The windshield is so cold it's starting to frost over.
The cemetery is still and terribly lonely. Her car is parked between the two large trees that are apparently supposed to trigger the haunting.
She's here because of a dare.
"C'mon, Bennett, don't puss out on me," Tyler Lockwood had said, stoking the fire.
And she didn't. Bonnie was a woman— or a witch, really— of her word. So what if she hadn't owned up to her heritage until now? So what if she'd been joking with Elena just a week ago about how Grams needed to be put in a home already? If she was going to buy into the idea of ghosts existing, why not her own witch lineage?
So she's here, sitting in her car at nearly 3 A.M. with the keys turned off in the ignition and the cold starting to seep into her bones. The more time that ticks by, the more foolish she starts to feel. The cemetery is relatively still aside from the shifting trees and the twinkling stars above. Nature's presence almost diminishes the cold, hollow feeling in Bonnie's gut as she gazes out across the tombstones. She's never felt more like she's in a horror movie than staring out at the old, engraved stones, awash in the pale light of the moon.
"This is complete bullshit," she eventually mutters to herself, shifting to start reaching for her keys. "I'm never listening to Lockwood again." After she turns the ignition and starts her car, she realizes she hasn't yet taken a photo to prove she'd actually come out here at 3 A.M. by herself. No one would believe she completed the dare if she didn't get one.
Reaching into her coat pocket, she fishes out her iPhone and unlocks it to switch to the camera app. Looking through the lens of the app, she aims her phone up towards the two trees and the row of tombstones before her. She takes a photo, and just as she's about to take a second one, she stops.
There's movement back towards one of the tombstones on the second row— directly between the two trees before her. She squints, still looking through the phone for a moment until she realizes she can just put the thing down and use her actual eyes to get a better look.
It's a man. Or a boy, maybe. He looks about her age, and his body is built like he could be one of the Mystic Falls track and field guys. The closer he gets, the more of his features she can make out. He's wearing a pink shirt with a colorful symbol on the front, and combined with his dark green pants, his outfit as a whole is reminiscent of a grunge style from the 90s. He's jogging- just like the urban legend of the 'Jogger of Mystic Falls Cemetery' is supposed to. Just like the ghost she's driven out here to see.
But he can't be a ghost, she argues internally. He looks perfectly normal, aside from the potentially dated clothes. Maybe he was just having an off day and hadn't run laundry in awhile. But even still, why would he be jogging in a cemetery at 3 A.M. on a Saturday night? The question rises in the back of her mind, quiet but probing. Anxiety unfurls in her stomach.
The man approaches, jogging at a steady pace. As he comes more into range of her headlights, they light his face and reveal his pretty features. He looks… distracted. Almost as if he's staring straight ahead and doesn't see or acknowledge Bonnie's car at all. The hair is starting to stand on the back of her neck.
Just as she's beginning to wonder if she's overreacting, the man disappears. It happens as quickly as she blinks. One moment, he's almost to her car, and the next he's just gone.
What the hell? Her gaze flits back and forth, searching for where the man could've gone. Her palms are already starting to sweat.
Then she takes a shaky breath and turns to look over her shoulder at the backseat window.
She screams.
There, with a bloody hand pressed to the window, is the man. He's gazing at her through the glass, his eyes dark and big. Bonnie's sure his expression is blank, but it's still somehow the most intense look anyone's ever given her. He looks haunted. Angry. Dragging one bloody finger down the window, he starts to draw out the word 'Hi' . Underneath it, he adds a smiley face. He breaks into a grin that might've been charming if he weren't a bloody apparition.
Bonnie's scream has died in her throat, but a cold, fresh horror grips her chest and she can hardly breathe. She's considering putting her car in reverse and hightailing out of there, but when she turns to face forward in her seat he's moved again. He's resuming his jog toward the direction he'd come from.
When she glances over at her backseat window again, the blood is gone.
It was an illusion of some kind— maybe something to scare her away? Either way, she's sitting unharmed (aside from the potential trauma, she notes). Bonnie wonders sheepishly if she'd be in this situation at all if she'd taken Sheila seriously to begin with and studied more on witchcraft.
Maybe even about the dead specifically. There must be some reason he's lingering here.
So, against her better judgement, she follows the whim in her gut and makes the impossibly reckless decision to leave her car in park and step out of it. The air is chilly on her cheeks and she can see her breath in front of her, but that chill is nothing compared to the chill up her spine at the sight of the jogger completely freezing in his tracks.
Seemingly sensing that she'd exited the vehicle, the apparition stands there without moving.
"I'm a witch," she calls carefully. Almost strategically. If he knew she held power over him, maybe he wouldn't try anything else. Maybe she can get some answers on what the hell he is, and why he's out here. Maybe something she can bring back home to Grams to get a witchy fix.
