Open Mic Night at Westminster Cemetery Read online

  SAM (to Lacy): If . . . if you tell me what it looks like, perhaps I can help you, miss.

  Lacy gives him another incredulous look, wondering why he’s trying to keep up the act. She ignores him and continues looking for her phone. When she realizes it’s not there, she explodes.

  LACY: Fuck.

  Sam’s eyes grow wide, and Raven winces. They know what’s coming. Sure enough, through the fog from the back of the cemetery near the spot where Sam first appeared, a plot of earth opens and a woman marches out. She is a straight-backed, older woman wearing a long, plain black dress, tight at the throat and tight at the cuffs. Her long gray hair is braided and wound into a bun that looks as if it has been nailed in place on the top of her head. Her self-righteous zeal gives her remarkable energy and speed and so it only seems to take her a second before she appears at Sam’s side. This is Gertrude Steele.

  MRS. STEELE: I heard a most obscene word.

  Mrs. Steele stares disapprovingly at Lacy’s bare skin, her skimpy clothes, and her wild, unorthodox hair.

  Lacy steps back, her mind racing to piece together an explanation for what seems to be another very authentically costumed character.

  MRS. STEELE (turns to Sam): Who in heaven’s name is this?

  SAM (straightening up nervously): This is a new resident, ma’am. I believe she’s a Modern.

  MRS. STEELE (her face twisting into a sour shape): A Modern? How did she get in?

  SAM: She’s a new resident. Raven announced her. (He nods toward the bird, who is still perched on Poe’s monument.)

  MRS. STEELE: Impossible. Raven made a mistake.

  Offended, Raven squawks. The bird and the old woman glower at each other for a moment.

  MRS. STEELE (turning back to Sam): She must have escaped from some other cemetery, God knows how, and snuck in here. (Fixing a cold stare at Lacy) Go back to your own place. We don’t want your kind. If you were a resident here at Westminster, I would give you a strike for that terrible language and a strike for your (looks her up and down again) completely vulgar outfit.

  SAM: Strikes can’t be given for clothing, ma’am. Remember, we have no choice in that.

  MRS. STEELE: Well, she looks like a prostitute.

  LACY (stares at Mrs. Steele in shock): I can’t believe you just said that to my face. I don’t even know you.

  Sam wants desperately to defend her, to tell her that she looks fascinating, but he doesn’t dare say anything that will anger Mrs. Steele. Lacy gives them both what she thinks will be one last look, turns, and walks to the iron gate.

  SAM: It won’t work. We can open our crypt and coffin doors and manipulate things we were buried with, but we cannot manipulate anything else—

  Lacy grabs hold of the gate handle. It’s strange. She is touching it and yet she can’t exactly feel it. She pulls. It won’t open. She pushes. It won’t budge.

  LACY: Fuck.

  Sam winces.

  MRS. STEELE (steps forward to shake a menacing finger at Lacy): That would be strike two! You are lucky you are not a resident here, young lady. (Turning to Sam) How on earth did she get in, anyway? Samuel, is there a problem with the gate?

  LACY (her voice rising): Yes, there is a problem with the gate! I can’t get out. (She turns back around and begins to push and pull violently.) What the fu—

  SAM (jumping forward to stop her from swearing again): Fulcrum! (He turns to Mrs. Steele.) She doesn’t understand the rules, ma’am, but she is a new resident. I saw it myself. She emerged right here. (He runs over and points to the unmarked spot by the stone bench.) Her grave is small and there’s no proper door. My guess is that she was cremated and that someone buried her ashes here.

  At the mention of words such as “grave” and “ashes,” Lacy is completely spooked. Since she can’t seem to get out the front, she runs to the back of the cemetery and, finding no exit, runs all the way around it. Unlike most churches, which have neat adjoining cemeteries to one side or behind, the graves at Westminster are sprinkled around all four sides of the property. Most of the Dead, including Poe and his family, are buried in the prestigious main section to the right of the church, the one where Lacy first found herself and the one where Sam and Mrs. Steele are now. But what Lacy finds as she runs is an obstacle course of crypts, tombstones, and statuary bordered on all sides by either the iron gate or brick walls.

