young man who was sauntering away. She reached to take his hand as he walked cockily down the path and away from Samuel’s crypt. Preston shook her hand off and reached into his pocket, taking out a device of some sort and whisking his fingers across the glass front of it.
Claire looked back over her shoulder, as though she was hoping her ghostly friend didn’t see Preston shrug off her attempt to hold his hand.
Samuel put all his strength into it — he forced every ounce of himself into the thought that his appearance should shimmer. And it did, just enough for her to see it in the sunlight. There he stood, glaring at the young man, who had so negatively impacted his Claire.
Claire’s eyes grew wide as she saw him standing there briefly, before fading away. A tiny part of her heart tried to pull her back to the crypt. But she hung her head and followed Preston out of the cemetery. Her ghost could never be her boyfriend. And Preston, the man she was following out of the place that had given her peace since she was child, could be. She was tired of being lonely — and he liked her.
“Hurry up. You’ve made me late now by making me stop here.”
“I am. I’m coming,” she answered. She did not look back over her shoulder. If she could still see her ghost watching her, it would break her heart, so she didn’t let herself look again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
April 1, 2019 — April Fools Day
Samuel paced as he always did, back and forth in the small 12’ x 14’ wrought iron fence and gate-enclosed square of land he’d been relegated to, as he struggled to tolerate his existence. He couldn’t leave here. Would never cross the threshold to the other side of the old rusted, peeling wrought-iron fence — though salvation may possibly wait on the other side. He looked over his shoulder, the vague outline of his once corporeal body not even catching his own attention as his mournful eyes searched for her. He looked first down one well-worn pathway, then the other. No, she still wasn’t coming.
It had been weeks since she’d been here. He worried. She used to come every Sunday. Then less often, but at least every couple of weeks. Now though, he’d not seen her in more than three weeks, and he was worried. The man that had called her away the last time she was here was not the sort he’d trust with her. Samuel was afraid that she needed him, but he couldn’t go look for her. If he did, he’d vanish into nothingness. And that was unacceptable — at least here he could see her when she came to visit. Watch her smile, hear her voice as she hummed a tune while cleaning away the centuries old crumblings of his home, his prison, his tomb. Irritated, frustrated and anxious, he threw himself through the walls into the once magnificent tomb at his back. He lay there, on the stone floor, allowing his mind to wander to another time, another place, another life.
His memories of Clarice — Claire — were all that kept him sane these days. He lay there dreaming of her.
~~~~~
Claire hurried down the well-worn path that she knew every step of by heart. She gathered her light jacket around her shoulders tightly and wrapped her arms around herself. Her hair was hanging loosely around her face, kinky curls, unkempt and tangled as was not her usual style. She didn’t look up as she went straight for the Dupont crypt. Her heart hurt, her mind hurt, her face and her body hurt. She didn’t stop until she was actually leaning against the front gate of the crypt. She pressed her face against the wrought iron and sobbed, finally letting the tears flow freely down her face.
Chapter 7
Samuel was inside the crypt, losing himself in his memories when he heard sobbing. He lifted his head, paying closer attention. Yes, he could hear it clearly. A woman was crying. He lifted himself from the floor and allowed his body to move through the wall to see who was near enough to his own personal hell for him to be able to hear her anguish. Maybe someone else had lost a loved one, and they are laying them to rest in a neighboring crypt, he thought to himself.
But as soon as he was outside, his heart knew otherwise.
There she was, his Claire, and she was