In Memorium

Not long after I first moved out of my mothers' place and in with a bunch of friends I discovered a quick route home from the bus stop; now, bearing in mind that this route cut a twenty minute walk down to about ten minutes, can you blame me for using it? Even when it wasn't raining? Even if it meant cutting across a graveyard?
Now, I don't watch horror movies, prefering instead films with singing, wigs and spontaneous dancing over films with blood, graveyards and psychotic ugly people with mismatching eyes. And it shows; I've seen maybe one horror flick in the last three years, and it scared the hell out of me.
Although it's been established I'd be the one who runs screaming up the stairs whilst wearing high high high heels, with the lights off. Who is found by the killer because of a stray piece of glitter reflecting the lone pinprick of light from a distant star or two.
Yeah, I thought about it a lot. And my flatmate collection didn't help one bit.

But in general, I'm as easy going as my wallet.

The shortcut through the graveyard wasn't a problem on the days when the dead are popular- and I mean popular in terms of Christmas, Easter and Mothers' day, rather than in a usurously interested way.
*shudders*

One night, meandering back home via the shortcut hindered slightly by stupid shoes and sunglasses, one of the locals yelled something at me through an open window.

Just to clarify; you know that old joke about people from the Cotswolds? How a virgin is someone under thirteen who can run faster than her brother? That sums the area I was living in up really rather well, despite being considerably further North.

I think. Geography was never my strong point- but even if it had been, all we ever did in High School Geoggers were things like 'the average size of a grain of sand!' and 'soil fomation!'
Something for unimaginative people, with a high tolerance for excessive use of exclamation marks!

But before I rudely interrupted myself, I was telling a story. 'Listening closely, boys and girls?'
The shout from the window spun me round, as I tried to work out through a chemical induced haze where the noise originated from.
"Oi, you!"
"Oui!" I replied, hopelessly, helplessly cheery, turning in the direction of the man puffing his way across the turf. Silently relieved the dead hadn't been talking to me, I pushed the sunglasses further up my nose to hide my eyes. Amazed by the seeming fact that there really is an explanation for anything- even disembodied voices, I forgot all about the man heading towards me, wondering instead why anyone would choose to live in a house where all windows point towards the graveyard.

"Don't get smart missy," he was saying when I tuned back in. "Now, what yer doin' in 'ere then?"

Depths of boundless ennui.

"Now, am I goin' ter 'ave ta call the cops?"
"Why would you want to do that?" I asked curiously. "It's hardly an Ancient Egyptian burial ground; grave robbing just wouldn't be worth the broken nails, now would it?"

Pause.

"Yer what?"

I smiled sweetly at him; "Oh, maybe you can help me!" I said brightly. "I'm looking for my grandmother; have you seen her? Jeanie Silverton."
Cut off in mid stutter, he resorted to silence.
"She died 1989," I went on patiently. "Any ideas?"

He escorted me to a patch of recent graves, then he started looking for my fictional tombstone as I shuffled away, heels sinking in the damp turf.
"Oi!" He yelled after me. "Where yer goin'!?"
I looked back over my shoulder as I walked off- quickly, as I had (and still have) no desire to be found murdered in an alleyway wearing mismatching underwear and with a high level of chemicality nonsense in my system.
I called to him, scurrying away all the while, "I'll be right back with you if you'd just keep on looking! I appreciate the help; if you just hang on a tic I'll fetch you a spade."

He walked gingerly across towards me, and I took the shades off- hardly going to be able to run away from the scary madman if I ran into a tombstone and break my knees, now was I? Priorities, priorities; my pupils were the least of my worries.
I paused in the gateway and took my heels off.

"What the fuck!?" He yelled rudely, growing increasingly out of breath.
Walking and talking; difficult business, oh yes indeed. Requires a high level of fitness, and all that.

I couldn't help myself, but I did try to stop. "The bitch had herself buried with her engagement ring! Do you have any idea how much the thing's worth?"

And then I ran for it.