The Cemetery Next Door

by Dale Chase

“So we’re being punished?”

  “Appears so.”

  “But people fuck in graveyards all the time and don’t suffer for it.”

  “I guess we happened to do it on a…” I stopped because a thought had intruded. “That’s it, Ray. That’s it. Other people don’t stir up ghosts, so why did we?”

  “No idea.”

  “Because this grave houses an unfinished life, one unable to move on. Ghosts are spirits caught between life and the hereafter by something unresolved, something that keeps them here. Justin Cade has issues, so maybe it’s not punishment. Maybe he wants something from us.”

  “You got that right. He tried to suck the life out of me.”

  “I don’t think it’s that. I think he was trying to break you.”

  “So what now? Welcome him? How can we help you? Are you kidding me?”

  I looked around, and sure enough, there Justin sat in the same seat at the bar as before. “He’s here,” I said to Ray. “End of the bar at the wall.”

  Ray turned.

  “See him?”

  “Yep. What now?”

  I thought for a second. “Go upstairs and see if he follows.”

  “You think he will?”

  “Yes.”

  Though exhausted, Ray agreed to take the stairs, but we went slowly. Halfway up, he had to sit. “What if he does it again, only this time, he sucks all the life out of me? How do you know that’s not what he’s after? You keep saying he wants something. Maybe it’s me.”

  I didn’t want to tell him he had a point, so I assured him I could lead the ghost in another direction. “The thing is, he may not know he needs something to help him move on. I don’t think ghosts always know why they’re here instead of beyond. I’ll try and work him.”

  “Work a ghost? How in hell do you do that?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Ray was panting when we entered the room, and when he saw Justin sitting atop the armoire, he grabbed my arm. “Keep him away from me.”

  “Hello, Justin,” I said. “Welcome back.”

  Ray groaned.

  “It’s okay,” I whispered to him, not sure it really was.

  Justin didn’t move as we advanced into the room, Ray behind me, still clutching my arm.

  “Let go,” I told him. “Sit on the bed.”

  After Ray obeyed, I inched toward Justin.

  “Can you talk to me? With all your powers, I believe you can.” When he said nothing, I kept on. “Tell me what you want. Maybe we can help. We’re not your enemy.” Still nothing, so I gathered my courage and held out a hand.

  I was pleased when he took it, but I didn’t feel the flesh I’d anticipated. I felt bone. Never mind he appeared fleshy, what held my grasp was pure icy bone. His outer being appeared to be an illusion. I pulled back, but he held on, and when I kept pulling, the bony grip tightened.

  For a few seconds, we remained idle, his expression unchanged, mine probably registering total panic. I thought back to Ray stuck to the tombstone, but this was more direct. I was stuck to the ghost himself.

  Looking him in the eye, I saw no emotion, no clue as to his attitude. I tried easing from his grasp, but he held fast. Part of me wanted to challenge him at such a display, but the bigger part, the scared-shitless part, turned to mush. I tried to speak, but found I had no voice. Attempting to clear my throat didn’t help. Even that was silent. Then he started pulling my arm over my head, and when he rose to stand on the armoire, I was lifted off my feet.

  “Marty!” Ray cried.

  But I waved him off. I didn’t feel heavy now, as if I, too, was a spirit, and when Justin rose from the armoire, gliding upward, he took me with him.

  My heart pounded, seeming the only part of me working because the rest felt light, as if I’d shed my substance, and, as terrifying as that was, there also came a curiosity.

  Justin reached the ceiling while I hung just below. I glanced down, wondering what the damage would be when he dropped me. But instead of that, he began to move along the wall. My lungs now hurt as I struggled for air. There didn’t seem to be any up that high. I began to gasp as Justin took my other hand. He pulled me up to face him, then drew me to him and kissed me.

