1 year

The first thing they tell you when you sign up to work at the graveyard is to never move the chairs. They don’t tell us why, only give us that one simple instruction: never move the chairs. For some reason, thinking back to it, I didn’t see any reason to ask why.

I only signed up for the graveyard shift because they paid more than my last job – $10 an hour is better than $7 and after all, the living still have to pay the bills somehow. I saw the poster in a record shop window and applied that night. I got the job the next day.

They never even asked for an interview.

Turns out “graveyard shift” was just a play on words. My shift runs from 7am when the graveyard opens to 5pm when it closes. It’s a long shift but it mostly consists of me sitting on a bench by the entrance playing on my phone and occasionally directing a lost mourner in the right direction. After the first day, I learn to bring sunscreen and a portable charger but other than that, nothing much changes from shift to shift.

11 months

The first time I see her, I mistake her for a patron. We have a few famous graves here, so it’s not uncommon to see people dressed in sundresses or polo shirts clearly only stopping by as a part of their vacation plans. At first, I think she’s just one of the same, here to go to a few graves she found online, snap a few pics, then leave. I don’t do anything other than keep an eye on her to make sure she doesn’t cross over the low ropes separating the walkway and the graves.

I’ve almost forgotten about her when, a week later, I see her again. For a moment, I tell myself it’s just someone who looks like her. But then the sun hits her flowing white dress in a way that makes her almost seem to be glowing and I’m completely sure it’s the same woman.

That night, I call the guard that came before me and ask if he’d ever seen a woman in a white dress at the graveyard.

He asks if we can meet for dinner.

10 months & 2 weeks

“Can you describe her to me?” The previous guard sits across from me, shoveling down a plate topped with food. I’m suddenly glad we decided on an all-you-can-eat buffet as a meeting spot otherwise I’d be spending my entire paycheck on this singular dinner.

“I think… well, she was definitely a woman, maybe around 20-25? She had on a long white dress and when she stood in the sun, it was like she was -“

“Like she was glowing?” He nods, leaning back in his chair and setting his fork down. “What color was her skin?”

I pause, trying to remember and realize I have no idea. “What -“

“How long was her hair? How tall was she? What color were her eyes?” The old guard leans forward, pushing his plate out of the way and looking deep into my eyes as if he’s trying to pry the answers out of me with his stare. “You have no idea, don’t you?”

I stare at him, biting my lip and searching my memories before I finally shake my head. I’ve seen her at least three more times since I first called the old guard and even so, I have no idea what she looks like. All I can remember is her white dress flitting between the tombstones, glowing like an angel in the sunlight.

“Who is she?” I ask and the old guard lets out a long sigh and leans back in his seat again.

“I have no idea.”

My heart hammers in my chest but I can’t move a muscle. “What do you mean you have no idea who she is? You knew everything I said about her before I said it. How can you not know who she is?”

He shrugs. “I had this exact conversation with the guy who came before me and I’ll tell you now what he told me: leave her alone.” He pauses to take a big bite of food before continuing. “To our best guess, she first appeared about 150 years ago. The first guard who saw her thought the same as we all did – a.k.a., he didn’t think anything of her. That is, until she approached him.”

“She approached the guard?”

“Yup. Legend says she gave him a choice: he could tell her one wish or ask one question. If he chose the wish, anything he could dream of, she could give it to him. For the question, she could give him the answer to any problem in the world.”

“So what did he choose?”

“The wish. His youngest daughter had cancer. Nasty stuff, all wrapped around her colon and kidneys. Stage 4, nothing they could do. He asked for her to get better, to live a long and happy life. As soon as he finished asking, the woman disappeared. The next day, his daughter woke up cancer-free for the first time in five years. He quit his job at the graveyard soon after to spend more time with his family. It’s a similar story with every guard since – they spend no more than six months working at the graveyard before she approaches them, grants them a wish or a question, and they end up quitting to enjoy the gift they receive from it. The graveyard’s gone through over 200 guards since she started showing up, all with the same story. Why do you think the job’s so easy now? They’re running out of people to fill the role.”

