The Cemetery

The Cemetery

A Short Story

By: Angela Johnson

Omar Jackson pushed open the glass door to the newsroom with one hand while keeping his latte steady with the other. He was usually in low spirits on Monday mornings because it reminded him of the fact that he did not have a full-time job at the paper. Mondays were when the freelancers had their meeting to pick from story assignments that were leftovers. He sat down at the table and nodded to Gene, one of the other freelancers. Gene was retired but still liked to see his byline in the paper whenever he could. He covered most of the sports stories in the city which were something of a continuation of the beat he had covered in his prime. 

“How’s it going, Omar?”

“Just fine. How about you?” He took a sip of his coffee and did not listen to the response. His mind drifted back to the text message his bank sent earlier that his account was overdrawn.

He was desperate to get a job at the paper. The money from his dad’s life insurance policy was running out fast and all too soon he would have to explain to his mother that he had not used his share to pay for any college. A steady job with benefits would help diffuse what he knew would be an explosive conversation.

When Gene called his name again, he realized that someone was speaking to him. The meeting had started and the freelance editor, Amber, had asked him what he was working on. “Oh, I’m sorry. It is Monday.” He stalled. “I’m still working on the arts district thing.” 

“Is there anything new to report?” Her brown eyes narrowed. “If it’s not happening drop it. I have an idea for something that might be more interesting.” She said. The other reporters left to get about their work and Omar opened his notebook to take notes on her story idea. “You’re friends with that pianist right, the one in New Orleans?”

“Cameron De La Valle,” Omar perked up. “Well yeah, I know him.” He said. He and the famous concert pianist were not friends exactly, but he had interviewed him the year before when a series of crimes had been committed before one of his concerts there in New York.

“Would he talk to you about the cemeteries there for a kind of haunted New Orleans story for us?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Omar said slowly. He had chin-length black hair and dark brown eyes.

“What if I told you it was a tryout for WNYC?” She asked, her blue eyes sparkled with excitement.

“A…tryout? Are you serious?” Omar smiled widely.

“I have a friend over at our tv station and they are looking for a new field reporter. I immediately thought of you.”

“Thanks…but don’t you want it?” He looked at her closely. “You look like you belong on television.” He was so excited his smile would not fade.

“You always were a charmer, Omar.” She laughed a little. “But no, I want to be a producer like my dad.”

“He is a great producer.” Omar nodded. Her father was one of the most respected producers in the city. 

“Look, we haven’t got much time to get this together. I take your reaction as a “yes” and I already recruited a camera person for you. Contact the pianist for a celebrity angle that we can start with.” She stood up. “Your travel has been set up and should be emailed to you this morning.” At the door, she stopped and turned around. “Bring me back a good story and I can get into the “Weekend Getaways” show, the one that airs the last Saturday in October.”

“I can’t thank you enough for the chance.”

“Make it count. Then maybe you can get a new job as a field reporter and I can get in as a producer. This is a great break for both of us.”

“I won’t let you down.” 

Omar grabbed his messenger bag from his chair and headed home to pack. He got the email about the plane tickets and rental van on the way home. A second message contained his hotel reservation. A woman named Sophia who worked at their affiliate station in New Orleans would be filming the segment. He tried several times on Monday to get Cameron on the phone. 

The cell phone number he had was no longer in service. That wasn’t unusual. He’d heard that many celebrities change numbers a lot as soon as it starts getting known by the public. He tried Cameron’s manager’s number listed on his website and was told that he could leave a message for Mr. De La Valle. Cameron was only about 21 or so, but he had been playing the piano since he was 6. Judging from the expensive surroundings that Omar had interviewed him in, there must have been a lot of money in being a child piano prodigy. His fame had seemed to grow along with him.

He packed quickly and called his mother to let her know he was going out of town to work on a story. She congratulated him and asked if he had made arrangements about his college classes. He winced and made a vague reply before getting off the call. 

