Ghost Dance

Sylvia curled up beneath the covers, the cold air from her open window penetrating the thin blankets and down to her bones. She lay in wait, expecting the thud of a ladder against her window frame, of Donald’s whispers to join him in the graveyard. She had agreed the previous night to follow her friend to the cemetery, he said there was something she had to see. She regretted it the second she thought about how cold and dark the graveyard was at night.1

There it was, the thud. Sylvia almost jumped out of her skin. She threw the blankets off her, posed to dash from the room. She heard the creak of ladder rungs as someone began the climb, and instantly thoughts surfaced in her head. What if it wasn’t Donald? So close to the graveyard, it could be anything! Sylvia’s stomach flip-flopped and she wished she had never agreed to go on this blind adventure.2

Donald’s blond head appeared, and his cold blue eyes met hers.3

“Let’s go.” He whispered, and then giggled. He climbed up farther and extended one hand to her, gesturing for her to hurry. Sylvia had at least been smart enough to leave her clothes and shoes on. She raced for the window before her parents could wake up and took Donald’s hand. After he helped her out of the window they climbed down and returned the ladder behind Sylvia’s shed, where Donald had first found it.4

“Hurry.” He urged, taking her hand again. They headed down the path that wound from behind Sylvia’s house toward the cemetery only a five minute walk away. Donald set a fast pace, and she was tripping over roots and stones, trying her best not to fall. 5

The path was narrow and dark, and even though it was a short walk for Sylvia it felt like hours. The darkness was a solid force, pressing in from between the trees and bushes. She saw things in the shadows, slanted eyes and pale white teeth, the grins of demons and monsters. The moon, only a sliver in the sky, barely illuminated the path enough for them to find their way. Donald had walked it many times though, and could find the way to the graveyard with his eyes closed.6

“This is for your birthday Sylvia.” Donald whispered from ahead, still clutching her hand like he was afraid to lose her.7

What a birthday present, Sylvia thought. She had just turned fifteen a few days ago. Donald, only one year her senior, was always talking about the wonderful things adults got to do and see. Sylvia didn’t believe he had experienced anymore then her, but she started to doubt herself after awhile. 8

Donald was weird, he always spoke in a hushed tone and was often spotted amongst the grave stones at night. The other kids at school avoided him, he told exaggerated tales of the walking dead and ghost stories. They were too old to be scared by such things, but they were obviously startled by Donald’s obsession with the dead and the dark. It was abnormal.9

The path ended and they left the forest for the quiet of the cemetery. The gate was open, it always was. Nothing bad ever happened in their small town, no cats or dogs sacrificed by teenagers or impaled on the tall gate spikes. The cemetery had an aura of sorts, no one ever spoke loud when they visited and they treated the dead with the utmost respect. 10

They entered the graveyard and to Sylvia’s surprise Donald let go of her hand and started to close the tall gates. They didn’t squeak or squeal, but closed as silently as though recently oiled.11

“What are you doing?” Sylvia whispered, trying to pry Donald away from the gates. To be locked in a grave yard with a boy older then her, a boy known around town for being strange…12

“Calm down.” Donald shrugged her off. “We need privacy.” Sylvia shuddered. The night was scary enough without being alone with Donald, and no one knew where she was. She trusted him, or so she thought, but she couldn’t deny his dark demeanor and cold smile always sent chills down her spine.13

Donald brought out a chain and looped it through the slats. He fished a padlock out of his pocket and locked it around the chain.14

“There.” He said, turning back to Sylvia. “Let’s go.” He took her hand again, and Sylvia didn’t try to pull away. The gates were too high to climb over, and the tall spikes at the top would keep her from even trying. Best to stay on Donald’s good side and do what he said.15

The cemetery was large, oaks and willows decorated the areas between graves and gave the whole area a haunting look. Donald led her between grave markers and past a few standing mausoleums. After a ten minute walk, they were deeper into the cemetery then Sylvia had ever been. She began to think of ways to escape, how to get away from Donald and out of the cemetery before something bad happened to her. She shuddered and thought of all the bad things that could.16

