Away With Words

A Fragment from the Tales of the Evelyn Bones

 “Do you skate sir?” I asked Dr Prest as we both enjoyed a cigar and looked out at the falling snow. He took a few slow puffs, adding to the noxious blue atmosphere that shrouded us both like the white curtain outside. “I’m sorry to say I don’t Bartley. I didn’t see you as the skating type?” I watched the end of my cigar smolder for a moment before tapping the grey ash into the ornate tray that sat atop the beautiful, low, walnut table between our two wingback chairs. “I’m full of surprises,” I replied, “As are you Doctor. I was surprised to learn from the manager that you are not here, as you said, to vacation but you are here on call to see a local patient.”

 Dr Prest’s eyes didn’t move from the window and, other than a raised eyebrow that sent creases all the way across his completely shaved head, he gave no reaction to what I’d said before. “You’ve been inquiring after me?” I shrugged, maintaining my composure and, ignoring the knot in my stomach as I smoked next to one of the most dangerous cultists that had ever lived. “You are the only other person of interest in this hotel, and the only gentlemen who I can converse with. People of our intellect are becoming scarcer and scarcer these days.”

 My companion re-lit his cigar with a match from out his breast pocket and, exhaling a thick cloud let out a tiny “Ha,” sound by way of a forced laugh and also, I thought, acknowledgement. “I dare say I know what you mean. Well, I suppose there’s no sense in pretending to you is there sir? You being so astute. After all you were schooled at… Oh where did you say?”

 He was testing my cover story, but I was practiced and prepared for his probes.

 “Eaton, by a former colonel no-less.”

“What was his name.”

“Colonel Franks of the 83rd. You must have heard?” He nodded; his sharp eyes now fixed on my own. I wore my jovial expression like an iron mask. “Colonel Franks; the man who took an entire chateau with a team of just three men armed with pistols as just a corporal. A marvellous strategist and a famously keen critical thinker, it must have been a privilege to be his pupil.” I concurred with a nod and stubbed out my cigar. I was getting nervous and had smoked too quickly. “Another?” I asked, beckoning a waiter.

“I have plenty of cheroot left but you go ahead.” A young well-dressed man approached quietly and opened a silver case. I selected a brown cigar with a gold collar before tipping him and igniting it with my eagle-head lighter.

 “So, tell me. It’s just us here now, who is this patient you’ve come to see? What’s their ailment? Why the secrecy?” Smiling and twitching his head he tapped his ash lose into the tray.

“It is a… Delicate matter. I shan’t like to divulge my patient’s secrets, and I have signed an oath to prevent me from doing so. You should know this.” I had been too eager, and he must surely be seeing through me. Dr Prest seemed relaxed however, watching me carefully but maintaining a friendly, jovial expression throughout our discussion. “Of course, of course. It was wrong of me to pry, forgive me. Well, you can at least tell me, are they doing well? Can you see them recovering under your care?”

 He was quiet for a long while, watching the snow fall past the window, gathering in small drifts against the frosting glass. “It’s complicated. There have been signs of improvement, but it is too early to tell.” I nodded sagely, hoping he would say more. “Her therapy is… Unique. A trial if you will. I daresay it should be successful but the lifelong effects for her may not be worth the treatment.”

Of course, my initial reaction was revulsion, that anyone calling themselves a doctor would risk a treatment that was worse than the disease they were trying to cure. Fighting poison with poison. But I swallowed my morality and replied, “Sounds like you are taking a huge medical leap.”

 He grinned in a way I found chilling then stubbed out his cigar out in the ash tray. “It’s much bigger than her. Much bigger than all of us.”

“Whereabouts does she live?” His grin didn’t falter but his eyes narrowed for a second, and I knew that I was testing him. “Just beyond the lake and over the fell.” I met his gaze.

“Strange. I happen to know the family farm just over the fell. They’ve never mentioned…”

“She is not a farmer.” His reply was sharp, and he rose stretching his neck from side to side and rolling his shoulders to loosen them before turning back to me. His face was grim.

“I must turn in. Goodnight Bartley.” Then he added. “I hope you enjoy the ice.” Before stalking out of the room.

