A light fog drapes the cemetery like a night gown. The sound of croaking frogs, crowing birds, and chirping crickets fill the air.
A young man named Lenny sits cross-legged on the ground, next to his wife’s grave. He’s wears a suit and tie, and has brought a small tea set, with a pot and two cups. He fills up both cups, and places one in the grass. Steams rises up from the cup, over the words engraved on the tombstone. Amy always liked tea.
Lenny takes a sip of his tea, and looks at the grave. He tries to picture Amy sitting across from him, but can’t see beyond the hunk of concrete that marks her grave. A small bug crawls from the grass, and tries to climb inside her tea cup. Lenny shoos it away.
He sits there for another few minutes, and quickly starts to feel hollow and cold. This wasn’t as good an idea as he thought. He stands up and empties the tea pot, and both cups, pouring them out on the ground, before putting them back into his bag.
Lenny looks down at Amy’s grave. “Goodnight baby.”
He turns away, trying not to feel stupid.
#
He walks among the tombstones, his head hung low. The sounds of the animals have gone. The only thing that can be heard is the dead twigs crushed under his feet.
Lenny reaches the edge of the cemetery; a wrought iron fence with rusty spikes lining its top. The small gate in the fence is open and Lenny walks toward it. Then he hears something.
Lenny stops. The sound is very soft and quiet, but it’s growing. It’s a violin.
He turns around, and scans the cemetery. Moonlight shadows of tombstones and dead trees dot the ground like figures in a grotesque mural. The violin gets louder, as Lenny starts to walk backward toward the gate. His breathing is hard, and his hands are shaking. Then he spots her. Off in the distance, slowly walking out from under a tall tree.
She wears a long dark robe. Her face is completely covered by a medieval plague mask, with round black eyes, and a long, pointed, beak-shaped nose. A violin sits cradled in her gloved hands. She drags her bow across its strings, filling the night with sharp, piercing screeches.
Lenny stands frozen to his spot near the fence, watching as she begins to dance. She twirls in the moonlight, the bottom of her robe kicking up mist and dirt. She momentarily faces Lenny’s direction, and he ducks behind a tombstone.
The screeching of the violin gets louder. It’s slowly joined by a full orchestra of flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, horns, trumpets, trombones, tubas, timpanis, xylophones, bass drums, and harps. The cemetery sounds like an opera house, and Lenny has to cover his ears.
He peeks out from the side of the tombstone, and sees her walk to the center of the cemetery. The ground shakes; a wild rumbling, that knocks Lenny off his feet.
A rotting green hand shoots out of the ground in front of Lenny. He covers his mouth, as he crawls backwards toward the gate. The hand grabs onto a nearby tree root, and a dirt-covered ghoul pulls itself out of the earth.
It sits on the ground on all fours. Its eyes are yellow, and its hair is matted and thinning. Its suit is gray and dirty, dotted with rips and tears.
Lenny sits curled up by the gate, shivering in terror. More hands shoot from the earth, pulling up more decomposing ghouls. They come in all shapes, sizes, and stages of decay. Some wear suits, some wear dresses. They take simultaneous, gasping breaths of air, before pushing themselves off the ground. They walk toward the center of the cemetery, where Death plays her violin. They gather around her in a blind trance. Death strikes a sharp note. The ghouls break into pairs and begin to dance.
They dance in a waltz, their old penny loafers and high heels kicking at the dirty grass. Their rotting bodies move in graceful, precise movements, as they twirl, spin, shuffle, and slide over hallowed ground. The music swims through the air like raindrops carried on the wind. An undead ball.
Lenny watches from a distance. There is something both beautiful and horrifying about what’s happening in front of him. Whatever you call it, he can’t look away.
Then he sees her. She wears the white dress that he remembers only too well. Her pale skin still has some color left in it. Her eyes, dead, and lifeless, but still just as brilliant as the day they met.
“Amy,” Lenny whispers. He takes a shaking step away from the gate. He picks up the pace, and starts to sprint toward her. Almost tripping over rocks and twigs, Lenny hops and skips between tombstones until he reaches her. In the middle of a twirl, his wife’s eyes meet his.
“Amy!” His voice echoes in the night.
The symphony cuts out.
The corpses collapse. An eerie silence bathes the graveyard. Lenny runs to where Amy lies on the ground.
A black gloved hand falls on his shoulder. “Get out.”
Lenny turns, and sees the masked face of Death staring down at him.
“Get out!” Death says.
Lenny turns to his wife, as she lays on the ground with the other bodies. “What did you do to her?”
Death’s gloved hand grabs Lenny’s wrist, and drags him back to the cemetery gate. The widower struggles in her iron grip, kicking and thrashing, his eyes never leaving Amy’s face.
“Let me go!” He cries. His wife and the pile of corpses shrink into the distance, obscured by the fog. “Amy! Amy!”
Death tightens her grip on his wrist. A cracking sounds echoes in the cemetery. Lenny howls in pain.
They reach the fence, and Death tosses Lenny to the ground. Lenny grabs onto his injured wrist, as he looks up at the dark angel.
The masked face stares down at him, and says, “This dance is for the dead, not the living. You have no place here.”
“That is my wife.”
“Was your wife. She belongs to me now.”
Lenny stands up. “You have no right — ”
“I have every right.”