  As Lacy’s panic grows, Mrs. Steele continues to talk to Sam.

  MRS. STEELE: Clearly her people put her here with no regard for the rules, Samuel. We don’t have to accept her. Don’t read the Official Welcome. Just look at her. She’s vulgar.

  Sam does what everyone in Westminster does: he plays it safe and pretends to agree with Mrs. Steele, but he does so in a whisper, hoping that Lacy won’t hear him.

  SAM: She is a bit vulgar, ma’am, but I think we have to welcome her. I think there’s a rule—

  MRS. STEELE (interrupting): Thinking and knowing are as different as bats and bluebirds, Samuel. What number is the rule, hmmn? You should have them all memorized. You’ve had decade after decade to study, but instead all you’ve been doing is wallowing—writing silly nonsense in that journal of yours.

  Sam bites his lip. Flustered, he pulls a small scroll from his pocket, accidentally drops the bottom bar, and a long sheet of parchment unrolls until it hits the unkempt grass with a thud. An arm emerges from the grave on which Sam is standing and hands the bottom of the scroll back up to him. Lacy, still trying to get out, is spared the sight. She has jumped down from a crypt and is trying now to climb the tall iron gate directly. With her back to them, her beautiful bare legs are even more visible.

  Both Mrs. Steele and Sam watch her, knowing she won’t be able to leave. The expression on Mrs. Steele’s face could scare a rottweiler. Sam, on the other hand, is clearly and completely smitten. Mrs. Steele notices his enthusiasm and gives him a hard slap across the head.

  MRS. STEELE: See? Girls like that cause problems. They absolutely inspire thoughts of lust. It’s a disgrace. Get a hold of yourself, Samuel. We’re not going to welcome her.

  SAM (quickly turning his attention to the scroll): I’m just recalling a rule, ma’am.

  Sam scans the scroll and finds what he’s looking for. Inwardly delighted, he makes sure not to show it. Pretending to be upset, he turns toward her.

  SAM: Unfortunately, it’s right here, ma’am. Rule 17: The Living are held accountable for decisions involving burial as well as the dispersal of ashes. Although the Dying may leave explicit instructions, the Dead are powerless to execute those instructions. Thus, in the case of a procedural error or an illegal burial, the Deceased Community must receive the newly interred resident with an Official Welcome and cannot exclude anyone because of race, religion, or lack of fame or fortune. (Looks up) I have no choice, ma’am. I have to give her the Official Welcome. It’s my job.

  Mrs. Steele’s eyes narrow and she lets out a huff.

  MRS. STEELE: Well. If we have to welcome her, then at least it will be a very short residence. She already has two strikes.

  SAM: Strikes can only be given after the first ten rules have been read. That is Rule 11. It’s coming back to me, ma’am. I do know some of them by heart.

  MRS. STEELE (irritated): You are right. Do your duties then.

  Sam glances at the distraught Lacy, who is back at the main gate trying to get out again.

  SAM: Now? But . . . she doesn’t seem to be listening . . .

  MRS. STEELE (with a cold smile): Exactly. The quicker she is welcomed, the quicker she’ll get her strikes.

  SAM: What about the Welcome Song? It’s supposed to come before I recite the rules. The song was Mrs. Watson’s duty, but she’s been Suppressed.

  MRS. STEELE: Do it! Rule 221 states that in case of emergency, one resident may perform a duty for another. The sooner we act, the quicker this problem will be solved. (She gestures to his scroll.) Do the song and the first ten rules, but do not fraternize or . . . (whispers) help her in any way. I�
��m going to wake our President of the Committee on the Preservation of the Documentation of Rules and Regulations and we’ll go to the vault to read over the original documents. There must be a rule in my favor. If someone’s presence degrades our collective respectability, we should be able to permanently isolate that someone and remove any and all aboveground privileges. In the meantime . . . (again, she drops her voice to a whisper) encourage her to rant and rave. That foul mouth of hers will get her three strikes in no time.