  I couldn’t scream like Ray had. I felt not lips, just the awful pull, like a vacuum cleaner fixed to me. My tongue stiffened and I feared it would be devoured. The pull then began to reach inside me, taking what breath I had and making my heart thump like a fist slamming around inside my chest.

  Justin began to circle in place, as if the kiss propelled us, then suddenly he disengaged. My head fell back in recoil and air rushed into me, mouth open, starved lungs working again. But I didn’t scream. I’d done that silently.

  Justin let go of one hand, and I spun enough to look at Ray, who sat clutching a pillow, mouth open in his own silent scream. As I tried to gain strength from the other living person in the room, I found myself starting to spin. Looking at the hand Justin still held, I saw it turning like the joint could do a three-sixty. Soon the spin became forceful, as if I was being wound up. But what for?

  “Stop!” I cried, relieved to find my voice. “Stop it!”

  The spinning didn’t stop, but the acceleration did, setting me into an almost gentle turn as Justin glided us to the bed. Hovering over it, I felt him release me, and as I fell, I let out a cry, then landed on my back with a great whump.

  Ray immediately grabbed hold of my hand.

  The deepest fatigue I had ever known washed over me. It felt like I was dissolving and I called out, “Don’t,” though my voice had little volume. “Don’t,” I repeated in near whisper.

  Justin lay against the ceiling, directly above me, looking down, and all I could do was wait.

  “What do you think he’ll do?” whispered Ray. “Can a ghost kill?”

  The fatigue drained away as quickly as it had come, and at last I felt the return to myself. Life coursed through me and I swear I could feel my blood run. Ray held my hand between his two against his chest, but I looked only at Justin, still outstretched against the ceiling.

  When Ray started to speak, I shushed him because I was starting to figure things, and when Justin’s body began a slow undulation, I had it. Far apart we remained, but in Justin’s mind—and possibly body—we were having sex. And though his expression remained blank, an energy rained down in an icy-hot unseen shower that engulfed me with his profound longing.

  In response, I spread my arms, having no idea on ghostly sex, but willing to help him, console him, fuck him. “Yes,” I told him. “Yes.”

  He remained above me, wrapping me in his emotional shower, then abruptly flew to the armoire, where he sat like a pouting teenager. I perched on the bed’s edge while he stared straight ahead. I felt like a parent giving advice.

  “I know you can talk,” I said, though I didn’t know at all. “Tell me, please.”

  He didn’t turn my way when he spoke and his voice sounded flat, as if he read from a boring script. I felt a pang of sorrow at him suspended in his blank state. “Never…have…”

  “What? Spoken? You mean in your present state, this is the first time you’ve spoken?”

  “People…men.”

  This I didn’t get. “You never had people, what, visit? Men visit?”

  “Why’s he talking like that?” Ray asked.

  “He’s been dead three years, maybe hasn’t spoken the whole time, maybe didn’t even know he could speak.” I regrouped “Did we stir you, Justin? Sexually?”

  “Saw you before.”

  “So we brought back…oh, God. I’m so sorry if we called up something you didn’t want.”

  “No…no…”

  “Try and say more, Justin. You have the ability, you’re just out of practice. Did we call up someone for you?”

  Ray crawled to sit beside me and we waited while Justin’s jaw worked like he was practicing.

  “Richard…”

  Ray elbowed me and I nodded. “Your lover was Richard,”
I said. “And you were taken from him too soon.”

  His mouth fell open and I saw he wanted to cry or maybe scream, but he evidently had no facility.

  “You loved him. You still do.”

  He began to turn his head from side to side, his agony now apparent.

  “What can we do?” Ray asked.

  “Justin,” I said. “Come sit by us. We’re not frightened anymore. We understand.” I held out a hand, palm up.

  He slid off the armoire, paused, then floated over, his feet barely skimming the floor. Then he sat beside me.

  My instinct was to put an arm around him, but I thought it better to ask. “Can I touch you?”

  He looked away and I got that his condition embarrassed him, which made me feel even worse for him.

