stood a man. For a few seconds I don’t think any of us had a clear thought in their heads.
Scar whispered to me over my shoulder, fear still rattling in her voice. “Is he like us?”
“I don’t think so.” I mumbled.
“Who is he then - who the hell is he?” She was beginning to panic.
George leaned out to get a closer look, his face slowly turned to distain. “He’s a God damn drunk is what he is.”
The man, who by now we could see had blonde hair, began to stagger around. He finished off a bottle that he had beneath his cloak and threw it into some nearby bushes. He rebalanced his self then shouted out, almost in a sing song voice to a nearby headstone. “Yeah why not, ha you won’t mind do you old pal getting a bit more wet, do you?”
He unzipped his trousers and started to pee over the headstone, half mumbling half singing the song. ‘Rain drops keep falling on my head’.
George suddenly screamed out. “HEY THAT’S MY GRAVE, HE’S PISSING ON MY GRAVE.”
He rushed out shouting and waving his arms around. “HEY, HEY YOU, STOP THAT - THAT’S MY GRAVE GOD DAMN IT.” We followed behind him, except for Mary who by the look on her face, was still convinced the devil was outside.
The drunk looked round blankly at George - he was still peeing. “Hey. How you doing, buddy boy?” he slurred.
“I told you that’s my grave. Get out of here you bum.”
For a few seconds, the drunk stared blankly at him. George had on a light grey suit which was covered in mud. The drunk’s eyes narrowed and then jerked his head towards the ground - the soil was all turned up.
“That’s right, that’s my grave.” George said with an odd sense of pride.
For a few more moments the drunk just stared at the ground, then suddenly his eyes widened, his face turned a sickly white as the realisation hit him. He screamed and turned awkwardly towards the cemetery gates and lurched towards them - he half fell as he pushed the gates open. We then could hear him start up his car nearby and go racing off into the darkness.
George undid his tie and began wiping his gravestone clean. The rain was beginning to ease off. “God damn drunks, have they no respect? This is finest Italian marble - do you know how much this stuff costs? A lot I can tell you.”
Nearby, Doc picked up a brown paper bag and looked inside. “My God, there’s four bottles of whiskey in here. Who goes round a graveyard at night, drunk and dressed like the devil?”
“Maybe he had bigger problems then us, Doc.” said, Scar jokingly as she glanced into the bag.
“Do you think he’ll call the police?” He said to her as he looked over towards the gates. “Maybe they could come and help us?”
“Who’ll believe a drunk in a graveyard seeing dead people, Doc? He’ll probably think it was just a nightmare, when he wakes up tomorrow with his hangover.”
Mr Kydd picked up one of the bottles from inside the bag. “Well, good Scotch whiskey. I say let’s make the best out of this opportunity. Let’s have a toast.”
“A toast to what Mr Kydd?” Scar said, with a befuddled look on her face.
“To fate, my dear and what she has done to us.” He unscrewed the cap and glanced around on the wet grass. “No glasses. Oh well, hobo style it is then.” He took a quick sip from the bottle and grinned. “I can almost feel the life coming back into me - here try some.”
We each began to take a hit and then another from the bottle, glancing like teenagers up to mischief as it got passed around - all except George . He just politely shook his head. No one pushed him on it.
Mr Kydd borrowed Scar’s, Zippo and managed to light a small fire with some broken tree branches - it was smoky because of the rain but no one cared, not with the first bottle half way gone.
We all sat in a circle easily around its flames - it made us feel a little more human as we felt its growing heat against our skin.
Mary shyly came out of the mausoleum; her face was a mixture of curiosity at seeing us all sat round a fire drinking and dread, she was still very shaken by what she’d seen.
Mr Kydd picked up the drunk’s mask, which was nearby and spoke across to her. “The true face of the devil, Mary.” He then tossed the mask into the fire - it instantly twisted and turned with the heat, flames shot out of its mouth for a second and then shrivel up into nothing.
“Come on over and join us.” He said with a friendly wave of the hand.
Mary smiled and did, we tried calling Sam over to join us too, but he just turned his head away… a strange man.
Before long we started talking - really talking to one another like human beings. The odd bad joke got passed round and the rain finally stopped. A sense of calm fell onto us.
Soon the bottle was almost finished. I leaned over to, Scar to give her the last shot of it. She was twirling her Zippo between her fingers, I pointed towards it. “Scar can I ask you - what are those funny looking markings on there?”
She glanced at the Zippo. “It’s the sign of the phoenix, of rebirth from the ashes.” For a moment she stopped herself, as if remembering a childhood secret that could get her into trouble, but continued. “I used to light candles with it to cast spells.”
I turn my head to one side, a little confused by what she said. “Spells, you mean like magic?”
“Well, yes in a way I suppose you could call it that. All it really is, is basically about changing how you see things, how you perceive them. It’s all about trying to understand how your own mind works. It’s a very positive thing. It’s like searching for the locks within yourself and in that search you find a key - you’ll find…” Her face froze. “Why are you smiling, Sexton?”
“Do you think we’ll rise from these ashes?”
She looked hard at the Zippo before putting it back into her coat pocket. “Depends I guess. Don’t you believe in something, Sexton?”