Later that night when he landed in New Orleans, he immediately turned his phone back on to check for messages. There was only one. Cameron told him that he had been in the recording studio all day, but that he would be glad to talk to him tomorrow. Omar breathed a sigh of relief and hailed a taxi to his hotel. He got settled in his room and powered on his laptop. He had planned out the story angle on the airplane. The most numerous and recent ghost reports had been from the famous cemetery in the Garden District. He looked at the photos online of the 19th-century cemetery with its iconic above-ground tombs and knew that it was just the place for a celebrity from New Orleans to relate some brush with the supernatural. He was pretty sure Cameron would work with him, at least for the sake of the story. 

_____

“You can’t be serious about doing this,” Cameron said animatedly. “I’m not going out there, after all the things I told you about that cemetery.” He had deep green eyes and had pulled his black hair back into a neat ponytail. “When you said you were working on a tv show I thought you meant something else.” His smile was warm and genuine. 

“But Cameron, I was planning for you to talk while we walked around the place a little. We got permission to film overnight.”

“That place is haunted. I have zero interest in visiting that cemetery tonight. And you shouldn’t either.”

“What if we get some live footage and splice it into his interview?” Sophia asked him. They were sitting in the living room of Cameron’s historic house in New Orleans. The finely furnished room was highlighted by the mahogany grand piano which was the focus of the room. 

“I’m willing to help with what I can. But I’m afraid my answer is no on spending the night in the cemetery.” Cameron said with resolve.

Omar was silent for a while before a smile crept across his face. “Maybe we can do both. We’ll film your part here and then we will go see what ghosts we can find tonight. What do you think Sophia?”

“If I can set up everything and we do most of our investigating from inside the van.” She ran a hand through her curly brown hair and smiled.

“Deal.” 

They set up the lights for Cameron’s segment and he cordially shared his thoughts on New Orleans, Halloween, and the supernatural. He was what they call a “natural” and the camera dearly loved him. They recorded for almost an hour so that they would have plenty of footage during editing to choose from for the half-hour segment. Cameron wished them success with the story as they stood in his driveway. “Why don’t you two come back here in the morning for breakfast? I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

“We’ll be back by 7 then. Make sure you have some beignets and lots of coffee.” Omar waved as he and Sophia headed towards the hotel. They would rest for a few hours and then head out just after dark. 

Omar had limited experience in tv and left all the decision making to Sophia. She was efficient and smart. He helped carry the equipment and got out of her way. The remote cameras she set up at the cemetery were in 3 different places that would offer vastly different vantage points throughout the night. Camera 1 was closest to the van which they parked closest to the sidewalk entrance. The cemetery was a beautiful labyrinth of white sandstone and marble. The ornate designs of the structures would have been enough to film an architecture documentary on their own. Cameras 2 and 3 were near the opposite end of the property, close to several of the tombs. She placed an audio recorder near the motion sensors for the cameras to give them their best chance of capturing something they could use for the show. 

At 8:45 Sophia walked back to the white van and slid the door open. Omar sat down beside her looking out facing the first camera location. “You are lucky I am being paid overtime for this. We really need two more people.”

“I was going to ask you why you were doing this.” Omar laughed. 

“Amber is my friend. We graduated from college together.” She smiled. “I figured it wouldn’t be too much trouble to help you out. And the money is good for a couple days' work. My cousin has a place nearby in case…we need to take a break during filming. We can drive there in like 3 minutes.”

Omar shook his head. “You think of everything.”

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks.” She laughed. “So, what about all this? Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Growing up in New York and doing this work, I have seen just about everything.” He shook his head. “And I have never seen a ghost or even thought I did.”

“Just because you haven’t seen it…” 

“I know, I know.” He stopped laughing. “I’m doing this story because I need a full- time job. If this doesn’t come together, I’m going to have to do something else.” He added quietly. A silence fell over the van for a moment.

“It will work out. Amber told me you were made for television…and she wasn’t wrong.” Sophia pulled herself up and went to check the computers inside. 

Omar walked over towards one of the crypts and took a few still photos. Sophia was calling to him a moment later and he ran back to the van. “What is it?”