“So what happened when she approached you?”

The guard shrugs. “I was broke. I had a one-room flat that I could barely afford to pay the rent on, and I was eating an apple for lunch every day. I wished for my dream job. A week later, I got a job offer working for one of the largest technology companies in the country. I took the job and now I’m making nearly triple my old salary and can afford a healthy three meals a day.”

I can’t help but think he’s definitely having more than three meals a day but I keep the thought to myself. “So does everyone just make wishes? Has anyone ever asked her a question? Who she is? What she’s doing there?”

“Not that I’ve heard of. After all, when you’re faced with having anything you could possibly want or thinking about someone else, what would you pick?”

I shrug but all I can think is that the only thing I could possibly want is to know who the woman is.

8 months

I continue to see the woman frequently, flitting through the winding walkways of the cemetery. Once she came close enough for me to notice the color of her hair but as soon as she left my eyesight, I forgot what the exact shade was.

I’ve worked at the graveyard for nearly four months now and yet she’s never come close enough to talk to. Meanwhile, I slowly learn the meaning of the first rule of the graveyard: never move the chairs.

During my time here, I’ve learned the graveyard holds some extraordinarily old tombs and mausoleums. Some of the mausoleums are so old the doors have fallen inward, leading to some rumors with the locals that the ghosts have broken out of their graves and are haunting the graveyard.

At this point I wouldn’t doubt it if the rumors were true.

I notice the first chair when I’m tidying up one of the dirtier mausoleums. Typically, we don’t touch the tombs but occasionally when they become filled with dirt and leaves someone goes through and sweeps them out.

The mausoleum I’m sweeping out has a large eagle carved above the open doorway and inside, the windows are filled with faded stained-glass portraits, one of which has shattered in the corner. I can see the beginnings of a bird nest amidst the shattered glass and quickly gather it as carefully as I can before moving it to a low-hanging branch on a tree nearby the tomb.

When I walk back into the tomb, I notice a small, wooden chair in the corner that I swear wasn’t there just a few moments ago. I grab my broom and reach for the chair to move it so I can sweep beneath it when suddenly a strong wind blows through the mausoleum. It screeches and moans and I tell myself it’s just a stray breeze brushing against the ragged edges of the doorway, but goosebumps still raise across my entire body and a shudder scrambles down my spine.

I step away from the chair, quickly finishing my job in the tomb before leaving.

I spend the rest of my shift monitoring the graves on the opposite side of the cemetery.

7 months

I’m not sure how long she follows me before I notice. I only realize when I leave the public restroom and notice her standing by a nearby bench. I lift a hand in her direction, a habit I don’t remember starting but now something I do every time I see her, before starting down one of the walkways. 

A few minutes later, I pause to straighten one of the posts holding up the rope next to the walkway and something tells me I’m being watched. I turn and see her standing a little way down the walkway, watching me. It takes me a second to realize she’s standing on the grass side of the barrier.

I walk towards her, waving my arms as if to get her attention, even though she’s looking right at me. “You need to stay on the walkway,” I call to her but she doesn’t move. Rolling my eyes, I walk all the way up to the edge of the walkway so it’s just the rope between us. It’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to her and my breath catches slightly in my chest. “I don’t know who you are or what you are, but rules are rules. You gotta stay on the right side of the rope.”

She stares at me for a moment before stepping to the side. I glance down just in time to watch her ankle cross straight through the rope as if it doesn’t exist.

Once she’s standing on the cobblestone, I meet her gaze again. “Thanks,” I say hesitantly, reaching up and messing with the collar of my shirt just to give my hands something to do. I’m not really sure if this qualifies as her approaching me.

“Who are you?” Her voice is low and silky and as her words wash over me, my heartrate slows and a sense of peace fills my mind. I can trust this woman. I can tell her the truth, anything she wants to know. She won’t hurt me. I’m completely safe with her.

