by Tifani Clark
*****
One theory Sophia and I had come up with about her unfinished business was that maybe she was left behind because of something to do with her brother Arthur since he had, in a way, been left behind by the rest of his family. He’d been taken in by his mother’s brother after his parent’s disappearance back in 1872 and had younger cousins to grow up with. Sophia told us that in the early 1900’s she came back to Marion in hopes of meeting Arthur. When she saw that he had his own little family and was trying to move beyond the tragedy, she quietly left town. It’s very difficult—almost impossible—for a ghost to show themselves to someone who knew them on earth. Arthur looked so happy with his family that she didn’t want to try something that would only freak them out and bring back sad memories.
Arthur was buried in the Evergreen Cemetery in Marion. We wanted to see if he was permanently gone or if by some miracle he remained as a ghost. According to Sophia, ghosts tend to hang out near their bodies when possible. Apparently it was comforting to most of them. It had taken Sophia a long time before she dared venture very far from her own grave. Living people are often scared to visit cemeteries at night because they’re afraid of ghosts and spirits. I realized that there was a lot of truth behind people’s fears. Since cemeteries aren’t often visited at night, it’s a place that ghosts could gather to “be themselves.” Sophia insisted we were going to the cemetery at night. I’ll admit it—I was more than a little bit nervous. Camille was terrified. Sophia was giddy with excitement and couldn’t stop smiling.
We packed backpacks with jackets, snacks, and flashlights. I texted Dad and told him I would be spending the night with Camille. I really needed to stop telling him half-truths. As Sophia pulled into the parking lot of the Evergreen Cemetery, the sun started its descent from the azure sky and there was a cool breeze in the air, bringing the smell of new spring foliage with it. Marion received a ton of rain earlier in the week and the earth was still damp. We slowly weaved through the rows of headstones, reading names and dates as we went. Sophia walked slightly ahead of Camille and me, appearing to know exactly where to go. She stopped to look at a stone monument, her fingers gently tracing the names on the stone. I caught up to her and read the names, too. It was a cenotaph erected in honor of Benjamin Spooner Briggs, Sarah Elizabeth Cobb Briggs, and Sophia Matilda Briggs. Camille and I didn’t say anything and Sophia soon continued walking. Eventually we made it to the grave of Arthur Stanley Briggs. It was a small stone covered with white lichen. We had to brush away dead and overgrown grass to read the inscription.
I read his headstone aloud. “Briggs. Arthur H., 1865-1931, and Margaret H., 1871-1939.”
“He died on my birthday—October 31, 1931,” Sophia said sadly.
“He died on your birthday?” I said incredulously.
She nodded. “I didn’t find out about his death until many years later, but when I heard the date, I thought maybe it was his subconscious way of showing he was still connected to me. Silly girlish dream, I guess.”
“Wait,” Camille said. “If you die on Halloween, do you automatically become a ghost?”
“Not necessarily. That’s just an old wives tale. You can become a ghost if you die on Halloween, but it isn’t assured.”
“Sophia, this really could mean something. There has to be some sort of connection between you and Arthur that wasn’t completed.” I was starting to get excited.
“I’m starving.” Camille announced as she spread a blanket on the ground in front of Arthur’s grave, sat down, and pulled out a granola bar. She was doing a lot better with Sophia’s news than I expected and in only a couple of hours she’d gone from hating Sophia to acting like an adoring fan.
“Ouch.” I rubbed a spot on my head where an acorn had just landed. “Aaggh!” I was hit again. “I think the squirrels in these trees don’t want us hanging out here.”
“Who are you calling a squirrel?”
Startled by a male voice, I whipped around to see Peter Ashby appear from behind a tall monument a few yards away.
“Peter. Hi. What are you doing here?” I felt my voice go up an octave and I squeaked like a mouse. I could hear Camille snickering on the blanket behind me and I turned around and glared.
“I came to put flowers on my grandparents’ graves.”
“That’s mighty . . . uhh . . . noble . . . of you.” Why do I always sound like such a dork around him?
“My parents usually come on Memorial Day, but they’re on a cruise right now and they made me promise that I’d come out here for them this weekend and leave some flowers. I think they’re afraid my grandparents will haunt them if they don’t make their presence known.” He laughed at his own joke. Camille and I involuntarily glanced at Sophia.
“How about you guys? What are you doing here?” He spied the blanket and basket of food. “Are you having a picnic in a cemetery? Cool.”
Sophia was the first to respond. “Why not picnic in a cemetery? Want to join us?”
Peter seemed to notice Sophia for the first time and he smiled at her before answering. “Sure. I’m Peter, by the way. I’ve seen you around, but I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
“My name’s Sophia. I’m a ghost.”
Camille began choking on her granola bar and had to spit it out on the ground. I was still standing a few feet away and I’m convinced that my heart stopped beating for a short time. I felt the blood drain from my face and I had to sit down on the ground and put my head between my knees so I wouldn’t faint. How could she? She knows I like him. Now he’s going to think I—we—are crazy.