  With a swish of her black skirts, Mrs. Steele turns and walks through the fog toward the church’s back brick wall. The catacomb entrance is there, a portal invisible to the Living that leads to the subterranean maze of burial vaults under the church, where the first residents were laid to rest and where the documents related to the genesis of the cemetery have been kept since the earliest of days. As Mrs. Steele approaches, a door-shaped section of the church wall seems to swing open, and she disappears inside.

  Sam would like to take his time, find a way to gently win Lacy’s trust before barraging her with the rules, but he doesn’t dare disobey Mrs. Steele.

  He unrolls the scroll and approaches the girl.

  SAM: Um . . . I’m not the one who usually sings the Welcome Song, but . . . it is supposed to come before the Reading of the Rules, and so here it is . . .

  With a shaky voice, Sam sings.

  Every flow’r doth bloom and fade with time.

  Every beast shall cease its uphill climb.

  So with grace must thou accept thy lot—

  Thy soul escapes the body’s worm and rot.

  May thou slumber in thy earthly bed—

  Ne’er to toil in need of daily bread.

  Naught to grasp or covet, naught to fear.

  Now the steady virtue and good cheer.

  Protest not, the aim of death is true.

  So to Westminster, we welcome you.

  Lacy turns around and stares. The mean-spirited woman has disappeared and now this odd guy is singing to her. This whole episode keeps getting stranger and stranger, she thinks. Exhausted from her fruitless attempt to climb the gate, she leans back against it. The guy hasn’t touched her. Hasn’t tried to stop her from leaving. If he wanted to grab her or murder her, he could have done that by now. Hell, she thinks, she could probably kick his ass.

  [Offensive words, I know! Please note, dear Reader, that when I’m relaying the internal thoughts of a character, I must use his or her choice of words, undignified as they might be.]

  Lacy looks off to the southeast corner of the street. The fog has lifted slightly and the lights of the nearby hospital are visible now. It occurs to her that the guy and woman could be patients who escaped from the psych ward to come here and fulfill some weird but probably harmless ghost delusion. If she plays along, perhaps the guy can show her how to get the gate open, she thinks.

  Relieved that she is calming down, Sam continues in his official capacity.

  SAM (unrolling more of the scroll): And now, the Recitation of the Ten Rules of Etiquette. They are very important, miss. (He leans toward Lacy, his face full of concern, and reads.)

  Rule 1: Residents will refrain from uttering profanities and/or obscenities.

  Rule 2: With the exception of the Town Crier, there will be no raising of the voice. No screaming, no yelling, no wailing.

  Rule 3: Boundaries must be observed. No resident is allowed to either temporarily or permanently enter another resident’s burial space, whether that be coffin, crypt, sarcophagus, urn, et cetera.

  Rule 4: Residents with aboveground privileges may rise at midnight to enjoy appropriate recreation but must return to the earth before the sun rises and remain there until midnight.

  Lacy listens, trying to puzzle out exactly what the story is. The boy seems dead serious. Perhaps he’s not insane, she thinks. Perhaps he’s doing some kind of candid camera show. Reflexively, she looks around, expecting to see a video crew lurking behind a tree. She had heard of some Icelandic artist who once did an installation in a cemetery involving actors.

  She notices that the large black bird perched on the monument seems to be watching her. Could it be a stuffed decoy hiding a surveillance camera? she wonders.

  Raven gives her a disarming wink.

  SAM (continues reading):

  Rule 5: All residents will be assigned a job and must do their job without complaint.

  Rule 6: Neatness in appearance shows a discipline of character. Although residents cannot choose their burial attire, care must be taken not to allow one’s clothing to become slovenly or unnecessarily revealing.

  Rule 7: Do not argue about politics or religion.

  Rule 8: Gentlemen should either bow or tip their hats or remove their hats entirely upon greeting a lady. Upon meeting a lady for the first time or being reunited with one after a long separation, a gentleman may take a lady’s hand in his for a few seconds. The show of a kiss to the hand can be made, but lips should touch only gloved hands.

  Rule 9: If you have remarkably fine teeth, you may smile freely; if not, you should avoid smiling.

  Rule 10: A lady should only take the arm of a gentleman to which she is not related in cases in which it is necessary—as in passing through a crowd, over uneven terrain, or if likely to faint.

