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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 26, 2010 0:21:34 GMT -8
Time: Day 3, Mid/Late Afternoon
Weather: Cloudy, but rainless
Warnings: The graveyard
Characters: Charlotte Jacobs, Brian the Insomniac
Charlotte hadn’t exactly intended to visit the graveyard today, but she had been driving past... and something in her told her to stop. Her last visit had been rather interrupted by a copious amount of people. Perhaps this time would be different. She could use a little time to think. And she’d always found graveyards a good place for it.
Parking her car, she began picking her way through the gravestones, listening to the muffled sound her footsteps made on the grass and dirt. There was a damp, post-rain smell to the air, and the breeze blew gently threw her hair and on her face. Pausing, she tilted her face up towards the sky, a faint smile gracing her features. Sighing softly, she continued walking.
There was a small building a little ways away. That’s as good a direction as any, she decided, and altered her course a bit. She’d never gone all that close to it in her previous visits, mostly because it felt oddly like she’d be disturbing someone. But that didn’t seem to be the case today. Another day she might have wondered why, exactly, that was. This day, however, she didn't.
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Post by Brian the Insomniac on Dec 26, 2010 1:01:28 GMT -8
As she approached the building, she would see that she was, in fact, not alone as she had perhaps hoped...in fact, there was a figure there, leaning exhaustedly upon the side of the shack. He was lanky, filthy, his ratty clothes looking quite as if they were from another era...his hat tipped low to cover his face.
He had his arms crossed over his chest, too-pale hands clenched over the threadbare shirtsleeves that covered his upper arms. His shoulders shook where he stood, chest heaving with...sobs? Was this man crying?
He didn't seem to notice Charlotte just yet, lost in whatever thoughts raced through his head.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 26, 2010 1:09:05 GMT -8
Who is he?
Charlotte didn’t remember ever seeing him before in the cemetery. She wondered, briefly, if the building was his; was he the gravekeeper? Regardless, he was obviously upset. Slowing down as to not startle him (at least, to try not to), she cleared her throat.
“Are you all right?” It was a ridiculously stupid question, as he obviously wasn’t... but it was the first thing that came to mind. It was as good as anything to break the ice, she supposed. It’ll do. She offered him a gentle smile.
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Post by Brian the Insomniac on Dec 26, 2010 1:25:42 GMT -8
When she spoke, his head snapped up, arms dropping in surprise - giving her a good look at his face. He was impossibly pale, lips dark and sickly...and his eyes were set deep in dark, blackened hollows. The man looked anything but healthy...and he also looked stunned that she was addressing him.
He looked around, as if to make sure that she wasn't talking to someone else - then spoke up, his voice shaky and stilted.
"I. Are you - talking - to - me?" His tone was wary, only half-committed to speaking.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 26, 2010 1:29:58 GMT -8
Charlotte brow furrowed slightly. That... was an odd question. He was the only other person in the graveyard that she could see. It seemed like it would be a reasonably obvious thing that she was indeed talking to him. He was extremely pale... and looked like he’d been ill. Or without sleep for a very long time. Perhaps both.
Maybe he’s just surprised to see another person in the graveyard. She nodded.
“Yes I am,” she replied. “I... couldn’t help but notice that you seemed... upset.”
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Post by Brian the Insomniac on Dec 26, 2010 1:46:23 GMT -8
The strange man stared at her for another long moment, eyes wide and tears dribbling unchecked down his cheeks. She...could see him. She could hear him. Another person who could? So soon after the last?
Slowly, he shifted his weight away from the building, stumbling forward with awkward strides to move closer to the girl. The muffled sound that Charlotte had listened to as she had walked in - the sound of her footfalls on the grass and the dirt - it was curiously missing from his movements. He stopped a pace or two away from her, looking her over and brushing the tears from his face with his filthy sleeve.
"It's. Sad. Just - sad. What has. Happened. To the town. Sad." He didn't seem very good at speaking to people - that stammer wasn't fading in the least. "...Didn't think. Anyone. Would come. Today."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 26, 2010 1:54:44 GMT -8
Charlotte tilted her head slightly. There was something... off about his footsteps, but she couldn’t put her finger on it at this particular instance. He moved awkwardly towards her, and she was possessed with the urge to put a hand on his shoulder; to try and do something to comfort him. But she’d done rather a lot of reaching out to people this particular day... and was wary of it ending badly. So she’d wait.