“My name is -“

“I don’t want your name. I want to know who you are.”

“I – uh -” I stammer, not sure what to say. “I’m a guard here. The latest one. I used to work in a bookstore but I hated it there. I’m terrible at math and they had me working the register, so you can imagine how that went. I quit the second I got the job here.” I watch her, waiting for some sign of whether I should keep talking.

“What do you wish for most in the world?”

I stare at her, suddenly at a loss for words. “Excuse me?”

“I will grant you one wish. Anything you could want, you can have. But I will only ask once.”

The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Don’t I get a choice? A question or a wish, that’s how it’s supposed to go.”

“How it’s supposed to go?” Her words are sharp and I can’t help but flinch. Her face falls and she ducks her head slightly. “No one ever wants to ask a question. There’s nothing in it for them, I suppose.”

I shrug. “I guess I’m just different than everyone else then.” I step towards her, not breaking her gaze. “I choose the question.”

5 months & 3 weeks

“You’re still here.”

It’s the first time I’ve seen her since she first approached me a little over a month ago. After I asked my question, she disappeared – literally vanishing into thin air. I haven’t seen her since until today when she walks straight up to me.

“Of course,” I say, being careful not to move an inch. I don’t want to risk scaring her off before I get the chance to talk to her more. “Where else would I be?”

She shrugs. “Everyone leaves eventually.”

“They leave when they have everything they want. I don’t, not yet.”

“So you want to use your wish?”

“Not yet.”

She stares at me, her eyes furrowed as though studying me. “You’re… different from the rest. They all immediately asked for something for themselves the moment they had the chance. You didn’t.”

“I never got an answer to my question either,” I point out and I think I almost see the corner of her mouth quirk up, although the color of her skin still evades my notice.

“You asked who I am.”

“And you vanished the second I did.”

“I didn’t expect that to be your question.”

I shrug. “It’s the biggest mystery of the graveyard. And I love puzzles.”

“If I tell you the answer, then it’s no longer a puzzle, is it?”

At this I actually laugh. “I suppose not. But it’s also impossible to solve a puzzle with missing pieces and that’s all I have right now.”

Her face grows solemn but, after a moment, she gestures for me to follow her. “I will tell you what I can. But I can’t promise it’ll tell you anything.”

Grinning, I quickly follow her down the path. At one point, she steps through the barrier onto the grass, and I automatically call out to remind her that all pedestrians must stay on the walkway. She casts me a bemused look before crossing back onto the cobblestone and continuing on her way.

Finally, we come across a pair of twin headstones that look at least a few centuries old. “The names have worn off,” I notice, examining the graves for some hint of who is buried beneath them.

“There were never any names in the first place,” she responds, and I turn to look at her, confused. She sighs, crossing through the barrier and sitting cross-legged on the right-hand grave. I don’t say anything this time. Something in my head tells me if anyone has any right to sit on this grave, she does.

“Before I died, I was happily married to a craftsman in a nearby village. We were good together and eventually I became pregnant and gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Soon after, I grew pregnant again. However, about six months into the second pregnancy, something went wrong. I fell terribly ill and eventually died from infection. My husband bought two plots in this cemetery so, when he passed, we could be buried side-by-side. We were not rich, and he could not afford a carved headstone. Before I died, he swore to me he would save up money to someday replace the empty headstone with a carved one.

“However, less than a year after I died, his eye was caught by another woman who lived near us. They were married and soon moved far from here, taking my daughter with them so I never saw her again. My husband never sold the deed to the second grave, and to this day it lies empty. He never paid for a carved headstone either, and it’s been so long that at this point, I don’t remember my own name.”

I stare at her, unsure if the store is finished or not. After it’s clear she’s done talking, I walk quickly to the opposite side of the walkways where a rosebush blossoms in the warm summer air. I pluck three flowers, pricking my finger on one of the thorns in the process. Turning back to her grave, I carefully arrange them at the base of the blank headstone.

