darkness or maybe he was letting his imagination run wild, but the way the shadows from the trees met
the heavy fog lifting up from the graves, it looked like the dead were clawing their way out. He watched, unable to tear his eyes away. After a few moments, he was sure he saw two figures stand and head toward the house. The thought sent ice running through his veins and made his whole body shiver. Whatever the cause, he wanted to grab Jack and Millie and run up the stairs to their mother’s room and crawl under the covers until morning.

  “Hurry it up, will ya?” he snapped at Jack, who was hunkered down in the open doorway pouring salt along the threshold. “Can you explain again why you’re doing that?”

  “I told you. Ghosts can’t cross salt. It’s for protection.”

  “Well, genius, why didn’t we just stay in our room and put the salt at our door?”

  Jack turned his head toward Charlie. “Because we have to protect the whole house or doesn’t do any good. We already did the front door, and when I get finished here, we’ll go downstairs and do the cellar door.”