He doesn't move, so she just stares at the slumping set of his shoulders and back. When he brings his hands up to his face almost like he's crying, a chill runs up her spine again. What the hell is he even doing?
She steps towards him slowly. Cautiously. When he doesn't show any sign of moving, she takes another step.
And then another.
In hindsight, she isn't sure why she even got out of her car. It's almost like she's been possessed, and something deep inside of her is compelling her to do it. Something about the man feels familiar. Important, somehow. She needs to know why this pull towards him is so strong. It should be impossible to see something— someone— as horrifying as this and still feel a pull.
But then he turns around and she's screaming again, twice as bloodcurdling as before.
There, before her, where the smooth-faced apparition had been, is a version of him that's completely rotten. His skin has a blue-green pallor and is covered with blisters and open wounds. His eyes are clouded over and mostly decayed from their sockets, along with the rest of his body. For all intents and purposes, he's a standing corpse.
Bonnie can't stop screaming. She trips over herself as she tries to walk backward, falling hard. Pain sears her tailbone, and by the time she starts to scramble up again the man is gone.
Not bothering to look for him further, she loads into her car as quickly as possible. Her entire body is shaking as she peels out of the cemetery, and her hands are trembling so much that her steering is frantic and jerky.
Bonnie can't believe she ever had the nerve to laugh at the idea of witchcraft when this existed.
When Mystic Fall's tourist famous urban legend was actually real.
"Child, what did I tell you about sneaking out to graveyards at the crack of dawn to summon up the Grudge?" Grams chastises after taking a sip from her own teacup.
The first thing Sheila had done when Bonnie had woken her up in the dead of night (or morning, really) was brew them both cups of chamomile tea.
Bonnie's shaking hands are wrapped around the warm ceramic and, not for the first time, she's incredibly grateful for her grandmother's talent of brewing appropriate teas for each of her anxieties. This, though? This was past anxiety and straight to trauma. She remembers the smell of the ghost more than anything. The rotten, grotesque smell of old fish or decaying meat.
Sheila props a grimoire in her lap, flipping to one of the pages on hauntings, poltergeists and Earth-bound spirits. The crisp, worn smell of the pages helps calm Bonnie's nerves and combat the memory of what she'd seen.
There was nothing quite as comforting to her as the old, passed down spellbooks of the Bennett line. Until now, she'd always poked fun at them and just assumed they were full of new age drivel. But all the same, there'd been something familiar and nice about Sheila pulling the books out in her presence. Now is no exception.
"Y'know, that's exactly what I don't get," Bonnie finally replies, after a long moment of reflection. "He didn't go all 'Rated R' on me until I got out of the car and tried to confront him. Before that, he seemed like a regular guy. Maybe running from something, or hurt, or—"
"I'm sorry, you did what ?" Sheila starts, nearly dropping the grimoire.
Bonnie recognizes the familiar incredulity in her grandmother's expression and falters. "I… can't really explain it, honestly. I know it sounds completely nuts, but I had this feeling about him. I need to know why he's out there. And if I'm really a witch like you keep saying I am, I feel like it's my job to take care of this kind of thing. Can you imagine what he could do to someone who has zero knowledge of the occult? Even just emotionally? I don't want anyone getting hurt. Or, like.. psychologically scarred."
Grams sighs, leaning back in her chair. "This isn't a game, child. If you commit to this, then you're committing head on. Once you open this can of worms, there's no going back. I can teach you how to trap Earth-bound spirits, but whether or not he passes on from here is of his own accord. Nobody else's."
"Teach me," Bonnie says immediately, leaning forward. "Anything I can use to help talk to him. And you don't have to worry about me going back on any of it- I'm ready."
Sheila gives her a long look, raising one brow. "Alright, alright. Keep your britches on." She tilts the grimoire towards Bonnie, allowing her to look on. "Here's the incantation you need right here. It'll be a lot to handle for a first spell, but if you think you've got the stones for it then I trust you. You'll also need to sprinkle a salt circle and have him walk into it. Once he steps over it- granted you say the incantation- he shouldn't be able to step out until you break the salt circle yourself." She pauses for a moment, brown eyes serious. "Honey, you don't have to do this alone. Call up Luke or Liv Parker from school. I told you their father is a close friend of mine. It doesn't sound like this spirit has much reason to harm you, but if you're scared at all-"
"Grams, I'm fine," she interjects. "I, uh.. Didn't realize you'd meant Luke and Liv were witches too, though." She twists her hands together a little anxiously. "I need to do at least part of this by myself. I found him, and maybe I'm wrong but I feel like that means something. If I need any help, I'll keep them in mind."
"Fine," Sheila agrees, the corner of her lips tugging up in a proud smile. "You just let me know if you need any advice and I'm here for you."
Bonnie leans forward, wrapping her Grams into a hug.
"I know. I will."