The Graveyard at Willow Lane

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
There is a strange situation going on near Willow Lane. But it is real, a fantasy, or all just because of a full moon?

Submitted: August 04, 2016

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Submitted: August 04, 2016




"It is almost midnight, can I go out now?" said the obscure figure that was standing in the doorway.

"Look, we've talked about this before," said the old woman as she puts her arms around the figure's waist and her head against its chest; then she began chanting a lullaby.

"I like that song," said the mysterious figure. "How long have you sung that to me?"

"From the very first night that I found you," the woman replied while wiping tears from her cheeks.

"You mean the night that you found my Mama and me? Even on that night that you buried her, you sang it?" asked the figure.

"Yes dear, even then.

Look, there is someone coming. Be a good boy and go to your room until I call you," said the old woman in a kind and motherly voice. 

"OK Graw-na."


The old woman sat down and started rocking in her rocking chair, she was on the porch of a shot-gun style craftsman house and she began knitting.

As she rocked, a young man hurriedly came walking down the sidewalk and as he came in-line with the porch the woman called out to him, "Take Lake Street tonight, do not go by way of the Graveyard and Willow Lane."

The man stopped dead in his tracks and turned towards the woman, then asked, "Is Willow Lane being invaded by dangers again?"

The old woman looked up from her knitting, over the top of her little reading glasses and said, "Yes, it's just not safe on a night like tonight."

"I always cut through the graveyard; it is not a big deal. Besides, I am not afraid of ghosts, goblin, and other such non-sense," the young man said with a smile on his self assured face.

The old woman sneered and replied, "It is not those things that you should worry about tonight, those are things of legend and fireside stories. No, I am giving you warning of something very real, and very dangerous!"

"Go on now, old woman, I told you that I do not fear children stories. The short-cut through the graveyard is my route and that is where I'm heading," the young man said as he turned and walked on passed.

After he had left, two red eyes appeared in the darkness of the front doorway and a voice from there was heard whispering, "He didn't listen, did he? They never do."

"Shush your mouth and get on with it while the moon is full in the sky. The night is well spent and the man should be nearing your feeding grounds soon.

The red eyed figure quickly disappeared into the darkness.


The sounds of gunshots rang out and the old woman stopped momentarily, and then continued knitting.


(Some time later.)


A figure approached the front porch and the young man appeared, saying, "It is done Mum, the boys and I buried him next to his Momma, right where he should have been all along.

"Did he die quickly?" the woman asked.

"He never knew what hit him," the young man replied.

It is for the best, you know that. If the people in this town had discovered who he was then they would have killed both of you; and they would not have done it quickly."

"I know, it's just, --- well..."

"We understand, you raised him, and it is hard to help kill someone you love. But you did the right thing, you know, before he killed again," the young man said as he quietly walked back into the shadows.



This is the Life of Margery Mantes, who lives at the Mellow Hills Sanitarium, and every day she lives the same day over and over.

No one understands her mumbling, well, no one except for me; I speak the language that she mutters.

She spends her days knitting imaginary sweaters; they won't let her have knitting needles. And she talks to people no one else sees; well, no one else but me...


D. Thurmond / JEF  ---  08-03-2016


© Copyright 2018 D. Thurmond, aka, JEF. All rights reserved.

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