 I stayed in my seat, watching my cigar burn down to a stump till the lamps were turned low and the snow had stopped falling. Abandoning by cheroot I stood and looked out on the view below. The drawing room looked out onto lake Metherside, surrounded by beach trees now weighed down with a heavy burden of white snow that shone blue in the moonlight. The frozen lake caught the ethereal light like a mirror and balefully stared back at the sky. Turning away, I traced my steps under the wooden architraves and over the thick red carpet that snaked through the entire hotel up to my room. Entering as stealthily as I could, I walked over to my Portmanteau and scribbled down every word I could remember from my brief interview.

 Much bigger than her. Much bigger than us all.

 He was clearly conducting an experiment and it was on someone. But who? And Why? I then began to wonder where this woman was. I genuinely knew the family over the fell, from a previous investigation and their knowledge of the area was second to none. There were no other properties apart from this remote hotel in the region. To cap it off, I had never seen the Dr go anywhere. The few times he had left the hotel I had followed him only to find he was taking a walk around the lake. All the evidence so far pointed toward one location, one that I was loathe to explore but knew now it was necessary.

 His room.

 There was a strong likelihood that his “Patient” was in this very Hotel. I shrugged off my smoking jacket and turned to look at my gun case resting on the Chesterton. No more theorizing. Time to act.

 Secreting my revolver into its shoulder holster, I slipped into my all-weather coat and slipped out on to the landing. The hotel was of the old kind, with elaborate Victorian swirls carved in plaster and edged in gold, with wallpaper thick with flowers and heavy colors. In the dark, with the gas lamps out the décor seemed to absorb even more of the light as I softly trod step-by-step toward room 4B.

 I had been this way several times to go and listen at Prest’s door, and although he said that he was staying alone, I was sure I had heard him talking to someone in a low voice. Stealing round the corner to where his room was, I noticed a tremendously bright light coming from beneath the door sill. White as a dove and yet giving me an uncomfortable dirty impression. I knelt and examined closely. There was no way this light was coming from any of the dim lamps in the hotel. It reminded me of the dazzling electric lights I had seen at fairs, or in science experiments and modern laboratories.

 I listened at the door, as I had before, and cut here a faint buzzing sound, presumably from the bulbs and… I wanted to say. A rustle? I tried the handle, but it was locked so I pulled out a multi-tool I kept handy and after some fumbling around, I found a lockpick and started work. It didn’t take long till I felt the tumblers slide into place and with a metallic snapping sound, the lock opened. I tried the handle, and to my amazement it opened. I pushed the door away with one hand, and in a smooth motion slipped my multi-tool away and pulled gun from its holster.

 The room inside was, as I’d expected devilishly bright and I squinted in the doorway till my eyes adjusted, my revolver sweeping side to side scanning the room. Inside the room, everything was different to my own. The carpets were stripped away to the bare floorboards beneath which were etched in runes that hurt to look at. Atop those were cables laid in thick, heavy coils that wormed their way from the floor up to a great number of large bulbs mounted on metal stands that were the source of the light. They all shone down on the centre of the room where a mass of ivory and canvas lay in a contorted sculpture on a wooden frame bed.

 I entered carefully, checking behind the door and every dark corner. The room hummed, but it wasn’t just coming from the filament lights. I could feel it coming through the floor, a static sensation as I crossed the circles of runes and went deeper into the room. My curiosity was only deepening when suddenly, the sculpture stirred.

 It let out a slow, long, guttural gasp, as if it had been holding its breath and then sucked air back in staccato, agonizing, inhales. I realized what I had though was canvas, was in fact skin as it undulated arrhythmically in time with the breathing. Taught, and shot through with red veins, the shadow of twisted bones pushing the skin outward to way beyond its natural limit. An arm flopped free from beneath the veined mass and a human hand smacked to the floor, the fingers worming and pushing it toward me before elevating to a quivering reach. It grasped at the air between me and it, as I recognised more and more human features beneath the deformed mass I saw before me.