Just then I caught sight of Sam by the graveyard railings - he was staring at the distant traffic lights in the distance. He looked like a trapped animal looking out of its cage; his eyes were wild with emotion.
“Has he even spoken to anyone yet, Scar?” I said.
She glanced over to him. “I think he told, Mr Kydd to go to hell last night. The guy gives me the creeps.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Scar. I think it’s just Sam’s way of dealing with this, whatever this is? Doc said as he came over with a fresh bottle of whiskey and sat down next to us. “I couldn’t help but overhear you both just then. Could I ask a question?”
Scar took the new bottle from him and shrugged.
He gave us a nervous pause then spoke. “Why do you think this is happening?”
We looked at him in silence. Scar unscrewed the bottle and took two big mouth full’s. “How can you ask that of me, Doc? I’m just about keeping it together here, you know. Let alone the rest of you?” She said hoarsely as the whiskey burnt down into her.
“But we must question this.” He placed his fingertips against his temple. “Isn’t that what our minds are for - to question? We haven’t talked yet about why it’s happing.” He then gestured his hand out towards her. “Why is this happening, Scar, why?”
She took another drink from the bottle; her eyes looked pained and distant. She leaned closer towards him. She was beginning to get drunk. “Did I really die, Doc?” She said sarcastically. “Or am I inside some kind of deep coma or some sort of magic spell - dreaming this all up, dreaming you all up.”
Doc raised his eyebrows slowly. “Not bad, Scar, not bad.”
Her eyes flashed as the idea grew in her. “Yes, maybe this is a dream, maybe we’re all still alive and this really is just a dream and our dreams have joined together, got tangled up like fish in a net.”
Doc snapped his fingers at her. “Now you’re thinking, Scar, or you could say we’re some kind of computer experiment, just programs working out problems that the human mind can’t comprehend.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Doc.” Scar scoffed.
/> “Why shouldn’t it?” He glanced around the graveyard. “Let’s be honest, none of this makes sense does it?”
She tapped the side of her head “How many computer programs do you know scramble their hard drives with drink then?” She said with a sniggered. “Or maybe, just maybe we’re words on a page somewhere.” She closed her eyes and leaned back on the grass and took a deep breath. “That’s slowly being worked out line by line, to whatever God forsaken end we must face.”
Mr Kydd stood up and clapped his hands. “How about a song - a song always brightens a party up…This is a party I hope?”
Scar opened her eyes and leaned forward with a smirk. “More like a bloody wake. But I did find this in my coat as well, had it since I was a kid.”
From inside her long coat she pulled out a tin flute. Her friend really did think of everything.
She stood up slowly in that way that drunken people do, when trying to act sober “A song you say Mr Kydd - how about this one.” She said with a confident slur and began playing her flute. She played quite well, but when she sang, it was terrible. No one really noticed though or cared. There were still some bottles left and before long we all knew the words to the song she sung, ‘Somewhere over the rainbow’.
George started to clap his hands, Mary joined in; I could see a small smile of happiness came across her wide eyed face. Then, Scar broke into a tune that sounded like an old Chinese folk song, mixed in with a Celtic twist. We all stood up and began dancing arm in arm around the fire -like a pack of fairies - wild on the surreal moment of it all.
It felt good for a while forgetting what had happened - we were beginning to get to know each other a little better. The fire began to burn bright and I could see our long shadows spinning around the graveyard, filled with laughter and song. Like some kind of long-forgotten pagan ceremony.
After a while I saw, Mary and Scar go sit down on the grass nearby. While the rest of us carried on dancing and laughing with the whiskey.
“Think the drink has finally got to me.” Scar said out of breath.
“Me too” said Mary with a hiccup. “Last time I had this much to drink…it was at my daughter’s christening. We were...” She stopped herself short and fiddled with her glasses, thinking haphazardly for something else to say.
Scar beat her to it. “What’s your daughter’s name?”
Mary’s face beamed at the question. “Sally, her name is, Sally - I also have a son called Ben. They be six and seven, they were six and seven I mean.” She tried to smile with the thought, but it came out all wrong. “Why do you call yourself, Scar? That’s not a real name, is it?” she said as she tried to put a brave face on the subject.
“No, that’s not my real name.” Scar said sombrely.
She then rolled up her coat sleeves. “When I was sad, I used to do this to myself.” there were a dozen or more slash marks on each arm, with two deep scars jaggedly running up her left wrist, they looked like lighting forks against her skin.
Mary recoiled in horror, eyes wide at the two deep scars. “You killed yourself - you killed yourself.” She stood up and started to back away from her.
Scar looked shocked an apologetic. “Mary. I wasn’t myself, I just wanted too...”
“Keep away from me you witch. You’re evil, really evil. You killed yourself.”
“I didn’t know this would happen.”
Putting her hands up, Mary shouted at her. “YOU KEEP AWAY FROM ME.”
We all stopped dancing and looked over to them both. Scar burst into tears and ran off to her grave.
Mary turned round drunk eyed and glared at us. “I’m sick of this…sick of you all.”
Doc took a step towards her and quietly spoke. “Mary.”
Her face twisted with anger towards him. “What is this shit anyway? I’m dead, you’re dead.” She rose up her fists with frustration. “We’re all fucking dead. Why are we pretending to be alive?