In The Light of Another

It was an easy trek, just down the road, not far from where I lived. I guessed it to be about two miles before we caught sight of the iron fence surrounding the cemetery. The moon’s light touched the bare limbs of the trees casting long shadows across the field of headstones. My round-faced friend kept a good pace—a quick two steps, a short hop, then two steps—as though skipping along. There were no exchanges of words or anything of the sort. He kept moving forward, a step, a hop, two steps, holding that box tight against his chest as if protecting a vast fortune that was stolen from a sheik’s palace. He acted as if there were paid thieves closing in, for every once in a while, he’d glance side to side, spying into the night. Our surroundings made me nervous with the moonlight being blocked by a dark wooded area that we soon would be exploring. I noticed his mumbling, which added to our unsettling atmosphere made me wonder if I was headed to my grave with a mad man, a man whose name I didn’t even know.

“What is your name?” I said.

“Dasu.”

“What?”

“Here, through this break in the fence.” He waved his hand and ducked behind chest-high brush and disappeared.

A worrisome thought crept into my head, and an uneasy feeling overcame me. “What if he was sent by someone else? Someone who might want to do me harm?” I said in a low voice and stopped at the edge of the bushes. “Don’t be silly, Luc. No one knows you’re an inspectre, and if they do, they’ll soon learn that you’re nothing but an errand boy who’s been recently promoted to handyman,” I said.

I cautiously moved behind the shrub. It was dark like a tunnel and hard to see, which caused me to walk even slower. My guard ready, in case there might be a struggle, I emerged from the opening.

“Is there a problem?” His face was in the shadow of the moon.

He reminded me of a hooded executioner except without his ax, yet maybe he had a blade. I was getting ahead of myself once again. I looked past my friend into a vast field of headstones, weeping willows, old oaks, and the white moon on the horizon.

My mouth open, stunned by the macabre scenery.

Dasu gave a large wave of his arm. “This way to the north end.”

He headed off, and I followed.

“Are you foreign?”

“No.”

“It’s just Dasu is an unusual name.”

“My parents were quirky and wanted a different name.”

“You sound foreign.”

“I’m not.”

I pondered for a moment that he didn’t want to talk about where he came from while avoiding tripping over a flat gravestone.

“What’s at the north end?”

He stopped, did a cursory look, and put the box down next to his foot. “Look around you, sir, and tell me what you see.”

“I see headstones, trees, and the moon.”

He chuckled. “Graves, sir. What you see are graves of the dead. That is what is on the north end, but there is more for which your eyes do not see.”

“There are graves at this end as well?”

Dasu did not respond.

I followed at a distance, still unsure about my new friend.

Why did I even bother to come out?

I knew that answer—I was curious to know what was in the box and what it had to do with being in a graveyard at this time of night.

A brisk wind cut through as we crossed, passing by old gray headstones, blowing leaves over the dead. The trees clamored with an alertness that made me feel exposed.

Did trees watch over the dead?

It was a silly question and one better suited for another time, perhaps for Decker when I see him.

I smiled.

Dasu was just in front when he was met by another person. I saw him move quickly to the side, protecting the box, then he relaxed and went forward toward the man. I stopped, keeping my distance, looking over my shoulder for an escape if it came to it.

The two men lingered in hushed tones, and I saw my friend take out a few coins and place them into the hands of the other fellow. The new man was taller, lanky, his shoulders broad, his waist tapered, and his clothes hung on him like that of an oversized suit a clown might wear at a carnival. His features were shaded from under the brim of his hat.

He went behind a tree and came back with a shovel. I didn’t like the looks of it—a shovel, in the middle of a graveyard, at night. I had a fleeting thought to leave but decided to stay. I stayed out of curiosity and a faint thought that it was my duty to carry on with Dasu since he’d been redirected to me in Decker’s absence.

This could be a test.

I felt the silver insignia through the coat pocket. I had not donned it, never thought I would but felt it was important to at least have it.

Dasu waved me on, and I continued to follow behind the two men. The air was dry and crisp, and the leaves under my feet crackled from time to time alerting anyone who might be nearby to our presence.

On our way, I noticed a tiny gravestone, no name engraved into it, only a saying. “Never clothed nor taken one bite, found in the middle of the night.” I thought it must be that of a child.

There was a set of six headstones all identical in shape. On the front were first names, the last being the same. A family, I thought, from nearly forty years ago. All the same day—a fire? Murdered? It was difficult to say. The past was gone, but the present still lingered on.

I trailed behind the two men more than fifteen yards, slowing my pace.

“Here.” It was Dasu’s voice.

