Us Among the Tombstones

I love Halloween.

It’s not the candy that gets me excited. And it’s not the costumes. And it’s not the decorations. It’s not even the beautiful fall breeze that gently bites through your clothes. Though I love all those things, they’re not why I love Halloween.

Why do I love Halloween?

Because it’s a very special night.

Just for a little while, on this one night, I get exactly what I want. I get to be the one thing that I so desperately want to be, even if it’s just for a few hours.

I can be complete.

Ghosts pass by me in white sheets. Goblins walk by in their strange faux-ripped brown shorts with their green faces. I pass monster after monster after monster. Some are cute, and some are intense, but they’re not the real deal. Not the monster I’m looking for.

I head to the graveyard.

It’s not unlocked, obviously, but I get in anyway. Hopping the fence, I make my way calmly through the stones.

I start the chant.

“Tonight is the night that all the people pray,

“that the bad little ghosts all stay away.

“Tonight is the night that people stray,

“so come on out you past ones, come out and play.”

I only need to chant it three times before it happens.

It’s like a fog, only less spread out and more dense. It oozes from the ground, like sludgy milk.

They rise.

Ghosts.

Real ghosts.

They slowly form themselves from the sludge. Human body cutouts that move. People from all times, all different ages, form themselves above each grave. When they form, they look shocked. Taken aback. Enthralled. As they do every year. Once they overcome it though, it starts.

The revelry.

Ghostly voices whisper across the graveyard. Haunting melodies string along through the ghost fog, lilting and mournful. It rises and falls and, as it does, the ghosts take up partners.

They dance.

Wisps of white, and of blue, and of green, snake their way across the graveyard. Some of them dance to a slower melody, and others pretend that there is a fast melody, though the fast movers are few and far between. For these ghosts, this is a night not just to play, but to socialize. Dancing slowly allows them to do just that.

It’s fanciful.

This ghastly event is astounding.

And, for those of us who know how to make it happen, it happens.

But I don’t come here to watch the ghosts dance. Nor do I come here for the gorgeously spooky graveyard grooves. No, I come here for a different reason.

I make my way through the dancers, walking calmly. The ghosts pay me no mind. Most of them have seen me here before and know I’m not a threat. They know they’re not my focus.

I make my way to the back.

To the gazebo.

It’s a beautiful structure. Very delicate looking, yet sturdy. In fact, the gazebo is so beautiful, that people often have their weddings here, in the back of the graveyard.

Or, at least, they used to.

I’m not sure why they stopped, but somehow, I suspect that I have something to do with that.

There’s a figure there, waiting in the gazebo.

He wears a suit, like he always does. And he doesn’t stand facing me, which is also the norm. I think he’d like for me to believe that this night isn’t as vital to him as it is to me. That it wouldn’t effect him if I never showed up at all.

What a horrible liar.

I’d say that I see right through him, but that’d be a horrible pun.

“You came,” I say.

He turns and he smiles. “I should be the one saying that to you. Don’t you think?”

I make a face and shake my head. “Nah, I’m most likely to show up. More reliable and all that. Didn’t you know?”

He scoffs a little. “You really should get yourself a life you know.”

“Back at you.”

“Oh, ha-ha, that was a good one. You’ve never said that to me before.”

I smile back at him ruefully.

This used to be the part where I’d elbow him in the ribs, or smack his shoulder or something.

But it’s sort of pointless nowadays.

He makes a sweeping motion. “Would you care to dance?”

“Oh, thank you good sir, I would.”

As he rolls his eyes, he grabs my hand and my waist.

And we dance.

“You’re very solid this year,” I tell him.

Throwing his head back, he laughs. “Well thank you, I’ve been lifting weights.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you could do that.”

We’re both chuckling as we spin in slow circles.

As we quiet down, we can hear it.

The graveyard melody.

It’s the grimmest reminder.

Honestly, the evening would be romantic if it weren’t for our setting. Actually, if it weren’t for the reason why we were here instead of somewhere else, this would still be a really romantic encounter.

My heart gives a painful squeeze.

“So, how are you doing? I only get to see you once a year,” he says.

I shrug. “Good, I guess.”

He laughs a little. “That’s just like you. So, have you… made any new friends?”

The way he says friends isn’t particularly suspicious, but I know him, and I know what he really means.

“Nope,” I reply curtly.

He sighs. Probably because he’s been discovered, and because he knows I mean my answer.

“You know, you… you can’t keep doing this forever.”