  “Okay, just sit with us. Can you tell us about Richard?”

  “Big, tall, warm.” He paused and I knew he was working at language. “His arms…folded me in, held on. Mouth all over.”

  I looked at Ray because we were now to the heart of it. We’d not only intruded on Justin’s grave, we’d rubbed it in that we could have sex and he couldn’t. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry that we called up unwanted memories.”

  “Miss him,” said Justin. “Together all…” His mouth worked as he searched for words, but they wouldn’t come. I saw what he wanted only when he ran a hand between his legs.

  I wanted to cry, so tragic his situation. What could we do? Then I remembered reading about how ghosts often don’t understand their situation. “Justin, you know you’re stuck between living and the hereafter, don’t you? That people when they die move from this world to the next, only some don’t quite make it, usually due to some unresolved issue here on earth. Could Richard be holding you here? Your memory of him, your love for him?”

  When he didn’t respond, I fought the urge to explain further. He needed time to take in the idea. He may have had supernatural powers, but he obviously had limits and I had no idea his comprehension ability.

  “Think about it,” I prompted. “Love is very strong.”

  Again we waited, and again no response. I looked at Ray, who shrugged.

  “How did you die?” I asked, thinking it might help him to talk about it.

  “Motorcycle. Richard in front, me in back. Crash, me thrown, broken inside. Him hurt but alive. Still alive.”

  “Without you.”

  “Without.”

  “I’m so sorry, Justin. You shouldn’t have to be like this. There’s a place waiting for you, a place of welcome where there are others who’ve gone before you. They will care for you, console you, help you. I think grief is keeping you here. I think even though he’s living, you mourn him, and you mourn him so deeply you can’t move on.”

  He raised a hand, then drew it back.

  “No, it’s okay,” I said. “You can touch me. I know you now. It’s okay.”

  He slid his hand onto mine and I tried not to flinch at the bony chill. He didn’t take hold, just let the hand rest and I ached for him.

  “You have to let him go, Justin. It’s tragic your time together was cut short, but you wouldn’t want him to grieve for you to the point he stopped living, so do the same for him, free yourself. Let him go. Let us help you do it.”

  His head drew back and he spent a minute looking at the ceiling, then got up and floated back to the armoire.

  “Well, that didn’t work,” said Ray.

  “Duh,” I whispered. A couple more seconds and I got an idea. “Let’s get naked.”

  “No way,” snapped Ray. “I don’t want that hand on me again. Not anywhere.”

  “I think he’s past displays like that. I think I’ve reached him, but he doesn’t want to let go, so how about we help him.”

  “How?”

  “Invite him in.”

  Ray snorted a laugh. “You think I can get it up for a ghost?”

  “No, not like that, but maybe warm bodies can give him some of what he longs for. Remember, his life ended suddenly. He didn’t get to say good-bye to Richard, didn’t get any loving touches at the end.”

  “This is insane.”

  “Ray, love, we have a ghost in our room. Everything right now is insane, but in a real sort of way. It’s time to just go with it.”

  I got up and undressed. Ray huffed and stripped, too.

  “Justin,” I said. “Come to bed with us.”

  The ghost looked at us, eyes moving down and up and back down. I pitied his lack of expression, but knew he did feel. It took powerful emotion to defy the hereafter.

  “You don’t have to undress, Justin,” I said. “Ray, lie down.” I got in bed beside him, about two feet away, then patted the space between us. “Here, Justin. Lie down with us.”

  “Can’t,” he said.

  “You don’t have to do anything. Just be with us.”

  After a couple seconds, he floated above us, where he stretched, looking down. I reached up to him and Ray, tentatively following my lead, did the same.

  Justin hovered for a bit more, then descended, turning over so he settled on his back. Cold radiated from him, but I didn’t care. I meant to help him and could certainly, in my privileged living state, make comfort allowances. I rolled onto my side to face him and Ray did the same.