“What are those for?” She asks, staring at me curiously.

I shrug, stepping back to give her her space. “No one deserves to be forgotten.”

4 months & 2 weeks

I’ve never had a girlfriend, so there was no way for me to know just how much the cost of flowers can add up over time. In an effort to keep the mysterious woman’s grave honored, I find myself buying flowers once a week. I learn quickly that she’s especially fond of tulips, although she doesn’t seem to mind roses or daffodils either.

She begins to approach me more and more at random points throughout the week and I find myself looking forward to our conversations. She refuses to speak any more about herself, and I wonder if she even remembers anything more than what she told me. Instead, I tell her about growing up in my family’s small flat with three other children, and she tells me how the city has changed over the past few centuries.

One day, I bring my laptop with me to work and she watches in rapt attention as I pull up the cemetery’s page and scroll through the biographies of some of the more well-known residents. As I scroll past a portrait of an extremely sour-faced man, a thought occurs to me. “Are there any other ghosts here? Like you, I mean.”

“Of course. Right over there is Samuel the Wise. He was killed by a bookshelf that fell on him. And over by that statue there is Rainer the Great. He likes to run all over the grass to make fun of you.”

I glance at her over my shoulder. “Are you making fun of me?”

A grin spreads across her face. “Perhaps.”

A bubble of joy fills my gut at the realization that she just cracked a joke on purpose. However, the bubbly quickly deflates when I think of how lonely a life it would be to be stuck here alone for centuries.

3 months

“What’s the deal with the chairs?”

We’re lounging on one of the benches sitting under the bright sunlight and I can feel the warmth sinking all the way into my bones.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when I started here, they said one of the few rules is never to move the chairs we find inside the mausoleums. And a few months ago, I moved a chair to sweep under it and this great wind swept through the tomb and scared me out of my wits.”

She chuckles and I narrow my eyes at her.

“Was that you?”

She shrugs innocently. “I was sitting there. It was quite rude of you, actually.”

“But I couldn’t see you.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“So you’re saying there are times when I can and can’t see you?”

She sighs, shifting on the bench. “I don’t know how it works. All I know is that, when I need you to see me, you do.”

A loud chime on my phone makes both of us jump. I tap on the screen and see it’s an email from one Thomas K. Lockwood. My heart skips a beat and I stand quickly. “I’m sorry,” I tell her, not looking up from the email. “I have to take this.”

As I turn away, I’m so distracted by my phone that I don’t notice she’s disappeared.

1 month & 3 weeks

As I replace the wilted roses lying on the grave with a new bouquet of fresh raises, I glance around the cemetery, looking for the familiar flicker of translucent white fabric glowing in the sun. I sigh when nothing catches my eye, though I’m not too surprised. Ever since the day I got that email and had to rush away in the middle of our conversation, I haven’t seen the mysterious woman. For the first week or so, I combed the graveyard every day, searching for some hint or glimpse of her. But I didn’t see so much as a lonely chair in any of the mausoleums. After a while, I stopped deliberately searching for her, though every flicker at the corner of my eyesight made me turn my head until my neck began to grow sore from the constant sudden motions.

I still keep her grave stocked with flowers, though I’m not sure why. A few days ago, the old guard called and asked if I’d learned anything about her. I had hesitated, tempted to tell him everything she’d told me, but in the end, I had told him I had learned nothing new. The story she had told me felt like a secret she and I shared and something in my clung to that single link I had left to connect me to her.

