Clairvoyant
by Amber Averay
Check out Amber’s Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TheEnchantmentSeries
Are you ready? Don’t be scared, I come here often – enough that I could almost traverse the entire boneyard with my eyes closed. It’s OK, really. The others are waiting by the gate, and if you’re frightened you can hold my jacket. I need my hands free. If you need to leave, just say the release word – parrot – and I’ll stop the session and lead you all out. Are you alright?
Let’s meet up with the rest of the group now, and make our way into the graveyard. We have decent light from the moon, in spite of scudding clouds, and if necessary I have a torch in my backpack. But if you just follow my footsteps – setting your feet exactly where I put mine – you’ll be fine. I promise.
OK, now, if you need to hold my jacket just be careful – don’t drag me backward, or we’ll fall and you have no idea how hard it is getting emergency services to a graveyard call out near midnight!
You’ll have to listen while I speak, because sound travels at night and if I talk too loudly this session won’t be private and exclusive LOL. Yes, I actually say LOL; you’ll learn to love me, don’t worry. Anyway, watch your step here, there are broken tombstones and it’s easy to trip over the crumbled obelisk if you’re not careful. Don’t want a twisted ankle to end the night before it’s begun! Ha ha.
Everybody doing OK? Fantastic, now if you look to your right – no, the other right – you’ll see the grave of an Elizabeth Borden. Not the one with the axe, naturally, but she was the sixth victim of an unknown serial killer. Her hands were partially boiled while still attached to the rest of her body. But what killed her was human excrement – it was stuffed in her mouth and her jaws held closed until she asphyxiated. Utterly disgusting, but the trademark of the killer. Some people are just sick, aren’t they? Sick.
And over here, by the tree, lie the remains of a Mr Willard Wilton. His death was quite the shock when he passed some years ago, he was a newly married man to a much younger woman, but it was his male lover who killed him in a pique of jealous rage and then committed suicide. He of course could not be buried here – his grave was unmarked and beyond the border of the graveyard. I have heard his spirit still wanders restlessly, angered that he was not laid to rest with his love but separated in death as they were in life. Sad, isn’t it?
However, if you keep following I’ll lead you onward to our next location. Oh, of course you must look at the final resting place of Martha Hatherbank – she was notorious for wearing trousers and bowler hats when it was considered unladylike to do so! It was only her family’s wealth that allowed her to be buried here after a grand funeral – a petition was launched to have her cremated in secret and the ashes scattered in private. But money talks – don’t we know it? – and so she had an elaborate farewell and all her scandals were forgotten.
Hey – hey! Guys, we’re supposed to be going this way. Not that – that’s the Rose Garden. The more recent graves are there. Over here is where the interesting ones lie… Well, fine, you’re all going that way, give me a moment and I’ll show you some interesting things in there. If I can find any. LOL. Joke, of course. OK, let me see… Oh! Yes, to the left just up here is the final resting place of the…wait, wait, wait, why are you stopping here? There is nothing interesting at this spot. Trust me, I’m here a lot and this is just…
You heard what? A clairvoyant told you that you’d visit a graveyard on this night and – she said what? That’s ridiculous! I come here all the time and I’ve never experienced anything at all like that. And you only came here because a clairvoyant told you it would happen? Can you even think for yourself?
Wait…what are you doing? Candles, sage, prayer book – you didn’t come for the tour, did you? And why are you setting up here? This isn’t a good place. There is nothing here that would… Stop! Stop that right now! Stop saying my name as if I’m not standing right here. I am here! Look at me! I’m not…
Hold on, why is my name on that marker? Why…what is going on? Why is my name on that gravestone? I am not dead. I’m not. I am right here, I’ve been talking to you since you arrived. You can’t just pretend that that grave belongs to me. So someone has the same name as me…date of birth…same hobbies… What the hell is going on? Stop praying at me! Stop it! Let’s move on. This is creepy. This is so damn freaky. I don’t like it.
I’m starting to feel warm, like the sun is out. Strange. My arms are tingling. The moon is growing, or is it sinking toward me? What is happening? I don’t understand… I feel like I’m floating. What have you done to me? Why are you whispering now? I can’t hear you, speak up! It’s like you’re far away, and you’re fading from sight.
Stop this. Please. I…I don’t want to go again…
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