Church at Rosemary Street

Reads: 266  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a ghost story inspired by a church that I walk by almost every morning. I don't want to reveal too much about the story or its implications. What you have to know is that several aspects of the story are true. As far as I know there really used to be a cemetery around the church, but it was destroyed in the old days. Also, there is a street right next to the church which has the word "rose" in its name.

Submitted: March 31, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 31, 2008



"There used to be a cemetery on this very spot,” he said. “You see the church? That is all that remained. So they say.”
I could see it, a huge gothic something reaching high up to the sky. With iron gates and pointed towers, it looked pretty impressive. It carried an eerie sensation, one that you could possibly feel when passing it in the middle of the night, with the church bells singing the midnight hour and the moon shining white. Only that it was daylight and the building cast shadows on the cobblestones.
“Do you believe in afterlife?” he asked and I wondered what he wanted to tell me.
“Not really,” I replied and I said the truth.
I’ve never seen a ghost in my life. I’ve never seen anything supernatural, and I was usually angry with those seers or whoever, people who claimed that they could talk to the dead. I turned my back on the Rosemary Street as I looked at him. That was the street of the church, dirty and devastated, quite unlike its fancy name.
The man seemed excited. This must have been the first time when someone actually stopped listening to him as he was sitting and talking on the steps of the church. Probably he was drunk, a homeless man in hope of some money.
“You look so beautiful and sad,” he told me when I was passing by a few minutes ago.
“It’s not good that you’re so sad.”  
I didn’t want to stop, and I didn’t really care, but he called after me and said, “Wait, let me tell you something.”
And all it came, the story of the woman murdered in the church while praying, and her husband who climbed up to the top of that tower and jumped to follow his beloved one.
“I do not really have time for this,” I said.
“No time,” he pondered.
“I really have to go now.”
I didn’t want to be rude, but I felt rather embarrassed, talking to that weird old man.
“She is lying under this very ground,” he said pointing down.
“Right under this very step I’m sitting on.”
“She is dead,” he explained as if I didn’t quite understand. “She is lying here.”
“There used to be a cemetery on this spot, they say. See the church? Nothing else remained. No crosses, nothing.”
Without a reply, I turned away from him. I tried to leave. But after a couple of steps I could still hear him speaking as if he did not notice that I was gone. And this time something strange he said.
“She is dead. My Rosemary is dead,” he sobbed. “Madam, pray, do you believe in afterlife?”
I had an uncanny feeling. I knew I needed to go. Go away. Don’t look back, just walk away.
He went on crying.
“Why are you leaving me? Can’t you see what I’m trying to tell you? You’re the first one I’ve talked to since then.”
“Since when?” I asked without turning my head towards his voice.
“Well, don’t you understand? I couldn’t see her. Why, that I was here all the time and I couldn’t find her anywhere. Until now I couldn’t see anyone. She looked just like you, so beautiful and I died to be with her.”
“Would you die for the one you love?” He asked.
Suddenly, I began to understand what he was explaining and the idea seemed rather frightening to me. It was the possibility or the mere reality of the situation that made me feel so small and scared. I wanted to say something, but then, in a fierce voice he spoke again.
“How long did you wait for me? You have no time, you say. Look at me now! Don’t just walk away.”
“You look so sad” he cried. “Why you started a new life, Rosemary! Why you are alive!”
I stopped and turned back to look at him, but there was no-one on the steps. The man simply disappeared from the street. I was all alone. Only the church I could see with its pointed towers and its iron gate. That was all that remained.

© Copyright 2018 Ama. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:




More Thrillers Short Stories

Booksie 2018 Poetry Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by Ama


Book / Thrillers

Trap for Amaranta

Short Story / Fantasy

Letter Fragment to Mornia Chasm

Short Story / Thrillers

Popular Tags