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WaterSheerie

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I've had to re-post this story, due to complications and re-writings. Hopefully, this time, it will be better. Enjoy!

     Graveyards hold a certain stigma...and an almost irresistible attraction. Autumn had set it's paintbrush to the leaves and sky. Painting vivid colors across trees, a fiery breath of life to the dying leaves. It left the sky a faded grey, with a faint wash of blue and lavender in the dusky sky. The sun had already set, taking with it all warmth, and light. All that was left, was grey. The grey of twilight, the grey of cold, the grey of death.

     Of course tossing litter on the ground could also be sacrilegious...but Byron wasn't that religious.

     Leaning against a gnarled oak, Byron watched the sky darken over the graveyard. Shadows chased each other across the weathered tombstones, and gathered in dark knots around the bunches of flowers left here and there. He knew it was totally Goth to be hanging out in a graveyard, but cliques and stereotypes had never concerned him. The graveyard was one of the few places where he could be sure of being alone. No one really hung out in graveyard, despite how much Goth people seem to revere them. The only people in a graveyard, were dead. And that suited Byron just fine.

      With this in mind, it was a bit of a shock to see someone else roaming among the tombstones, and edifices to dust and bones. An older woman, probably within her 40s. She was one of those people who aged very gracefully, and held a certain elegance within the lines of her body and face. Her dark hair billowed back in the chill wind, the fading light making her skin seem utterly devoid of color, her dark eyes huge and luminous.

     "Don't tell me you don't have anywhere else to be tonight." The lady smiled, wrapping her long black coat around her tall frame as she walked up to Byron.

     Byron smiled back, "Okay, I won't tell you that I don't have anywhere else to go."

      The woman laughed, shaking her head, turning to stand next Byron, watching the last vestiges of day and light fade from the western skyline. The already cold wind, grew more frigid as night slunk over the graveyard, billowing past the wrought iron gates, and settling around the two watchers. The woman seemed content to simply stand side by side with Byron, saying nothing, simply watching. That was fine with Byron, as speaking was too much of a bother, and conversation simply a social inconvenience.

     The last traces of light within the sky heightened the faint colors of lavender and blue, while adding a dim mauve glow to everything. Within the washed out bands of colors, a pinpoint of light shone, sparkling against the dark. The first star.

     "Will you make a wish?" The woman's voice was low and husky.

     Byron shook his head, "Wishes never come true."

     "Spoken like a true cynic...or someone who's own wishes never came to past." The woman chuckled, though her voice now held a trace of something...sinister. No, not sinister. A thread of sorrow, full of knowledge gained by much pain. She turned her pale face up to the sky, closing her eyes as the bitter wind whipped back her black hair into tattered shadows, blending into the creeping night that pooled around them.

     "I wish, that this year, those hooligans won't trash the cemetery on Halloween."

     Byron pulled out his pack of cigarettes, smacking it against his palm with more force then necessary. "Happens every year. Couple of assholes get drunk, and fuck up the graveyard as some sort of stupid prank, or dare."

     "Nothing is sacred anymore." The woman said somberly, a faint trace of anger sparking in her words.

     Byron raised an eyebrow at the tone in her voice, "The graveyards?"

     "Halloween..." She sighed, then turned and looked at Byron, smiling...though the smile was as chilling and bitter as the wind. "Will you be here for Halloween?"

     "I don't enjoy getting my ass beat...so no."

    "Too bad." She stretched, and began to head out across the graveyard. "Things are always happening on Halloween, or they used too. But that too, can change." She paused, and looked over her shoulder at Byron, grinning. "Someone wished it...sometimes wishes do come true."

     She waved, and began weaving her way through the graveyard, carefully picking her way around the graves. Byron watched, feeling a bit unsettled by the encounter. It was a new feeling, he usually didn't feel nervous, or fearful when meeting people at the graveyard. Still, she had been new, and her words...almost a message. Byron lit up a cigarette, watching the tendril of smoke fade into the night. Time to go.

     Carefully, he began to walk back across the cemetery, toward the entrance. He looked back to see if the woman was still there. She had made her way to one of the smaller gravestones, one of the older ones, worn and faded, moss crawling across it. There was no flowers in front of it, as there was no one left to mourn. The woman paused, her hand caressing the top of the stone, as she looked up to see Byron watching her.

     She gave a small wave, and then there was nothing but the gravestone, nothing but empty air and night.

     Byron waved back, though he knew it was bit absurd to wave at nothing. Pushing open the heavy iron gates that led into the cemetery, Byron slipped out into the empty streets, and began to make the long walk home. Mulling over the conversation, one of many he had had before. But this one had seemed different. The woman had seemed different from the others he had met, and talked to.

     It was probably even more absurd to speak to people that only he could see. But he was used to it by now.