The two men stood over a grave. As I got closer, I could clearly see the dirt. This grave must have been dug in the fall. No grass had taken root, and the mound sloped from its center down to its edges. The mound should have flattened out from wind and water erosion, but it hadn’t. Maybe this grave was not from the fall but more recent. Though I couldn’t imagine why anyone would bury a body in winter. Breaking the ground was hard enough, digging down to six feet unlikely. In winter the bodies were stored in a holding vault in a cemetery, a church, or a morgue.

That gave me a thought. Maybe Alarbus’s remains were stored in a holding vault and were no longer at a morgue.

The two men had waited for me and were looking down.

“Here?” I pointed at the unmarked grave. “Is there something we need to do?”

“No, through here.” Dasu led us into a hedge in single file along a path. We came to a crypt surrounded by hedges on all corners. It had a large stone door and statues of angels chiseled out of granite. The angels were armed, one with a sword, gripped by two hands, the other held a shield. Defenders.

Dasu held the box near his waist, opened it, and revealed a pair of goggles—they were tinted green with amber rims, leather padding around edges that cupped the sides of the temples. The lenses were thick like bottled glass. He handed them to me.

“What’s this for?” I said.

“Put them on, and you’ll see what cannot be seen.” He smirked.

I didn’t like his smirking nature, seemed out of place, almost disrespectful among the dead. I took the goggles from him, then said, “Sir, please, the dead might see.” He nodded and motioned with his hands for me to don the goggles. I did.

With the goggles in place, all appeared to be the same, only a little greener. The moonlight shimmered with a glistening stream of green in its rays.

“What am I looking for?” I said.

“I will dig, and you watch,” the gravedigger said.

I pulled the goggles off, and I tamped my foot on the ground. “It’s frozen. You can’t dig in winter.”

“We don’t need to go very deep, just a scrape of the dirt will help. Please put on the goggles, and tell me what you see,” Dasu said.

I wasn’t too keen on doing that. “How about you put the goggles on and demonstrate how they work?”

“No, no. It’s better for you. This is the ideal place, and you need to see for yourself.”

The earth was barren, nothing but a thin layer of dormant grass. What was I supposed to see? I pulled the goggles on and looked at the ground.

“Go on,” I said to the gravedigger.

The edge of the shovel hit the hard surface, scraping along like one might do taking a knife to burnt toast. Over and over he scraped at the dirt, taking thin layers off with each swipe. I watched, still nothing out of the ordinary. I shook my head.

“Scrape harder if you must,” Dasu said to the gravedigger.

The man grated the shovel across the soil. I heard the force, his hard breathing, and watched his strained movements. The older man did it again and again. Hitting the terrain, scraping across it.

“Nothing.” I went to take off the goggles, but Dasu rushed over and put his hand against my arm.

“Be patient. Wait. You’ll see,” Dasu said.

Stifling a groan, I kept the goggles in place. “All right.” I crossed my arms.

The man took the shovel and continued to rake at the hard ground. I edged closer to the marked patch of earth and stared. I saw the shovel head swiping over the area. It’s just a patch of dirt, nothing more.

“Is this some kind of joke?” I said to Dasu.

He came closer.

“It’s no joke, and well, Mr. Decker wasn’t home.”

I looked over at Dasu through the tinted lenses. His face was greener. “Not home? Right, instead you bring me out in the middle of the night, into a cemetery, have me put on these blasted goggles for who knows why only to watch a man who’s likely the next victim of this place scrape off the frozen dirt from an unmarked grave?”

The gravedigger stopped and held a long stare directed at me. “I’ve outlived most in this here ground.”

“Yeah, that was helpful,” I said under my breath.

“Please continue,” Dasu said. He walked over near the man and placed a few more coins into his hand.

“Are you sure you don’t handle accounts?” I said.

Dasu smiled and moved away from our friend. The gravedigger went back to work, scraping the ground.

I watched the shovel’s edge coming into view, scraping across the ground, taking with it a thin layer of dirt. There was nothing out here—just this old man, a foreigner who pretended he didn’t come from a different place, and me. The three of us enjoying a moonlit night in the winter among the dead. Then I saw something.

Khungh, khungh, khungh.

I groaned aloud but remained facedown in bed, pulling my pillow up around my ears. I’d just gotten to bed, avoiding the stack of books Decker had given me to read. It must be eleven. Such a late hour—who could it be?

I likely knew that answer even before the question formed in my head. It was my nosy neighbor, Mr. Decker, no doubt. I wondered what he needed this time? Maybe a way to swindle more money out of me, or maybe he’s brought that damn pipe again.

Khungh, khungh, khungh.

“Blasted knock! Go away!”

The words were pointless because I knew that damnable knock wasn’t going anywhere. Not until I answered.

“All right! All right!” I pried my body from the warmth of my bed and found cold, solid ground under my feet. I reached for my slippers and put them on, taking my time. I glanced around the room for Alarbus, my own personal ghost, but he wasn’t present.