“Why not?”

“Because, you just… can’t!”

“Of course I can,” I reply immediately. “I think I’m the one who decides what I can and can’t do. Besides, I love Halloween. I can live forever for Halloween. That’s how it’s been for the past seven years anyway.”

“I know,” he replies, his voice heavy, serious. “That’s why it has to stop. You can’t live for Halloween forever. It’s just one night out of the year. One night out of three hundred and sixty-five.”

I shrug. Probably, I’m being petulant. A bit childish. But, so what?

This wasn’t just something I could stop. Something I could throw away.

He wasn’t something I could throw away.

“You can’t pine after your dead boyfriend for forever.”

The words aren’t biting. Aren’t mean. They aren’t said with venom. But they still sting. And they still bring tears to my eyes. Tears which he immediately wipes away.

“But, I don’t want to stop coming here,” I tell him. “I want to keep looking forward to Halloween.”

“You’re not looking forward to it for the right reasons though. You should stop. I want you to stop.”

That brings me up short. He knows it and I know it, and it’s all very painful all of a sudden.

Behind us, the graveyard moans a chorus I feel but don’t understand.

“You are beautiful,” he tells me, his voice soft, earnest. “And you have so much ahead of you. If only you’ll stop using me to hold yourself back.”

Ah, I knew this would happen. It does every year. But it doesn’t change anything. Not the fact that I love him, or me coming here, or me waiting. It doesn’t change anything to tell me what I ought to be doing, because I know what I ought to be doing. I just… can’t let him go.

I can’t.

Not when he’s still so close.

Shaking my head slowly, I can barely get the words out. They’re barely a whisper. “Can we… can we stop talking about this please? Just for now? I just… I just came here to dance with you.”

He gives me a sympathetic look. A sad look. An understanding look. And I know he gets it. He must. After all, he spends all year waiting for this night too. But, we also know that he’s right.

The living and the dead can’t mix. Not for forever.

Halloween is only one night.

The song from the dead picks up and we start to dance again.

“You know,” I say, a bit hesitantly, “we have a lot more fights now that you’re dead.”

Much to my relief, he laughs. When he’s done, he nods once. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. I’ll just hold a grudge against you for forever.”

He laughs again because we both know I’m too forgetful for grudges.

We spend our time that way. Talking, dancing slowly. Listening to the moans of the dead, to their mournful ballad as they long for life. But I suppose we’re not all that different. Though we’ve stolen away, we’re still the same as those among the tombstones.

We long for life.

The two of us.

Together.

Every year, it’s the same:

I grasp at this ghost with all my might.

But at the end of the night?

He slips through my hands.

There are rules for this night. The biggest ones being these:

Halloween is only one night. When it ends, all ghosts are returned to rest.

And the other:

Touching is okay. Physical intimacy of any kind is not. If such conduct occurs, the ghost is immediately taken away.

At the end of the night, at that dark spot before dawn starts, we’ve stopped dancing. My legs ache, but I’d never complain. Not when he’s so close. Not when our time is running out.

Looking down at me, he smiles a little. “I have a new year’s wish. Can you make it for me?”

Suspicious, I raise an eyebrow. “What’s the wish?”

He smiles tenderly, and it’s at odds with the sorrowful look in his eyes.

“For you to stand me up next year.”

I laugh once hollowly. “Good luck with that.”

He sighs.

I sigh.

“Well,” he says, “Until next we meet.”

I nod at him.

And he kisses me.

Just the ghost of a kiss. The memory of one, rather than an actual kiss. It’s the kind of kiss only a specter can give. The memory of a person, rather than a person.

When I open my eyes, he’s gone.

No longer fog, nor smoke, nor sludge.

Gone.

When I get home, Mom is up, getting ready for work.

“How was it?” Mom asks. “Did you have a good Halloween?”

“Yeah, but it was too short again this year too.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.”

And I retreat into my room.

It’s a small space. Not much is there. A few old photos of he and I sit on my desk while a small chalkboard takes up a tiny portion of the wall.

I erase the number written there and write:

365.

Like I did this time last year.

And I sigh, leaning into the board as a tear or so leaks from my eyes. It hasn’t even been a day yet, and I still wish for Halloween.

Though, if I’m being honest, that isn’t so unusual. For me to wish for a forever Halloween.

But, it’ll never happen.

365 days left.

365 days until Halloween.

Until then, I suppose he and I will both just have to wait. Won’t we?