“Do you mean... recently? Or... what happened before?” she asked softly, thinking back to what Mister Stewart had told her about the town. Was there something else, though? “Oh... I’m sorry if I disturbed you. I didn’t mean to.”
She rummaged around in her pockets until she found her kerchief (one of many; though the only one currently on her person), and offered it to him.
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Post by Brian the Insomniac on Dec 26, 2010 2:29:55 GMT -8
Curiously, he almost seemed to recoil when she offered him the kerchief...but after a moment, he carefully took it, nodding minutely in thanks and dabbing the remaining tears from his face. He held it back towards her, eyes downcast as he struggled to piece together his answers to her questions.
"So much. Happened here. Greenvale. So many. So many - buried - too - soon. So many. Forgotten." The way he looked out at the gravestones all but confirmed he was the gravekeeper...his eyes were sad as he regarded all the broken headstones, all the unkempt, forgotten graves.
He shook his head a little bit in response to her worry about bothering him, voice lowering even further. "...Didn't. Disturb. Me. Not used - to - visitors. No one ever. Talks. To me."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 26, 2010 2:41:23 GMT -8
Charlotte took her kerchief and tucked it back in her pocket. She suspected that what he was talking about was the same thing that Mister Stewart had told her about. Which made her curious... he didn’t appear to be of an age with the man she’d met with in the park... so how could he know about what had happened?
A piece clicked into place. THAT was what was off about his footsteps. They didn’t make any sound... which meant... This tired looking man before her wasn’t exactly... alive. But he didn’t seem harmful; he certainly didn’t seem malicious. In fact... most of all he seemed sad. And tired.
“Help me remember them?” she asked him, surprising herself. But it... felt right. Someone should remember them... She reached out and carefully placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“I could... If you wanted me to. Visit again. Talk to you.”
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Post by Brian the Insomniac on Dec 26, 2010 3:41:03 GMT -8
As she placed her hand upon his shoulder, her suspicions would be confirmed - the body beneath her palm was cold as ice, radiating no body heat whatsoever. He leaned into the touch a little, just as he had found himself doing with Tamika the day before. He was just so cold...he couldn't help it, really.
Her words caught him off-guard - he looked to her in surprise again, then back out towards the gravestones. Slowly, he started walking, his pace sluggish enough to suggest he meant for her to follow. "...All had. Families. They used to come here. A lot - of them - did. To take...care...of...the graves. Not. Now."
He gestured faintly to the headstones they walked past...most of them were crumbling, some eroded by the years and the elements...some were even vandalized. The gravekeeper bent down to try and dust one off, only to watch a new bit crumble away. He sighed and kept moving.
"...Some. Just. Forgot. Some died - joined them. Not many...left...who come back. Even less who - who see me." He stopped again - this time in front of a thoroughly broken gravesite. The mound itself looked to have been dug up - there were even still a couple of human bones sticking out of the hole. The headstone had been smashed in two, as well...though the name on it could be read, if one looked closely enough. It had belonged to a 'Brian.'
He didn't even touch it, turning away as if the sight burned a hole into him.
"Lots of. People. In the last couple of days...strange. I think - I - saw you - before? You couldn't...see me. None of you. Could. Then." He continued down the path a little ways before stopping at a rather good vantage point on the hill - he could look over many of the graves from there.
"Used to that. He comes - often - but can't see me. No. Can't." With these words, he pointed down the hill a little ways - and among all those broken and unkempt graves was a plot that was clearly taken care of, a bouquet of rain-beaten white flowers lying in the center. From this distance, the epitaphs on the headstones were hard to read, but the names were just large enough....
Joseph and Angeline Tillotson.
"Sometimes...Harry comes...too. Can see me. I think. But doesn't talk." He paused for a moment, remembering something and thinking aloud. He turned towards Charlotte, confusion on his face. "...Two people came. In the rain. Yesterday. Who could see me. A...a girl. And...a man. She came - into - my shed. He didn't. He...he just. Walked. In the rain. And laughed...at...me. Now...you? Three. Three people. Two days. So many."
He trailed off, seeming to realize that he had rather carried on. He hadn't meant to, really, but she had asked...and...he had so few to talk to.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 26, 2010 4:00:17 GMT -8
Charlotte followed him, staying close by and listening carefully to his words. His name is Brian she realised, as he turned away from a smashed headstone bearing that name. She was so sad for him, and suspected that she would be paying more visits to the graveyard to see him. Keep him company.