“Just let me see her.”
“I SAID GET OUT!” The voice of death booms out over the cemetery, eclipsing all other sounds. It is deep, resonate, chilling; a force of nature unto itself. Lenny is paralyzed.
Death takes a step forward. Her tall shadow falls over Lenny. He shakes in the darkness. She points toward the gate. Lenny turns and obeys. He glances back once. He can still make out the vague pile of corpses through the thick fog.
Nursing his injured hand, he leaves the cemetery.
#
Lenny doesn’t return to the cemetery until the next morning. He visits his wife’s grave. His injured arm is now in a cast.
“I didn’t know you could dance so well,” he says, chuckling. “I can see why you wanted me to take you all those times. I’m sorry we never went.”
There is no response. The grave is silent. He turns, and looks down the row of tombstones.
“You have a lot of good people here, so at least I know you’re not lonely.” He smiles, weak and painfully. The grave says nothing.
#
Night and fog return to the cemetery.
Death walks among the tombstones, gently plucking at the strings on her violin. She surveys the land, when her eyes fall upon Lenny. He stands at the gate, holding a bouquet of flowers.
Death stops playing. She gently lays her violin and bow by a tree, before gliding over to him.
“I’m just gonna stay here by the fence.” Lenny says as Death approaches. “I won’t go up to them.”
“You don’t belong here.” Death says.
“I know.”
“Then leave.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“You stay and I’ll kill you.”
“Good, then you won’t be able to kick me out anymore.”
Death takes another step toward him.
Lenny swallows, but he stays his ground. “I know I was disrespectful last time. And I’m sorry. But I won’t get any closer than this. And I won’t speak. I just want to see her.”
“Too bad.”
Lenny balls his hand into fists. “She’s my wife.”
“Your vows were only good until death. Go get another wife.”
“That’s not how this works and you know it.”
“And you think you understand death? You think you know anything about what comes after? About eternity? Of the cold, the dark?”
Lenny doesn’t respond.
Death continues. “Leave these matters to those with experience. This wasn’t meant for the living.”
“Then what exactly is this?”
Death turns to the tombstones. “They spend all year buried under six feet of hallowed soil, trapped in wooden coffins, cutoff from the outside. They deserve to remember what it was like to live.
Lenny scans the tombstones, thinking of all the bodies under each one. “I haven’t been living. Not really. I can’t eat, sleep, or work. I’m just cold. The only time I feel anything, is when I see her face.”
The blank, dark mask of Death bores into him. She looks down at the bouquet in his shaking hands. Death lifts up her hand, and points to a tree stump just inside the fence.
“Sit there,” She says.
Lenny nods, and takes a seat on the stump. “Thank you.”
Death turns away, and walks back into the cemetery. She picks up her violin and resumes playing.
Lenny sits on the stump, an expectant smile on his face. The sounds of an orchestra begin to fill the air.
#
The dancing corpses return, waltzing through the foggy night. Amy is among them, spinning through the cemetery. Her long white skirt swirls in the fog. Her dusty hair sways in the cold night air. Lenny smiles as he watches from afar.
The orange light of dawn shines down on the cemetery. Death and the corpses are gone. Lenny is all alone. He walks up to his wife’s grave, and lays down the bouquet of flowers.
#
The next night, Death strolls through the cemetery, playing her violin. Lenny enters through the gate, with another bouquet. He takes his seat on the stump, and nods at Death. The symphony commences, and Lenny quietly watches his wife dance.
#
Lenny keeps coming back to the stump; night after night, week after week, year after year. And each time he’s just a little bit older; the lines on his face deepen, his hair turns grayer, and he walks just a little more slowly.
His wife hardly changes. She and the other ghouls continue to dance under the moonlight, swaying with the cold breeze. Their clothes are slightly more ripped, their skin is more pale, and worn out. But their dance is still just as graceful and full of life as it had always been.
Lenny still looks at Amy the way he did all those years ago.
#
Lenny grows old on the stump.
A cane sits in his lap. His hair is now snow white. He coughs into a white handkerchief as he watches his wife dance. A warm smile sits on his wrinkled face.
Lenny finishes his coughing fit, and puts the handkerchief into his pocket. The undead symphony begins to die down. He rubs his eyes, and looks up.
Amy is standing right in front of him.
His eyes go wide as he stands up. Amy’s skin is the color of an old apple, and is flaking off in places. Her teeth are yellow, and one of her eyes is half-decomposed. But it is still her.
Lenny hyperventilates. “I…is…are you…?”
Amy nods, as she puts her hands on his face.
Lenny shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”
Amy takes one of his hands, and places it on his chest.
“Feel your heartbeat,” she says. He takes a moment.
“I don’t feel anything,” he says. Then his eyes go wide. “Oh, shit.”
Amy giggles, and rests her head on Lenny’s chest. He smiles, and takes her in his arms. A rooster crows in the distance.
Amy looks back up at Lenny. “It’s almost dawn,”
Lenny looks around. He sees the corpses climbing back into their graves. “I don’t have a grave.”
Amy takes his hand. “You can share mine.”
They slowly walk into the cemetery.
#
Death plays her otherworldly concerto, as Amy and Lenny dance with the other corpses. They twist and sway to her undead opera.
Together.
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