  Sam notices that the girl is giving him a strange look, as if she doesn’t quite believe him, but he keeps going.

  SAM: A resident who breaks any of the above rules will be given a strike, and residents who receive three strikes become Suppressed. (He tries to catch her attention. This is important.) That means you lose aboveground privileges. That means you can’t come out, miss. Ever. Again.

  At this last bit, Lacy is weirdly touched. This guy seems to be genuinely worried about her. Out of the corner of her eye, through the fog, she can see a car pull up at the apartment building on the other side of the street and a couple walk from the car to the building’s front door. They are dressed in what to Lacy are ordinary clothes, a couple coming home from a night on the town. The sight reminds her that she’s not isolated. It calms her down. She’ll keep an eye out. If she needs to, she can call for help.

  SAM (concluding): There are 247 other rules related to how things work around here, and it’s the responsibility of the resident to read and study the other 247 rules on his or her own, but these first ten are the ones you must memorize. (Sam steps forward and holds out the scroll to Lacy.)

  Lacy decides to humor him. She smiles uneasily and takes it.

  LACY: Thank you so much . . . Samuel, is it? . . . I can tell you’re trying to help. That was a very nice song and everything. And I can see that the rules of your game—or whatever it is—are really important to you. But I need to get back home. Please just tell me how to unlock the gate. (She forces herself to fake a laugh.) I’m really bad with locks. I can never get my locker open.

  SAM: None . . . none of us can leave. It’s just . . . it’s just how it works, Miss Brink.

  The sound of her last name coming out of Sam’s mouth sends a chill through Lacy. She has never seen this guy before in her life. She knows that for certain.

  LACY: You know my name?

  SAM: Lacy Brink.

  Lacy drops the scroll. Before Sam can stop her, she opens her mouth and lets out a scream loud enough to wake the Dead. Sam jumps in a panic. Through the catacomb portal, Mrs. Steele marches out. She can tell by Sam’s face that he has already read the first ten rules.

  MRS. STEELE (triumphantly raising a bony finger): Rule 2: No screaming or raising of the voice. Strike one!

  Scene 2: Reality Sinks In

  As I said, Lacy’s scream is loud enough to wake the Dead, and that is precisely what is happening. Shocked faces emerge from eleven graves, four crypts, and three sarcophagi, most frightened, some concerned, some dull with the assumption that one of the old residents has finally lost it and there’s nothing to be done, and some so starved for novelty that they look excited.

  The pretty face of Virginia P
oe falls into that latter category. Since she is breaking a rule by being in the Poltroon crypt, she can only afford to peek. We don’t see her partner in crime, Cumberland Poltroon, who is cowering behind, the fact of which is making her remember why she has no respect for him.

  While it was disturbing enough for Lacy to see so many faces pop out, three of the faces belong to Suppressed souls and thus an even more disturbing action occurs. Against the church’s side wall, Lacy sees what she thinks are the crumbled ruins of a statue rise up and take the shape of a strong, broad-shouldered, thick-limbed boy. As he walks forward, she realizes that there was no transformation of stone. He is a person, just like the rest of them, only he had been sitting motionless on the remains of a broken tombstone near the wall for so long, her mind had tricked her. This is Owen Hapliss, the cemetery’s Suppressor, an eighteen-year-old blacksmith who had spent the majority of his young life pounding iron into submission. Without a single glance at any of those standing, he walks heavily toward a grave. The first Suppressed face sees him and sinks below ground just as Owen’s boot slams down upon his door. Without a pause, he walks to another grave and does the same. The third face has already disappeared below, and so Owen returns to his position and Lacy shivers to see him again seem to turn to stone.

  Raven, a silent witness, watches from his perch next to Sam on Poe’s monument.

  Mrs. Steele reels around, her mind spinning, near to panic. The fact that not one but three of the Suppressed tried to emerge confirms her instincts about this girl: her very presence here is causing turmoil. From time to time, one of the Suppressed tries to rise, of course, which is why the Suppressor is necessary; but Mrs. Steele can’t remember a time when three emerged at once. Willing her face to hide any sign of weakness or concern, she turns toward the others.