Khungh, khungh, khungh.

I stretched my arms high and yawned. I teetered when I stood, gained balance, then with small steps went into the hall, passing my family portrait, and descended the creaking stairs. I arrived at the front door, avoiding the inflexible spots on the floor.

I drew the curtain back on the side window next to the door and peered out. “My neighbor and his night owls,” I grumbled. “They like to stay up all night and sleep all day.” A frightening thought gripped my mind. “Was Mr. Decker a vampire? Was he out there in the middle of the night, seducing young virgins, because that would be terrifying.” My stomach turned inward on itself, and a series of contractions started from my diaphragm in short, silent movements, increasing in repetition until they were the sounds of laughter coming out my mouth.

“What if he is a vampire?” I whispered softly, forgetting why I was even standing there. My gaze fell onto the door; my eyes widened. Someone was on the other side in the dark, someone who was visiting at this late hour. “Who?” A shudder ran through my spine, and I gasped. “What if he’s dead?” I fidgeted with my hands. “Had Decker died? Was he a walking stiff? A vampire would do, or one of the walking dead. Maybe he was possessed? No, he couldn’t be possessed, but he is old and smells. He might be dead.” I scratched my chin, thinking about what Decker smelled like—sour, dirty, or rotting meat?

“He didn’t smell like any of those. He just smelled old.” I paused a moment in thought. “Do vampires smell?” I shook my head. I had to get a grip on my thoughts. “There are no vampires outside Varney. Get ahold of yourself, or they’ll take you away.” And I knew it to be true. The authorities can be somewhat inflexible when you go off talking about ghosts, demons, or even vampires. I breathed out, then filled my lungs with air, squared my shoulders, and reached for the door.

I retracted my hand and paused a moment, listening. “Maybe they’re gone?” I looked longingly toward the stairwell, which would lead me back to my bedroom where I could lie in my bed, all cozy and warm. But instead, I was here, uncomfortable and cold.

“They must be gone.” I edged my foot to the right, working my way to the stairs, to flee to my sanctuary, to drop into the soft bed and pull the covers over the top of my head. And as I shifted my weight…

Urrrrr.

The treasonous floor gave me away.

“Hello.” I heard a man’s voice on the other side. He had a strange accent, one I couldn’t quite place.

“Blasted boards.” I sneered at the floor and scuffed my heels against it. “One day, one day. A hammer and nails.” I swung my imaginary hammer and smiled at that notion of quieter boards.

I shook my head and opened the door.

I was staring at a short, round fellow, who looked to be in his thirties but gave the impression he was older by the way he dressed. He wore a tweed jacket and a top hat that was a little out of style. His beard was thick in patches and not altogether neat, which told me he was either lazy or uninterested in troubling himself with a lady. I could understand the tophat if he was on the way to the theater—and wearing tails—but he wasn’t wearing tails. He resembled what I thought was a mismatched British imposter.

“Yes?” I said.

“I was told if Mr. Decker was not home to knock on this door,” he said.

“Do you know the hour?”

“I know, sir, but I was told…”

“Told what? By whom? Mr. Decker told you?” I stared through him as though he were a pane of glass.

He fidgeted, and his foot accidentally knocked against something. It drew my attention to a wooden box on the ground that I had not noticed before.

“Mr. Decker left a note on his door… you can see for yourself—”

“We finished the orphanage case.” I tapped my foot and crossed my arms and glared through slits at the poor fellow. “And I’ve not been paid.”

“I don’t have anything to do with accounts.”

“Who does?”

“I don’t know.”

“If you don’t know, then I don’t know why Decker even bothered to send you here.” My hand was on the door, ready to slam it shut. My eyes captured the man lightly tapping the wooden box with the side of his worn boot. Which made me think he shopped in a secondhand store. I looked closer at the box. The box was simply made, square, the size of a shoebox, and it seemed to be made of pine, maybe oak. Perhaps he shined boots in the middle of the night. Eh, that doesn’t seem right.

“What’s inside that box?” I cocked my head and studied it for a moment.

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Go on.”

“I’ll need to show you,” he said with a gleam in his eye.

I wasn’t sure if he was excited to show me what was in the box or if there was something rather dangerous in it. I didn’t care to know, and I was growing tired of this conversation. My bed is where I wanted to be, not standing here discussing what may be in a box.

“If you’re not going to tell me what’s inside the box, you should leave.”

His grin fell away replaced by a slightly furrowed brow. “Pardon?”

“Leave. Or don’t you understand the meaning of the word?”

He fidgeted, then gathered his thoughts and said, “We should depart and go to the cemetery.”

“Cemetery? What the devil are you talking about?”

“There’s one I passed a mile or so back. We could walk it with no problem if you’re not too worried about the cold. There doesn’t appear to be any snowfall and the moon is out, which makes it so much more ideal.”