 “Huuuu…..Huuuuu….Huuuuuuu….” It tried to form its aching exhales into words. “Huuuuu… Huuuuu. Huuuuuelp.” The sounds came out as retching squarks from a throat badly deformed. I was too stunned to notice as the cold barrel of another gun was pressed into my neck. “Let’s have that revolver now, there’s a good chap.” Dr Prest’s voice was as calm, and smiling as it had been in every discussion I’d had with him, even as he jabbed the weapon into my neck. “Now please. It’s taken a long time to get to this point, it’d be a shame to make a mess.” I did as I was told and handed my revolver to him and he pocketed it. “Let’s take a turn about the lake.”

 He grabbed me in a vice like grip and without shoving guided me toward the door. “What is that?” I managed to ask in a hushed voice as he slipped his gun under his jacket and pressed it into my ribs like a dagger. “Never you mind Mr Stone. Let’s keep moving.” For just a second the breath caught in my throat like a sour taste as he mentioned my real name. He knew who I was. “If anyone asks, you are feeling unwell after too much tobacco and I am taking you out for some clean air. Am I clear?” I said nothing, setting my face into its iron mask. He took my silence for acknowledgement as we continued down the unlit stairs. I contemplated attempting a reversal on him, but I felt as though his reflexes were sharp and he’d blow my heart and lungs clear out of my chest at the slightest motion.

 “How are you concealing all this from the staff?” I asked, “Surely questions are asked? You are using electrics and bright light.” He smiled at me as one might at a naive child.

“You assume that I am acting alone. Hunch over a little more, look unwell. We are passing reception.” I did as I was told, a festering ember of repugnance in my chest at the act as we passed the desk. My captor turned to the bellboy on duty. “Mr Bartley is feeling unwell. I believe he smoked too much this evening; would it be well if I took him out for some clear air?” I met the bell-boy’s eyes for but a second before the gun scraped against my bone and I winced and turned away. “Very good sir take as long as you need I’ll be here till midnight. Will he be alright?”

“Nothing a bit of cold air can’t sort.” My eyes were fixed on the carpet at our feet, thinned and coarse by many years of boots treading over it in and out.

 The two doors to the hotel swung open, letting a breath of frozen air into the lobby and Dr Prest escorted me out the door and down the stone steps toward the lake. The moment we were out of sight and the doors had closed behind us, he shoved me in front and angled the gun at the back of my head. “Hands up and keep moving my good man. We’re almost there now.” I raised my hands and walked slowly down the slope, following the moonlit path between the trees that loomed and swayed over us in the wind like waving hands. Like the hand that had reached out to me. I shuddered and not just from the cold. “Do you really think you can get away with this? They will here the gun shot and come running.”

 I glanced over my shoulder. Even in the dark he was still smiling. “What gunshot? I will watch your mind suddenly deteriorate and in a mad delirium you will run out into the middle of the frozen lake where the ice will shatter and swallow you with an almighty crash. I will explain how the delirium must have been brought on by the massive dose of opium you took, evidence of which they will find in your room.” I couldn’t help but sigh a laugh. “Ha… You were following me. You even planted evidence for your cover story and there’s me thinking that I was stalking you. How long did you know?”

“Within a day of your arrival. Me and my consorts make it our business to background check any, unexpected, visitors.”

 The lake was coming into view now, grey, cold and frozen still. “Can you at least tell me what that thing was. That thing in your room. Is it alive?” He sighed as if I had asked something obvious or inanely stupid.

“In a manner of speaking. I told you. It’s a trial.”

“To do with the bones?” I asked.

“Of course.” He replied condescendingly. “Don’t think you’ll catch me off guard with your knowledge Mr Stone. I know who I’m dealing with almost as well as you do.”

“Do I?” I laughed. “I know you’re not a Doctor. I know your true residence is at the Burnes College and you are operating under the direction of a figure called Penbrooke.”

“And that is all you will know.”

 We had arrived at the edge of the lake now and I came to a stop. The cold barrel rested against my neck. “Did I ask you to stop?” I kept my hands up but, from where he stood, he could not see me smiling.

“Do you want me to walk out onto the ice?”

“You said it yourself, you like to skate. Off you go. One last jaunt. I’ll stay here and watch you.” I lifted my foot but just before I put it down, I said. “There is one thing I don’t think you realized about me you know?” I turned to look over my shoulder and stared along the black barrel into the eyes of my would-be killer, who had raised his eyebrows in encouragement. “Go-on.”

 “That you were not the only one, who didn’t come alone.”