“A ghost, huh?” Peter chuckled, taking the pronouncement in stride. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. My name’s Peter. I’m a werewolf.” He bowed mockingly and stuck out his hand for Sophia to shake.
I finally got control of myself and caught Sophia’s eye. I glared.
“Sophia? Can I please talk to you for a second—over here?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could.
She dutifully obeyed and followed me behind a nearby tree.
“What are you doing?” I hissed angrily. “He was finally starting to show interest in me and now he’s going to think I’m a lunatic.”
“Calm down, Jamie. You’re helping me so I’m going to help you,” she whispered.
“How could you possibly think this is helping?” I was squeaking again.
“If Peter helps you and me on our little quest, think how much time you’re going to get to spend hanging out with him.”
She had a point. There was a chance he would believe us—after all, Camille did. Of course, Camille could be kind of gullible . . .
“Fine,” I huffed. “But please don’t be obvious about my liking him.”
She winked and returned to the blanket. I followed, probably looking like a lost puppy, and sat next to her. The blanket wasn’t huge and with four people sitting on it we were pretty cozy.
“So, do you picnic here often or is this a new form of entertainment?” Peter was completely oblivious to the elephant in the room.
I cleared my throat loudly. If I was going to make a fool out of myself by telling Peter about Sophia’s secret, I didn’t want to do it sounding like a mouse. “Peter, do you believe in ghosts?”
“Oh . . . I get it. There’s a full moon tonight and you guys came out here to tell ghost stories. This is awesome. No offense, but I didn’t think girls liked to do stuff like this.”
“Peter, I’m serious. Do you believe in ghosts?” I asked sincerely.
He looked at me and then glanced away, picking at the blanket as he answered. “I think so. I don’t claim to have ever seen a ghost, but I’m open to the possibility that they might exist.”
I turned to Sophia. “Now would be a good time to do your thing.”
She smiled and rose to her feet. “This is starting to get kind of fun. I should have started doing it decades ago.”
She turned and addressed Peter. “Now you see me . . .” she disappeared into t
he night just as the sun sank below the horizon “. . . now you don’t.” I heard her whisper the last part of the sentence into Peter’s ear, but I couldn’t see her. His reaction was priceless.
“Holy—” he screamed, covering his mouth before the entire expletive made its way out. He dove across the blanket and grabbed Camille and I, cradling both of us between his arms at the same time. If it hadn’t been so funny I would have liked to stay there with his arm wrapped around me the entire night, but as it was I let a giggle escape and he relaxed and let go.
“Wait . . . is this a joke? Are you guys pranking me? That’s what Sophia and you were whispering about a minute ago.” I couldn’t tell if Peter was angry as he was yelling or if he thought it was funny. I think he was still in shock.
“It’s true, Peter. Sophia’s a ghost. I found out just a few hours ago. Apparently Jamie here has known for a week and didn’t bother to tell anyone,” Camille said.
Peter looked at me. His mouth was moving slightly, trying to form words for questions he didn’t know how to ask.
“I don’t get it,” he finally said. “Is this really real?”
“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” I pointed behind him to where Sophia hovered lazily above Arthur’s headstone.
“Oh geez,” he breathed. “This is crazy. Either I’m dreaming or I’ve completely lost it. Someone wake me up. Please.”
Sophia came back to the blanket, curling her long legs under herself as she sat down gracefully and began to tell her story for the second time that day. By the time she got to the part where she, Camille, and I decided to go to the cemetery, it was completely dark except for the light coming from the full moon Peter had mentioned. We’d eaten most of the snacks we brought and put on our jackets. The nights were bearable, but still cool at that time of year. A breeze rolled in from the ocean and we huddled closer together. The telling of ghost stories while sitting in a cemetery didn’t exactly help to warm us, either.
“Are you overwhelmed?” I asked Peter.
“A little. I kind of feel euphoric, too. Questions that have been asked for hundreds of years can actually be answered. That’s amazing. I wonder how many times I’ve passed a ghost on a sidewalk or in a crowded mall and didn’t even know it.”
“For all you know, there are ghosts that have been following you around for weeks, watching your every move.” I playfully punched Sophia in the arm.
“There is one thing in the story I missed, though. Sophia, you said you died in 1888 after you were taken to live as the daughter of Jeremiah and Elsa, right?” Peter asked.
She nodded.
“How did you actually die, then? You were so young.”
I couldn’t believe it. I’d been reading and studying and researching everything I could about the disappearance of the Mary Celeste and the Briggs family in the previous week and I had never bothered to ask Sophia how she actually died. My curiosity was piqued.
Sophia didn’t answer Peter immediately, but sat in silence for a while. Judging by the look on her face, her death was a sensitive subject. Finally she spoke. “I guess I better start where I left off before. The beginning of my death sentence actually started about a year and a half before I died.”