  “Your love is powerful, Justin,” I began. “The most powerful I’ve ever seen. You’ve kept yourself from your eternal reward for love of Richard. That’s a wonderful thing and I’m sure he loved you just as much, but he wouldn’t want you in this state, trapped in a cemetery. You wouldn’t have wanted such a thing for him if things had gone the other way.”

  I raised a hand, wagged it toward Ray until he lifted his to take hold of mine. I had no idea if anything we did would help, it was the epitome of flying blind, but I wanted our energy to encompass Justin, to warm him.

  We laced our fingers together, making a bridge over the ghost. He didn’t move, yet I felt tension in him and knew he was fighting to hold on. “Let go,” I said. “It’s okay now and it’s right. This is the time. Richard would want you to go on.”

  Lying in silence for what seemed an hour but was probably just minutes, Ray began to fidget, and when he squeezed my hand, I knew it was a “get on with it” message. With no idea how to accelerate things, I drew my leg across Justin’s and gave Ray’s hand a pull so he did the same.

  The awful cold came through Justin’s jeans as if he wore nothing at all. My calf ached with the icy burn, but I kept it in place as did Ray, who I loved all the more for going along.

  It amazed me how small our heat seemed against the ghostly cold. Maybe we had no impact at all. Maybe I was kidding myself that I could direct a ghost toward the hereafter. Maybe I was the equivalent of an annoying bug to this supernatural being.

  Ray squeezed my hand again so I had to do something more. Talk felt out of place, a silent peace having settled over us. Our bodies had to take over, so I kissed Justin’s cheek. The cold bit me, but it didn’t matter. Caring was more important; helping was more important. Ray passed me a determined look and kissed Justin’s other cheek. When he didn’t flinch at the cold, I wanted to cry with joy.

  “Richard,” Justin said in a near whisper as he began to fade. Jacket and all, he grew faint, his cold faint as well, and when he faded to nothing, Ray and I looked at each other for long seconds until he scrambled over to me and took me into his arms.

  I couldn’t get enough of him. Squeezing him, I felt myself both pent up and released at once, like I’d been poised for hours on the edge of some cliff and had finally jumped. A good jump, though, one allowing me to float back to earth.

  We didn’t kiss. This wasn’t sexual. Far from it, it was reassuring ourselves of our lives and the life together. Finally Ray spoke. “Was all that real or did we just wake from one long-ass dream?”

  I thought about it. “Maybe both. It was real, but I feel like I just woke up.”

  “I will never doubt you again. You now have total ghost cred.”
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  “Thank you, Ray.”

  After a bit, we rolled onto our backs. I thought of Justin welcomed into the beyond, which warmed me, then made me chuckle. “I’ll almost miss him. He’s been such a presence.”

  “That he has, but I’m sorry, I won’t miss him.”

  “That’s okay. You’re allowed.”

  I took his hand, welcoming his warmth, then he rolled my way to run his other hand over my chest. “What day is this?”

  “Thursday, I think.”

  “One more day.”

  “How do you want to spend it?” I asked.

  “Guess.”

  He kissed me, then slid on top of me.

  “Room service day?” I asked.

  “Among other things.”

  “I’ll want to talk about him.”

  “Of course. Among other things.”

  THE END

  ABOUT DALE CHASE

  Dale Chase has been writing gay men’s erotica for seventeen years with nearly two hundred stories published in magazines and anthologies. In addition, Dale has three published story collections and two novels: Wyatt: Doc Holliday’s Account of an Intimate Friendship from Bold Strokes Books, and Takedown: Taming John Wesley Hardin from Lethe Press.

  While Dale occasionally ventures into contemporary fiction, her primary interest remains the old west. She is presently at work on a novel about two cowboy detectives working out of a San Francisco agency in 1876. A California native, Dale lives near San Francisco.

  For more information, visit dalechasestrokes.com.

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