ACCESS TO DOCUMENT PROHIBITTED

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 ACCESS TO FILE “PETER WATSON-LEA” GRANTED

 “Below is a transcript of the last recorded interview with Peter Watson-Lea. Recorded on the 24.2.22 at Chester County Medical Hospital by ERR. NAMES REMOVED. It is part of a series of testimonies to provide evidence for the existence and potential danger of the artifact known as the Evelyn Bones.”

 For the tape, my name is Peter Francis Graeme Watson-Lea, I am 42 years old, unmarried, I served in the great war as an artillerist and until recently I worked as an investigative journalist. I have no family to speak of, I was raised by my aunt after my parents were killed in a house fire. Oh, it was freelance, I worked as a freelance journalist. I came to this hospital of my own volition, as what I beheld gave me such disturbance as to make me question my own sanity. Start at the beginning? Yes okay.

 Pause.

 It was about a month ago, the beginning of the new year, I received a tip off from an anonymous source. I can’t remember the words exactly, apart from the last line, but the tip off pointed me in the direction of a place called Burnes College in Yorkshire and told me that there were things there worth looking into, that would be of interest to me and my work. Naturally, I was skeptical… I’m sorry? Oh I did say that didn’t I. The last line of the letter was “Keep your own eyes open, let the truth in.” I just thought it was a strange sentence, “Your own eyes”, as if I was going to be seeing to anyone else’s or…

 Pause.

 The train ride was rather pleasant, as you’d expect for that part of the world. Beautiful rolling green vistas with the occasional blur of purple or black heather with the hills in the distance like the shoulders of grey giants. To my surprise I was met at the station by a man dressed like, I want to say a priest? Or some kind of monk? He wore a long smart coat, like a cassock, with a white silk scarf, embroidered with strange designs thrown over his shoulder. His head was completely shaven and his features were sharp enough to cut glass. He was pleasant to talk to, telling me his name was Prest and that he had been expecting me. When I asked him how he waved the question off with an amiable nature and bade me follow him, promising a hot meal and hospitality, and explaining that all would be clear once we were back at the college.

 I did so, and soon found myself in the passenger seat of a well-kept Austin motor vehicle trundling down narrow country lanes and deep into the moorland. Prest talked freely about the location and where he had grown up, pointing out his old parish and a few pleasant landmarks, but he had precious little to say about the college, aside from the fact that he was a tutor of sorts there. Though in hindsight, tutor is far from the right word. He wasn’t at all uncomfortable with who or what I was and said if anything it was welcoming to have someone come and shed some light upon their little college. “Write all you can!” He declared with gusto, “Write till your lead wears to powder, your nib breaks and all the ink in Europe runs dry! Your insight Mr Watson-Lea is incredibly valuable to us. While you are in our care, every luxury shall be yours, be it food, drink, literature or any other pleasure. We want you at your best.”

 I enquired as to Provost of the College and Prest told me that his name was Provost Penbrooke.

 Pause

 I’m sorry errm, the College? Yes, the College. It’s a funny shaped building, with a strange mix of gothic architecture, some Italian columns and, I dare say some domes. It’s as if the building has been assembled by a blend of multiple architects from multiple generations, all mixed up in a pot, and tipped into a valley. Of course, I was totally lost by the time we reached there, but I remembered the signpost to the nearest town, Tellingham. We pulled up in the drive to this large manor and a pair of strong looking lads, dressed in a similar way to my new companion came down the steps and helped me with my luggage. Of course, by this point you must realise that I could not believe my luck. I am not a wealthy man, and as a former soldier finding a job had been very challenging, especially a freelance one. So, to be treated as a well-to-do sort was extremely humbling.

 “The provost would like to see you immediately.” My host insisted after a brief exchange of words with the two porters and I was escorted hastily up the stone steps and into Burnes College. Inside it was dimly lit by gas lamps and decorated with statues and effigies of strange gods and creatures I didn’t recognize. Creatures with humanoid and yet inhuman limbs with too many fingers and eyes a plenty. Strange fetishes and weapons etched with runes that made my eyes itch and Yhtog mylet. Tredgiy thethleikt…

 TAPE CUTS

 …orry again about that. I find it hard to think about what happened there.