“Listen.” She stared at the computer and pressed the “Enter” key twice. 

Omar heard the sound of wind blowing and a car horn in the distance. “What am I listening to?”

“Shhh…I can’t isolate it with this equipment, but there it is again. Don’t you hear it?”

Omar was shaking his head when he heard the faint sound of a child crying. His heart skipped. There were no children wandering around when he and Sophia went to set up the camera. “I hear it, but it’s impossible.”

“There’s nothing on camera 2.” 

“Maybe a group came in and we didn’t see them.” 

“The cemetery has been closed since 3. We didn’t see anyone before.” Sophia looked at him for a moment.

“Let’s go check it out.”

“Right.” She took two flashlights from the console and they climbed out of the van. The cemetery was by no means dark, there was exterior lighting for security. But to read a name or check a corner, a person would need a light. When they were on the sidewalk headed towards the back, she suddenly stopped walking. “You know, one of us should probably stay here. In case it’s the camera that needs adjusting…or something else happens.”

“I’ll go.” Omar felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

“No, I know the equipment better than you. Just stay by the computer and we can communicate by phone.” She held up her mobile phone and smiled. A moment later she had jogged off down the sidewalk and disappeared into the cool evening.

Omar stood alone on the sidewalk and listened. He thought he heard a footstep close by, but when he shined his light to his left side there was nothing there. He decided to go back to the van and wait to hear from Sophia rather than give in to the uneasy feeling that was beginning to wash over him.

 Every step he took seemed to be followed by an echo. He stopped and looked behind him and was surprised at how empty this place looked now that he was by himself. When he had taken a few more steps he heard light steps behind him and this time when he turned around, he saw a girl who looked about five. She was wearing a white dress and had long black braids. Her lovely dark eyes were filled with tears. “How did you get in here?” Omar asked. She did not answer. He softened his voice the way one speaks to a child. “Are you lost, honey?”

“I can’t find Mama.” She said. “She said to meet her by the light.”

“Well, I will help you.” He asked as he looked past her and saw a particularly ornate tomb with a light shining above it. “Maybe she meant that one over there. He pointed and Antoinette looked in that direction and nodded. He took a few steps toward the mausoleum and the child followed. “What’s your name?”

“Antoinette Beau.”

Omar reached out to shake her hand just as his cell phone rang. She had stopped crying and he wanted to reassure her that he was a friend. He glanced away as he took the phone out of his black jacket pocket. When he did not feel the child take his hand, he looked beside him. Antoinette was gone.

“Omar. Omar are you there?” Sophia asked.

“Yeah…I’m…um here.” He said as he looked all around for the girl. There was nothing but a gently swirling wind where she had been standing. “Hold on a minute.” He took the phone away from his ear. “Antoinette!” He called. “Antoinette!” No one came.

“Who are you calling?”

“There was a girl here.” He said as he continued to look around. “Is everything okay over there?”

“Yes, it’s fine. I was…”

“Can you come back? Maybe we can find her. She got separated from her mother.”

“Sure. I’m already on my way. What does she look like? I will be looking as I walk.”

“About five. Pretty. Long black hair in braids and wearing a white dress.” Omar said as he thought about what a vintage style the dress seemed. It made him think of historical photos from the 19th century. “She said her name was Antoinette Beau.”

“Omar, really? I didn’t figure you to be so much of a joker. Quit playing.”

“What are you talking about?” He froze where he stood.

“That’s one of the most famous ghost stories of this cemetery. A little girl in white looking for her mama. People say they see her around the Beau mausoleum most of the time.”

“The Beau mausoleum,” Omar repeated with a question in his voice.

“Yeah, it’s one of the big family crypts with an ornate light at the top. It’s near the front. I can show you.”

“You don’t…have to. I’m standing in front of it now.” He looked at the nameplate on the front of the tomb and read the list of names of those buried there. The last one on the list had birth and death dates of 1915 to 1920 and the name was Antoinette.

THE END