Next to the flowers, I set an unfolded piece of paper. “I brought something for you,” I say aloud. A pair of passersby give me odd looks as they hurry past me down the path. “I did some research and found your husband and daughter. I couldn’t find your name since both plots were under your husband’s title, but I did find out what happened to your daughter. She ended up marrying a cobbler and they lived in a village not too far from here. They had five children – three boys and two girls. All of them survived to adulthood, which was practically a miracle back in those days. Your daughter died when she was 58 from a sickness that swept through her village, but it sounds like she had a happy life.” I run a hand over the paper, studying the small black and white photo in the top right corner. A young woman’s face stares back at me, with light hair falling just past her shoulders and kind eyes that crinkle in the corners even though she’s not smiling in the photo. Vanessa Anne Laughlin the text beneath the photo reads. “This is everything I could find on her,” I say out loud, pausing to see if this would draw a reaction. The graveyard is silent except for the rustle of wildlife in the trees and bushes. Sighing, I turn away from the grave and start down the path. After a few steps I pause, taking a deep breath. “Look,” I say, turning back to the silent grave. “I’m sorry if I was rude that day. But I didn’t mean to offend you. I… I miss you.” I pause, holding my breath but there’s no response. “Fine,” I snap, rolling my eyes. “Be like that. Everyone leaves eventually, isn’t that what you said? If it wasn’t going to be me then it had to be you, I guess.”

A soft breeze blows past me and the hairs on my arms rise. I turn, looking around but the graveyard looks the same as it did a second ago. Then her voice sounds clear and soft right next to me.

“Thank you.”

1 month

It takes a while for her to trust me again. Similar to when I first started working at the graveyard, I start seeing glimpses of her flitting between the trees, though she never approaches me.

In the meantime, I continue to research her husband’s family, all the way down to his current living descendants. Thomas K. Lockwood, the ancestry expert I’d hired to investigate her, had decided it was impossible to find out who the mysterious woman had been. However, he had put me in contact with the great-great-great-great grandson of her husband and I had recently found out he still had the deed to the second grave, since everyone before him had wanted to be buried alongside their spouse and the deed was only for the one grave with no available plots around it.

After another few weeks of only seeing her in the distance, an idea strikes me. I begin to carry a foldable chair with me until one day, I finally come across what I’ve been waiting for – an empty chair in an open mausoleum. 

Glancing around to make sure no one is around to see, I jump over the rope and walk quickly inside the mausoleum, shutting the doors behind me. I unfold my chair facing the empty one and sit down, crossing my arms. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me,” I say aloud, but there is no response.

I don’t move, staring intently at the blank wall behind the chair. A little voice in my head tells me this is stupid, that she probably walked straight through the door when I closed it and I’m not alone in some stranger’s tomb. But another voice tells me she’s still here and I sit my ground.

Hours later, I can tell the sun is beginning to set because I can no longer see the cracks in the wall behind the chair. I’m beginning to doze off when I blink and suddenly she sits before me, glowering.

My head snaps up, all traces of sleep gone in an instant. “Hi,” I say hesitantly, not sure how to start the conversation.

“Let me out,” she growls, and a chill runs down my spine.

“You – you mean you can’t just phase through the door?”

She rolls her eyes, as though it’s my fault I don’t know the rules of being a ghost. “Not if I can’t see the other side. So open the doors.”

I quickly regain my composure, tamping down the spark of joy in my chest because she’s talking to me again. “No,” I say, and a frustrated growl sounds from deep in her chest. “You are going to tell me why you’ve been ignoring me. I’ve done everything I can think of to apologize and I’ve barely gotten a reaction from you. So the best conclusion I can come to is that it’s not my fault. You told me once that everyone leaves at some point, right? Well, I think you felt yourself getting a little too close so you pulled away before I could hurt you.” I lean forward, trying to meet her eyes though, no matter how hard I try, I can’t tell what color they are. “But let me tell you something. I’m not leaving. So if you want to pull away, go ahead. But all you’re doing is hurting yourself and for no reason because I’m staying right here as long as I have a say in it.”

Her face is stony for a few moments before she breaks and lets out a loud sob. “I’m so sorry.”

1 week

Over the next few weeks, we quickly return to normal. I begin to look forward to coming in to work again since I know every morning she will be standing at the gates to greet me.

One morning, as soon as I’ve finished opening the cemetery, she tells me to follow her and takes off down the path. I follow her, trying my best not to run or trip over the uneven cobblestones.

