In time for Halloween, the post today (the 25th) is on Historical Hauntings. Click through to check it out.
My audio books will be featured somewhere in the post because Halloween is for Witches, after all.
What you might not know, is my murder mystery, "Missing, Assumed Dead," has a ghostly presence. The audio book and ebook are available through Amazon.
Here's a ghostly short story for your amusement.
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| Copyright Lee Kuraganti - All rights reserved |
A Visit to Potter’s Field
Originally published in Lorelei Signal and “A
Time To..., Volume 1” from Wolfsinger Publications
Rap
Rap Rap
“Now
who? More of those darned kids?”
RAP
RAP RAP
“What
do you want? Can’t you just leave me alone?”
RAP
RAP RAP
“Oh,
for Pete’s sake...some people have no manners.”
Griselda
reached up through the hole in the coffin and pulled a clod of dirt
downward. Grunting with the effort of digging herself out of her
grave, she also muttered a few very unkind words about the visitor
and his parentage.
RAP
RAP RAP
“I
am doing my best. Quit being so impatient. Hmmph.”
She
managed to break away another part of the pine box lid and pulled
more dirt into the coffin.
“A
damned good thing those city employees are so lazy,” she muttered.
“A real grave would be six feet deep. We get maybe two feet at best
in Potter’s Field. Then, all the time, it’s rap rap rap, with
some fool wanting to ask a question.”
RAP
RAP RAP
“I
SAID I’M COMING!” Griselda shouted as she dragged more dirt into
the coffin and shoved the clods down to the foot. She noticed her
words came out more like “I YED I COING.”
Her
knees were now bent and touching the inside of the coffin lid. She
shoved her left elbow to the side and knocked out another piece of
wood. As she suspected, there was some open space around the edges.
She pushed the dirt out of the coffin.
Finally,
her groping hand felt a breeze above her. Something grabbed it and
began to tug at her.
“Wait!
You idiot! The lid is still in the way.” Whoever had pulled at her
let go. She felt two fingernails give way. Damn. She only had three
left.
She
grumbled about lost body parts as she pushed upward on the inside of
the lid with her knees. A screech from the rusty nails pulling loose
set what was left of her teeth on edge.
Pushing
her hands through the widened hole, she gripped both sides of the
coffin and pulled herself upward. Dirt, worms, and other
unidentifiable material fell off the top of her head and down to her
shoulders. She shrugged to loosen the gap even more. Her head popped
above the surface and she gasped the cold night air, her first breath
in over ten years.
She
looked left and right, then swivelled her head around to look behind.
A young man stood with light flickering on his pallid face. His eyes
were open so wide she thought they might pop out (a lovely thought),
the round O of his mouth a frozen rictus of horror.
“Just
what did you expect? A burlesque dancer?” she said in disgust.
After all, he called on her, not the other way around.
“What?”
he stammered.
“Hmmph,”
Griselda grunted as she pushed herself up out of the grave. She sat
on the edge of the pine coffin and looked around. The graveyard
looked much the same as it had when they’d buried her. She thought
some things must never change.
“Well,
what do you want to ask?” she said as pleasantly as possible,
though speaking properly without lips and tongue was difficult. Ah,
wait. A bit of tongue was still attached to the back of her throat.
She coughed and spit out a beetle that had made a comfortable bed
against her tonsils. With a bit more tongue, she asked more clearly.
“What do you want?”
“I
I I...”
“Spit
it out. Hee hee,” Griselda cackled at the joke, since she’d just
spit out a bug.
The
boy cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Miss, uh, Gypsy, I
heard you have to answer the question of whoever digs you up,” the
boy began.
“Yes,
I do have to answer,” she said, then muttered under her breath,
“Stupid curse.”
“I
want to know if Emily is my true love.”
“Emily
who? Come on, boy, give me some details. I don’t exactly get the
daily news down there.”
“Emily
LaFleur. She’s my girlfriend, but she’s been going out with Beau
Richards. You know, he’s just a jock. He can’t offer...”
“Tut
tut tut. Too much information. Let me see if I’ve got this
straight. You love the girl and the girl loves the jockey and you
want to know if she’s your true love?” Griselda sighed. She
wished these young pups would come up with some better questions.
What about world peace? What about death, famine, and pestilence?
“The
simple answer, my foolish boy, is no. She can hardly be your true
love if she’s gallivanting off with a...jockey, did you say?
They’re kind of small, aren’t they?”