“Ideal? You think being in a cemetery on a night like this is enjoyable?”

“Oh yes, very much so. Don’t you?” He rubbed his hands together, and that gleam in his eyes returned. This time I couldn’t tell if it was from malice or a genuine excitement at the idea of going to a cemetery on a moonlit night. In either case, I didn’t care to go anywhere with the little short, rotund fellow. The bed was better.

“Tell Mr. Decker I’m not interested in the case; he’ll need to find someone else to do it.”

The cheerfulness in his mannerism fell away.

I slammed the door, turned, jumped several inches off the floor at the sight of Alarbus. I let out a shuddering breath.

“Greetings to you too.”

I walked around Alarbus because I don’t like walking through him and headed to the stairwell.

“Since you’re up maybe we can locate the rest of my remains?”

I grunted.

“Is that disapproval I hear?” Alarbus said.

I gritted my teeth, knowing full well going back to bed was no longer an option when Alarbus got into the mood of locating his remains. “I thought you said you’d stop haunting me.”

“I never said that.” He looked down his nose. “You’ve a strange notion in your head. It isn’t as if I have any control over who I haunt.”

“Are we going to do this talk again?”

Alarbus stood with his chest out, his shoulders high, his back rigid. His air of royalty told me he wasn’t going to let this go. “I’ve got an idea of where to look for my remains.”

“Decker buried them,” I grumbled.

“Only the parts you brought back, as you know.”

I’d made it a few steps before there was that knock again and the gleamy-eyed-I-love-to-go-to-the-cemetery-on-moonlit-nights man’s muffled voice filtering through. “What I have in this box is a marvel.”

“It’s probably his wit,” Alarbus said.

The man continued, “Mr. Decker would very much like to see it, but he’s away. I am sure he will be very irate when he realizes he missed it.”

“The old man’s always irate,” Alarbus said.

I stifled a laugh and stood there in silence, thinking what the man on the other side said. This box thing was intriguing, and I would like to know what was in it, but there was a side of me that was unsure if I truly wanted to know. I remembered the cross, that unexpected pure white light, the power I felt in my hands. It was unnatural. The whole thing was unnatural, and whatever was in that box was also probably unnatural.

I raised my voice. “Come back tomorrow, and we’ll talk some more.”

The knock came again.

“Why’s he knocking? You were just talking to him.” Alarbus’s left eye squinted.

I held my breath, then let it out slowly and opened the door.

“Perhaps you did not hear me,” I seethed.

“Tomorrow won’t do. I need you to come with me now.”

“To the cemetery?”

“Go with him to the cemetery. Let’s find out what’s in the box,” Alarbus said.

“To the cemetery,” I repeated.

“And on this beautiful moonlit night?” Alarbus added.

“Yes, this very night,” the short man said.

I turned to Alarbus, who was floating behind me.

I sighed. “You and this fellow are truly a trial. He wants me to come out in the dead of night, in the dead of winter, and to take a stroll in a moonlit cemetery. While you want me to go off looking for your missing parts. I’ll never get any rest between the two of you.”

“Does this mean you’re helping me?” Alarbus floated with one leg crossed over the other.

I opened the door.

“What do I need to do? Is this about the orphanage? It was only a draft coming through the attic.”

The man started to open his mouth, but no words came out.

“Listen, I’d already busted my thumb twice hammering nails into the outer planking.”

“Huh.”

“The man is obviously having trouble forming words,” Alarbus said.

I pointed my finger at the man. “I can’t paint, not this time of year; it’s too cold.”

The man stood in silence.

“Maybe you should really let him know what’s on your mind.” Alarbus stood beside me.

“We’d investigated, and that was supposed to be it. I worked on the building, picking up trash and patching the roof as Decker requested. Not that I minded. I’m just letting you know there wasn’t anything supernatural about that case, and I never got paid.”

Alarbus chimed in. “Who in their right mind would be doing any kind of work at the orphanage at this hour?”

“I don’t know anything about an orphanage or accounts.” His hands were out wide, his palms facing upward in a helpless gesture.

“Never mind. What’s this about the cemetery?”

“We must go there,” he said.

“And it has to be now?” I said.

Alarbus stepped forward. “It has to be on this moonlit night, remember?”

“Yes, now while the moon is out.” The man rubbed his hands together.

“See.” Alarbus smiled.

“You still haven’t answered me. Why the cemetery? Why not show me here?”

He lowered his head and shifted his eyes back and forth. “Oh no, not here. We can’t stay here. The cemetery is the best place to show you.” He appeared excited yet suspicious of who might be nearby.

I did not know what he was excited about, and it made me wonder if the man was a little off. Who plays in the cemetery?

“Let me get dressed.” I shut the door.