 Hmm? Oh yes it does make me frightened. I don’t think I knew what true fear was until this moment, now on the other side of that terrible venture. But I will brave it, I know that I need to tell you what happened there, and the consequences should I fail…. Doesn’t bare thinking on.

 They led me up a labyrinth of stairs, past lecture halls and creaking shelves teaming with books, of which I had no hope of recognizing. Eventually we began ascending a spiral staircase, all made from carved stone like a castle and hung with portraits, like those one might encounter in rich ancestral homes. We immerged at the top of, what I can only call a tower, though I did not recall seeing one when I arrived. The room had a wonderful, panoramic view made possible by a single piece of curved glass that made the roof of the tower appear as if it was floating above us. It’s colour was tinted a toxic yellow, and it stank of ozone and sweat. Inside it was arranged like a study, with heaps of books on the floor, an ancient looking desk scattered with writing implements, notes and drawers. Lastly staring out of the great window was its lone occupant.

 The provost was bound to a wheelchair and looking out to the distant yellow tinted hills. Well, when I say looking, he was faced toward the view of the outside. He wore a flowing discoloured white gown, that spilled over the wheels of his chair, and upon his head was, what I can only describe as, a bulbous be-jeweled crown. The crystals and shapes upon it, resembled growths like tumors more than decoration and it gave me a queasy feeling to look upon it. Then he looked at me. And the face, oh that face…

 Pause

 What manner of injury had occurred to that man I shall never know, and never want to know. He had sores and boils, that blistered and crusted his entire face from the base of his nose upward. His eyes were completely gone amidst the mass of these red pestilent growths, and yet despite this as his sightless face turned to me, he smiled as if greeting an old friend. “Mr Watson-Lea!” He proclaimed with a voice soured by untellable age and honeyed by false warmth. “My word, it has been a long while that we have been searching for you!” When I asked him what he wanted with me he turned his chair without using his hands and it wheeled toward me as if pushed by some phantom force. “Your heritage my boy.” He replied, “Don’t you recognize your ancestors upon the stairs?”

 I suddenly began to feel very enclosed. Sweat prickled the back of my neck as the idea that I had been drawn into a trap began to close in on me. “The third from the top,” Penbrooke began, “Is Nathaniel Edward Francis Prendergast, born 1762 and died in 1884. The second from the top is James Michael Francis Prendergast, born 1854 died just 4 years ago. He died here in fact, in this very college.” I remind you, my parents were killed in a fire, or at least they were supposed to be. “Your surname, your true surname is Prendergast. The woman who raised you was no more your Aunt than any of us here. She was an abductor, denying you your true destiny.”

 I was too…. Terrified… awestruck… spellbound to speak. So instead, he spoke for me, gliding forward in that sinister manner on that chair and reaching out with his warped gnarled hands. “I will show you the bones, and you will read of them just as your father did and his father before. The translations you will provide, rib by rib, vertebrae by vertebrae will reveal wonders to you.” And like that he produced before me a single white bone. I am no doctor, but I could tell that the bone he held out to me was not human. It was elongated, and twisted like an ancient tree branch, crooked at alien angles. But worst of all was the writing. Runes that were as far removed from letters as could be imagined, covering the bone from tip to haft like the image of dancing figures in some horrific festival.

 And yet

 Pause

 Sorry… I could understand them. They came to life before me and made perfect sense, things aligned in my skull and my understanding of the world deepened, opening beneath me like a bottomless abyss. Black infinite and tarrying and I could feel myself falling. The terror. Oh, the terror was so much, my heart became water and washed my body with a quiver beyond description. I think I must have suffered a fit, for when I came to my senses I was in a bed. Opening my eyes, I was in a darkened room, of stone bricks and low wooden beams, covered with a thin sheet in a four- poster bed. A tiny arched window let a sliver of morning light in through my window and as I pushed myself to sit, I felt a searing agony in my hand and looked down to behold the ruin that you see before you.

 Hmm? Oh yes. For the sake of the tape, my hand has become permanently fused with a quill. It appears to be melted and reshaped to only be able to hold this strange spike that constantly leaks an ink from it. The pain I confess is maddeningly toxic. It burns like a fire under my skin and at the same time, I crave it… I enjoy it…

 Pause

 I’m writing down everything, yes.