Finally, she stops next to a tree and I skid to a stop next to her, putting my hands on my knees to try and catch my breath.

“What… was that… for?” I pant, my chest heaving in short breaths.

“Look,” she says, pointing to where one of the lower branches meets the trunk of the tree.

“Look at what?”

“Look!” She says again, pointing more insistently and I roll my eyes, searching the leaves until I finally notice a small bird nest hidden in the branches. I glance around to make sure no one can see me before I grab a branch and pull myself up so I can get a closer look. Inside the next, three speckled eggs lay nestled together and I can’t help but smile.

“The first of the season,” she says, and I don’t ask how she got up next to me.

“See,” I tell her, admiring the tiny symbols of new life. “Everything comes back eventually,”

1 day

“Can I ask why you want to buy this specific plot?” The old man sitting in front of me is hunched and the pen shakes in his gnarled hand. “This grave has been in my family for generations and although I don’t mind selling it to someone who might actually use it, I am curious as to why we are suddenly being approached out of the blue by someone with no connection to our family who wants to buy it.”

I shrug, trying to act nonchalant. “I work at the graveyard and see how beautiful it is on a daily basis. My mother is ailing and I would love to bury her there someday. Yours is one of the few unused plots.” The lie rolls off my tongue easily and although I feel bad lying to an old man, I know he would probably call a mental hospital if I told him the truth – that I had been talking to the ghost of his great-great-great-great grandmother and didn’t want her to remain alone for the rest of time.

The old man gives me an odd look but shrugs and passes the pen across the table. “I don’t have anyone to pass the plot down to anyway. My Ellie and I never had any kids, so it might as well go to you.”

Trying to suppress my grin, I quickly scrawl my name on the line.

O days

The next day, I can barely keep myself from running from my flat all the way to the cemetery. Halfway there, I realize I’ve left in such a rush that I’ve forgotten to grab my wallet and ID but quickly decide I don’t need them.

I hold the deed to the grave clenched tightly in my fist. Every few minutes, I unfold it and look over it again, just to reassure myself that it really is mine.

I’m reading over the finely printed words as I cross the street across from the cemetery, so engrossed in the paper that I forget to look up before I cross.

I don’t see the car that slams into me, throwing me into the air and against the gates of the cemetery.

As consciousness fades from my mind, the face of a woman hovers above mine. I know it’s the face of my mysterious woman, but for the first time, I can actually see her. Her skin is fair with a light sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Light brown hair spills just past her shoulders in glossy waves and her beautiful hazel eyes stare down at me, filling with tears.

“I want to use my wish,” I rasp as I feel the life ebb from me. I can hear shouts and the sound of car horns in the distance, but I ignore them. There’s nothing they can do for me now.

“You idiot,” she whispers, placing a hand on my cheek. I’m surprised to find her skin is warm against mine. “What is your wish?”

“I wish -” Coughs rack my body and I wince as pain shoots through my chest. “I wish you will never be alone again.”

The last thing I see as the world around me fades to black is her sad smile as she leans down and places a gentle kiss on my temple.

Then I die.

Afterward

It’s funny the way the world works. They found me with the deed to the grave in my hand, but it turns out the old man never had time to file the proper paperwork to make it official, so it was still legally in his name. By the time they figure out who he was, he had passed peacefully in his sleep. His wife said it would have been his wish that I be buried in the empty plot instead of him.

Having forgotten my ID at home, and having no family or friends in the city, they were unable to identify my body. To be honest, I don’t think they actually tried that hard to figure out who I was anyway.

They bury me in the plot next to my mysterious woman. It’s an odd feeling to watch your own burial from the other side of the path. She holds my hand tight through the entire thing.

So, if you ever come to visit our graveyard and see our two blank headstones side-by-side, know we’re partial to tulips, though we don’t mind roses or daffodils either. And if you ever see two empty chairs sitting in an open mausoleum, we kindly ask that you don’t move them. We’re relaxing here, watching the birds grow up.