The HEADSTONE

NOTE: Every now and then during the month of October, I will be posting a very brief short story with a Halloween or Horror theme. If that’s not your cup of tea, please feel free to move along.  

Francois was walking through the cemetery one fine day when he heard a voice call his name. He looked around, but no one was there. “Francois!” He heard his name again and realized that not only was it a voice he did not recognize, but a voice that sounded dark, damp, and earthy. “Yes,” he answered, somewhat nervously.

He pondered his situation. He came through the cemetery quite often, but he was a careful lad, and thoughtful. He treated every grave with respect. He crossed himself upon entering and leaving. He stayed on the pathways between all the graves, headstones, and vaults. So why would the spirits or ghosts speak to him -- if that is who or what he was hearing?

The voice rose up once again from beneath his feet, answering the ruminations of his mind. “The grounds upon which you tread are holy grounds. The day is coming when you will join your neighbors here, but do not fret. It was through an act of love you came into being. It is to love, you are here. It will be Love who calls you home.”

“I thank you for your wise counsel, but who are you?” asked Francois.

The voice answered:

“I’m the One in charge here, of course. I am called ‘The Head Stone.’ Duh!”

Note: Photograph: Lyman Cemetery (Lyman, WA)