 I’m doing it so that the ink doesn’t pool in the gland, for that only adds to the agony. I cannot stand to not be writing now. This is the cursed gift they have given to me, should I not be translating what was on those accursed bones I shpoyt julithyc myatholatrem brekrept yuklimpt a

 THE TAPE MOMENTARILY CUTS BEFORE RESUMING

 Are we recording again? I’m really sorry about…

 THE TAPE CUTS

 …ow much did I translate? I thought you would be more concerned with how I escaped that wretched place! Why do you even want to know what I… Oh God… It’s you… Please, please let me be. I’ll do anything I’ll… Please!!! *Screaming*

 THE TAPE CUTS

 THE FOLLOWING COULD BE HEARD IN THE WHITE NOISE THAT FOLLOWED THE TERMINATION OF THE INTERVIEW

 They’re here…

They’re here…

They’re here…

They have come…

The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones.

 End

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She arrived in a cold gasp of fog onto sloping grass in a church’s shadow. The church was built at the top of a mound with a view across the old town between swaying birch trees, that roared in the cold night air. The streets at the foot of the knoll were cast in an orange light, and children wandered from door to door all dressed in costumes.

“Ah Darling here you are!” She turned around sharply, her black hair whipping her in the face as she turned to look at the voice. “Jim?” He walked toward her over the grass and spread his arms as wide as his welcoming smile. “Hello Marie,” His voice stole the cold from the air like a warm hearth. She touched his face first, smooth as it had been in his twenties, then looked at his watery eyes, before wrapping her arms around him. He pulled her closer. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting,”

“Not at all Sweet one.” She felt tears at the corners of her eyes as he gathered up her shirt in tight fists on her back. As they leaned away there were tears in his blue eyes too. He wiped hers away before wiping his own and pushed her hair from her face. “Have you been here long?” She asked.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.” He replied releasing her and stepping back reverently.

“You’re so beautiful you know.” She scoffed and wiped away another tear.

“How did you know I’d be here?” She asked.

“I come here on this night every year.”

“On Halloween?”

“Well it’s the only night I can get away. Plus, I get visitors.” He laughed and she laughed too.

“I suppose I’ll have to get used to it.” Sudden realisation crossed her face. “Oh my God! It’s Halloween. They come every Halloween!”

“Yes, they do.” Jim smiled, “Let’s go wait for them, there’s a bench up there with our name on it.” He held out his arm and she linked with him.  

“It’s not a bad spot this.” She said, as they walked up the graveyard together.

“Not at all, it’s really nice. You chose well.” They walked between the tombstones as the shadows from clouds, dappled moonlight up and down the spire, offering occasional illumination to their path. Marie recognised some of the names. “Have you met any old friends?” He crumpled his face in a ponder. “Some…” He mused, before smiling wryly. “But to be honest, I’ve just been waiting for you to turn up.”

“Oh, shut up you bloody idiot.” She chuckled, slapping his arm.

Soon the church loomed over head and Jim gestured to a brand-new bench that had been pushed against the wall. She took a seat and he followed suit and they both looked out over the tombstones and graves that dotted the landscape before them.

“So, have I missed anything?” Jim asked as tipped his head back to look at the clear sky. “You know, since I popped off.” Marie looked at him, just taking him in. He looked just like he had when they’d met, even down to the green jacket. She looked away across the graveyard, “It all got a bit grey after you left. I can’t remember much if I’m honest.” She lowered her head.

“Hey,” He said, half sternly, “You can’t help it.” He smiled at her, and put an arm round her shoulders. “You still came to visit though.” She leant a head on him.

“Of-course I did.” She smiled. Another sudden revelation crossed her mind, and she raised her face to look at him. “Was that you who touched my cheek?It must have been…”

“Last year? Yes, it was! Did you really feel it?” She touched her cheek now, smooth and unwrinkled as unbroken snow. “I knew it.” She whispered. "I was sat in my chair... They all said it was a phantom sensation, but I knew..." He smiled at her mischeiviously.

"Couldn't help myself."