“Not
a jockey. A jock. He plays football.”
“Foot...?
I assume that’s some kind of game?”
“Uh,
yeah. You don’t know about football?”
Griselda
glared at the callow boy until he turned his eyes away. She wasn’t
sure whether it was in shame or because she had a bit of pus dripping
from her left eye. She’d been dead for more than a hundred years
and they expect her to keep up on sports?
“So,
she’s not my true love?”
“No,
she’s not. Now, pick up that shovel and get me back in the ground.
This damp air isn’t good for me.”
The
boy set the lantern on the ground and picked up the shovel he’d
brought along. Griselda noticed he had cleared away a considerable
amount of the dirt covering her before he started rapping on her
coffin. That was very kind of him. Most of them just poked a pole
down to the coffin lid and expected her to do all the work.
She
felt a bit sorry for him. At least he’d gone to some trouble to ask
his question of a dead gypsy with a curse on her.
“Uh,
can you get back down into the coffin by yourself?”
“A
little shy about touching a lady, boy?” Griselda relented at his
trembling lips as he tried to form an answer.
“Oh,
that’s okay. I’ll get back in myself. First, dig some of the dirt
out from inside the box, will you?”
“Yes,
ma’am.”
Now,
she liked that response. He was showing respect for the dead. Better
than most of the yahoos that came to dig her up and ask their stupid
questions. Who made up this silly idea about asking the dead
questions that they must answer? It certainly wasn’t her idea,
Griselda thought. Just because she’d told fortunes using a crystal
ball when she was alive, didn’t mean she wanted to continue the
practice after death. Still, word got around and the curse had
plagued her ever since she died.
The
boy shoveled the dirt out of her coffin, giving her a chance to
think. She decided to help this boy. Why not? She’d been left to
lie for over ten years since the last time someone dug her up. What
was that last question? Oh, yes. Who was going to win the World
Series? Now, that was a selfish question. At least this boy wanted to
find his own true love.
All
right, I’ll actually put some thought into this. She strained a
bit and moaned for good effect. The boy jumped back at the sound.
“I
see a vision. Yes. It’s you. You’re older.” Griselda tried to
close her eyes, but the lids had rotted away. She touched her bony
hand to her temple to provide some show for the silly boy.
“What
do you see?”
“I
see you with a dark-haired girl...a beautiful woman. You look very
happy. Two children stand by you. Let me think.”
The
boy looked at her, hopeful for an answer from the dead, the dead who
can tell no lies.
“Yes.
I see the dark-haired woman and the two children.” Griselda thought
furiously. What could she tell this boy to give him hope?
“You’ll
marry and live happily ever after. There. That’s your answer. You
won’t marry Emily. Face it, she’s a strumpet, boy.” Griselda
winced at the sad look on the boy’s face. She wondered if it was
too late to learn some tact. Probably so.
“Thank
you, ma’am. I appreciate the answer. Now, if you’ll just, you
know, get back in the coffin, I’ll put the dirt back in.”
Griselda
started to wiggle down through the broken coffin lid.
“Could
you, uh, replace those boards so dirt won’t fall on my face?”
The
boy knelt by the grave as Griselda lowered herself back into her
coffin. He pulled the splintered boards from the dirt pile and lined
them up. As Griselda laid herself back down, he carefully replaced
the boards of the lid.
“Thank
you,” he said again.
“You’re
entirely welcome,” she responded, happy now to have helped the
polite boy. The dirt clods plunked on the top of the lid, then the
sound became muffled as the grave filled. Griselda quieted her mind,
feeling good about herself.
* * *
RAP
RAP RAP
“Now
what? I just get back to sleep and here they are again.”
Griselda
dug herself out of her grave once again. Squinting in the darkness as
best she could without eyelids, she saw it was the same boy as
before, but older now.
“What’s
wrong? Didn’t you find the dark-haired girl and marry her?”
“Yes,
I did, and I’m here to register a complaint about your advice.”
“So,
what’s wrong? Nice girl, two kids, right?”
“True,
but she ran off with the football player and left the kids with me.
You didn’t tell me that would happen.”
“Sorry,
boy. I only tell what I see. It was up to you to follow through.
Maybe you should have married Emily.”
“But...,”
the young man stammered.
“None of that. You
got your answer. Only one to a customer, you know.” Griselda
dropped down into her coffin.
“Now,
fill in my grave. That’s a good boy.”
An entertaining read.
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