They came to a stop suddenly and Donald pulled her close, throwing one arm over her shoulder. They weren’t exactly partners, neither of them had ever said so, but everyone else would say otherwise. They spent too much time holding hands and sitting next to each other in the lunch room to not care a little. Sylvia had to admit she felt comfortable around him, protected, but she was also afraid. He was mysterious, and now she feared he was dangerous.17

Donald didn’t hurt her though, he just kept her close. After standing still for just a few moments she noticed how cold it was and shivered. She had been too worried earlier to even notice the temperature, and to her surprise it seemed to be dropping.18

“Donald?” He hushed her and rubbed her arm. Sylvia sighed and then decided to survey their surroundings, just in case she did need to escape.19

They were standing close to a willow tree atop a hill, overlooking a small valley that was dotted with a few grave markers and over run with vegetation. It was the abandoned part of the cemetery, the people whose family had moved or died. Sylvia doubted any of the graves had seen flowers in many years.20

There was another dip in the temperature and Sylvia shuddered even more. Donald put both arms around her and pulled her to his chest, one hand found her hair and he began light strokes. It was the first outward show of affection she had received from him, and something deep inside warmed up just a little. A blush came to her cheeks.21

He leaned down as if to kiss her, but his lips stopped just next to her ear.22

“Look.” He whispered, and pointed toward the willow tree that they stood maybe a hundred feet from. There was a light there, a soft light that suddenly appeared and grew to be something more.23

“A ghost.” Sylvia exclaimed. Donald held her tight and she gaped in awe as the light took on a shape. A woman now stood next to the willow, or something that resembled a woman. It was as if someone had molded the moon’s beams and made an apparition that was far from menacing, but not welcoming either. 24

The indifferent ghost was holding a violin, and she began to play a haunting song. It was beautiful, and the very sound made Sylvia want to twirl and dance. She looked up to see a smile on Donald’s features, a rare occurrence. She could now see why he was always at the cemetery, why “death” entranced him.25

Sylvia spotted movement believe in the graveyard. Fear lurched it’s ugly head, but then she saw the same billowy light form and take shape. People now, ghosts danced and waltzed to the violin. They didn’t have faces, but they moved with grace and joy. Their movements were solemn.26

Sylvia knew not to speak, and she watched in silence as the ghosts danced. The cold air seemed to shimmer and ripple around them, as if nature had been woken by the sound of the ghost’s music and danced to it’s own beat. Occasionally Sylvia looked up to see Donald’s smile as he watched in awe.27

Time passed, but for the couple it was still. Just before dawn the ghosts broke apart and dissipated, and Sylvia snapped out of her reverie. She shivered when the cold poured in again, she felt stiff. She realized she had been standing for hours. Donald took her hand and in silence they walked away.28

He unlocked the graveyard gates, took the chain and padlock with him, and then began down the path. Sylvia was warm only where her hand met Donald’s, the rest of her seemed to be frozen over by the night’s chill.29

“It goes away.” Donald said to her. “The chill of death.” Sylvia whimpered and he looked back, the smile gone and a look of concern on his face. “It goes away.” He repeated.30

They climbed up the ladder, and Donald watched from the window as Sylvia crawled back into bed. He waved goodbye to her and climbed back down. After a few minutes wait Sylvia rushed to the window and closed it, then quickly undressed and hid beneath the blankets. A million thoughts raced in her mind.31

It was overwhelming. She didn’t think ghosts existed, she was positive they didn’t! Now though, everything had changed. Perhaps everything Donald said was true. All the ghost stories, all the tales.32

Exhausted, she drifted off to sleep. The next day Sylvia wandered around the house, confused, thinking about Donald and the ghosts. Thinking about the cemetery. What else could be there? What else did he know?33

That night she couldn’t sleep, she lay in bed thinking and staring up at the ceiling. Just past midnight she heard something at her window, light knocks. When she looked over she saw Donald outside the glass, beckoning to her. Sylvia got up and opened the window, the cold air poured in.34

“I have something to show you.” Donald whispered. It was a good thing she was already dressed.