Others had begun to join them now, some were couples, some were entire families, and some were just there on their own. Almost all of them left the graveyard as soon as they came, disappearing into the dimly lit streets. It was only Jim and Marie that remained on the bench where they were. “I think it’s just our lot that comes to us you know.” Jim said. “Us and our traditions eh? I’ve not seen any other families come and visit on Halloween.” His eyes became wistful. “It’s so nice to see them.”

“Do you think Richard will cry?” Marie asked. Jim nodded.

“He didn’t last year, but I think he will this year.”

“Bless him, I hope he doesn’t. If he goes, I’ll go.” She said. Jim squeezed her arm.

“He knows we’re always here for him.” He turned away and leaned forward. “Oh, don’t look now!” He pointed to a small cluster of figures that approached behind one of the walls. “Oh, the littles!” Marie said, craning her neck. “Not so little now.” Added Jim, getting to his feet. “Come on, let’s go see them.”

He led the way, but Marie soon caught up and walked side by side with him as three figures came through the great arch of iron and crossed the grass toward them. “Oh, look at Sarah. Oh, and he brought the baby! Look he’s wearing it!” Jim cooed as they drew closer.

“This is the first time I haven’t come with them.” Marie murmured worriedly. Jim turned and took her hand. “He’ll be fine, don’t worry. He’s got Ross to look after him.” They watched as a little girl followed by two men picked their way across the graveyard till, they stood before them. The girl had short tousled black hair and was dressed up as a witch. Ross was stout with a kind face and black beard whereas Richard, who wore the baby, was tall with long hair and his father’s features.

“You look more like your father every year Richard.” Marie said softly, looking up at his face.

“A lot taller than me though,” Jim added.

“Hi Dad.” Richard began, nodding in their direction. He paused before the next bit. “Hello Mum.” Richard sucked in a breath between his teeth and exhaled, placing both hands on the baby, strapped to his chest and exhaling slowly. Ross stepped forward and gripped his arm. Richard nodded to him and tried to smile. “Oh Richard,” Marie whispered tearfully. Jim squeezed her hand, though he clearly felt it too. “It’s alright darling. He’s alright.” Ross turned to the little girl, who was looking up at her father, and held out a bunch of carnations and tulips.

“Here Sweetie. Give your Nan and Gramps their flowers.” The girl took the flowers and gently laid them down on the ground. “’der you go grampy nanny! Sleep well!” She turned back to Ross and Richard. “Can we go to Danny’s house now?”

Ross reached out his hand to her. “Let’s let your Dad spend some time first.” He leant in and kissed Richard gently on the cheek. “We’ll be just by the trees.” Richard quietly nodded his thanks, and his husband and daughter departed. He stood there looking down on them for a good long while not saying anything. It occurred to Marie that she was just staring too, when she took a tentative step forward. “He can’t hear me, can he?” Jim shook his head and came forward too.

“No, he can’t hear you.” He took her hand, then reached toward Richard. “But he can feel you.”

For just a moment, a breath, a flash of a feeling, Richard felt a hand in each of his. The three stood in a distant circle, holding each other where time was at its weakest. Richard laid his hand once again on the back of the sleeping baby on his breast. “Thanks for everything Mum. Look after her Dad.” Jim gave a wobbly smile.

“I will son,” He croaked. “I will.” Richard took a step back and they all let go. He made the sign of the cross, and then with one last glance at the gravestones, re-joined his family.

Marie and Jim watched them go, Jim dabbing his eyes with his sleeve. “I knew he would,” He grumbled. “I knew he would when we were both gone.” This time Marie squeezed his hand.

“What are you like?” He laughed between tears,

“Bloody hopeless!” She smiled at him warmly. “So, what do you think? Worth the visit?” He asked.

“That was wonderful. Can we do this every year?” Jim sniffed, cleared his throat and nodded.

“Yup! Halloween’s the best time for it. Oh bugger!” He cursed slapping his forehead. “I didn’t catch the name of the baby! I knew they were having one last year and I didn’t catch its flipping name.”

“Ah, that I do remember.” Marie said smiling, as they began to drift away.

“What was it?” He asked.

“Jamie-Marie.” She said. Jim smiled softly,

“Bloody hell, poor kid.” She floated close to place her head on his chest.

“I missed you Jim.” He lowered his face and kissed her brow, as they became memories.