“I was here before, yes. I... hadn’t experienced what happens when it rains yet.”
She drew to a stop alongside of him, talking note of the two names on the headstones in the well tended plot. The last name sounded familiar... Michael. That’s his last name. At least, that was the last name that had been on the card Mister Stewart had given her.
“I think he does, Brian.” After her conversation in the park earlier, she knew for certain that he could, but wasn’t sure it was her secret to share, even with Brian.
Someone else in Greenvale could see him? Who? She had no clue who the girl was... but for the man... she had her suspicions. And the thought that the Smoking Man could do something to Brian bothered her. He didn’t seem like he’d be able to defend himself. Maybe I can find out more... But first, to make absolutely certain...
“This man... that laughed in the rain. Did he smoke?”
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Post by Brian the Insomniac on Dec 26, 2010 12:35:17 GMT -8
A little hopefulness crept onto Brian's face as she told him she thought Mister Stewart could see him, mirrored in his voice. "Do you. Think. So? Used to - be - friends, him and I. When we were. Younger." A thought steadily dawned on him and he stopped talking for a moment, looking down at the ground. If he COULD see him, then...why wouldn't he come to visit, to talk? Did Harry not care about him anymore?
That last bit seemed like a strange question - more confusion flitted across Brian's face as he thought back to the day before.
"Y-yes. Smoking. Thought - that was - strange. Wet...cigarette, still burning. Didn't have. A coat. Either." He scratched he back of his head, looking around the graveyard in another cursory glance. There wasn't much he could do anymore...but still, here he was, keeping his vigil, trying to do his job. "Sleeves were. Even. Rolled up. I don't know...what he was here...for."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 26, 2010 15:34:59 GMT -8
Charlotte found the hope that appeared on Brian’s face when she said that she thought Mister Stewart could see him almost heartbreaking. Then... it looked like something occurred to him... and she hadn’t thought he could look any sadder. Can you hug a ghost?
“Yes I do. We... talked, earlier, about things... which leads me to believe he can. Well, I talked, he wrote,” she amended.
It was him... Brian had answered her in the affirmative. Now what? WAS there a specific reason he had chosen to wander through the graveyard yesterday? What is my next step? She had no idea... She put her hand on his shoulder again.
“Could... you perhaps show me where he was? I... might be able to figure out why he was here. Find out some clue as to who he is...”
She felt like she was asking a lot of him. Too much, perhaps. She would make it up to him. What exactly does one get a ghost as a thank you gift?
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Post by Brian the Insomniac on Dec 26, 2010 23:35:43 GMT -8
Brian had all but completely shaken off the hurt from his realization...he was used to being left behind by now. This was no different, as sad as it might be. He merely continued on with the new conversation, wondering what this strange man had to do with Charlotte. Like with most, he had kept his distance...but something about this fellow put him on edge. He wasn't sure about discussing this any further, but...she really did seem to want to know.
He nodded a little, starting to walk, trying to retrace the strange man's steps. "Didn't - see - him - come in. Saw him first...just. Wandering. Came up. To my...to...here." He gestured to his own grave, not quite able to look at it directly. "Laughed at it. Laughed. Then...."
He followed the path with his eyes, trying to remember. "...Went...down...to - the - fence. Then...sat. Over...." Carefully, he picked his way down towards where the Tillotson graves were, stopping a little ways away and pointing to a statue of an angel, bent low in prayer and on its knees. "...There. Sat. On top. Of the statue." He hesitated for a moment, then asked a question of his own.
"...Who. Is. He? Why...do...you need to know?"
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 26, 2010 23:45:32 GMT -8
When Brian told her that the Smoking Man had laughed at his grave, laughed at him, it gave her one more reason to whatever she could to find out all she could. There was a part of her that very strongly wanted to stop him. She could deal with him fucking with her... but fucking with Polly, a kindly old woman who could do nothing to defend herself. THAT pissed her off. And now he mocked and derided Brian... She followed him as he walked, staying close by his side.
The ghost asked her a question, one he deserved to know the answer to. Fingers brushed absent against the wound on her brow, where she’d hit her head on the stairs. How to explain this? She studied the angel statue thoughtfully...
“He... hurt me,” Charlotte told him. “Terrified me. And tormented Polly. I... hope that maybe finding out who he is might add an important piece to the puzzle.”
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