Alright, so I wrote this in a short amount of time and I'm pretty proud of it! I was inspired to write this while listening to I Still Do by the Cranberries. I highly recommend you listen to that song! It just reminds me of something very creepy….
Sunny
Disclaimer: I don't own the Lost Boys, only sweet Alice
000
He walked slowly along the cracked pathway, his footsteps heavy with emotion. Little shoots of grass had grown in between the cracks, giving the walkway a more aged look. Large willow trees hung down to the ground, their leaves stretching to gently touch the earth. The ground was parched, leaving the once green grass to grow a sickly yellow. The full moon was high in the night air, shining down silver rays of light on the crumbled gravestones. Names of the victims of the angel of death were etched into the stones, a small beacon of hope that they would somehow be remembered. A few markers were adorned with flowers, a small sign of respect paid by the families of lost loved ones. A chilling breeze swept through the cemetery, slowly rustling his black coat. Everything about this place screamed death, but he wasn't afraid. He didn't run from the cold grips of the reaper.
David was the reaper.
He walked forward, he always did. He never looked back on anything that he could forget. But this time it was different. He couldn't forget her. He couldn't forget what he had done to her.
His blue eyes were bitter and frigid and a guilty scowl ran across his face. His hands were shoved into his pockets as he walked down the cemetery's pathway, his ears pricked for any foreign sound other than silence.
His eyes searched every gravestone, irritation pulsing through him as he found it more and more difficult to find it over the years. There were more bodies in this cemetery than he could possibly count and all of them were hiding that special one away.
Instead of staying on the pathway any longer, he abruptly turned and walked through the dying grass. The long stems crunched under his boots and the wind blew once again, making the willow leaves bristle.
He crossed hundreds and hundreds of markers, some were huge, some so small they were almost gone. Others, he could tell they hadn't been bothered with in years.
He was beginning to get frustrated when suddenly, he stopped. His limbs froze, his breath caught in his throat, and grief washed over him.
The gravestone was fairly large with a small carving of an Ark Angel blowing a trumpet. David gazed at the angel, then glanced down at the marker.
Alice Eleanor October
Born 1845-died 1850
Beloved daughter and cherished angel
David let out a deep breath. The last time he had been here was 1965, nearly 22 years ago. He thought about Alice then.
She had been a small girl with wispy blonde hair that always got in front of her blue eyes. She had a precious smile that could melt the coldest of hearts and was as innocent as one could be.
"It was just an accident" was what he kept telling himself.
Her parents had been his first kill and Alice, well, she had gotten in the way. The frenzy of hunger had blinded David and when she started screaming, it was all over.
It could be possible that he still felt guilty because that had been his first kill. He had still harbored human emotions and Alice was just a child.
He bent down then and brushed away the cobwebs from the gravestone. The Ark Angel seemed to be watching him, waiting for him to realize his ultimate mistake.
David closed his eyes and saw her face, that smile, those eyes.
Those eyes that haunted him since the day he had murdered her.
"Alice," he breathed.
He opened his eyes again and felt the cold breeze wisp past.
It whispered words in his ear and he could hear them. All of them.
"David…," it seemed to say.
He stood back up and the breeze followed.
"David…"
A cold feeling overtook him, sending chills down his spine. He listened attentively, anxious for the wind to speak again.
"Why…" it seemed to say.
His eyes closed with grief.
The breeze blew all around him, inside his coat, around his feet. Hands pulled at his jacket, fingers knotted in his hair, arms wrapped around his torso, lips whispered against his ears. They kissed his nose, his neck, his face, seeming to forgive him for his sin. The hands touched his face and took his hand, intertwining their fingers. A head rested on his shoulder and remained there. He felt the weight of her body against his as a childish hug enveloped him.
A cold mist floated above the ground, encircling him, encircling the grave. It washed all around him and sounds quietly whispered from the fog.
"Why…"
"David…"
"So long…"
"Where are you…"
"Why…"
"David…"
"David…"
"David…"
He opened his eyes and saw the mist conforming into one unstable figure above the grave. It hugged the marker, swirling around it twice before suddenly disappearing into the ground.
The wind stopped.
The whispers ceased.
But the feeling remained.
He looked down at the grave once again and sighed, shaking his head.
The mist, after all, had only been mist.
The wind, of course, had only been wind.
The feeling, naturally, had been the grief.
Isn't it curious that a guilty conscious will convince one of a ghost when it is merely just an empty graveyard?
000
So, what did you think? As my friend Jo (The Clown That Smiles) and I agree, the boys respect children and don't kill them on purpose. Tell me what you think!
Sunny