The Mosquito and Pistol Headstones

        The graveyard next to Northbrook High School was arguably the most terrifying location in all of Vermont. No, in all of New England. Thick, dense vines covered the walls that surrounded it, giving off a foul, dank odor that crawled into your nose and refused to remove itself. The parts of the old stone wall that weren't covered in vegetation were crumbly and cracked, as if the weight of housing all of the lonely souls of the deceased had really taken a toll on it. All the trees that were planted randomly in the graveyard in an attempt to make it more inviting were dead, their branches teetering and barely hanging on in most places. Gravestones scattered the area, aimlessly placed with no definite plan or structure. The grass was an ugly mixture of pale, sickly greens and yellows, spotted with dandelions and wild violets. Even on the brightest summer days, the cemetery still looked gloomy and dark, as if the clouds always hung over it. Yes, it was arguably the most terrifying location in all of Vermont, and I was entering it.

       Many of the students at Northbrook High attempted to enter the menacing graveyard that sat beside the school, but none had ever actually done it. Many got scared and chickened out as soon as they noticed the constant swarms of rats and insects entering and leaving, or the repellent smell the vegetation radiated. Others injured themselves trying to enter, claiming the door wouldn't open so they tried other means to enter which failed miserably. No one but Mariam Locke had ever even stepped foot on the grounds. She was a freshman at the time, and she liked a boy who was obsessed with getting into the graveyard. Many believed she decided to enter it to get him to notice her, or she even had him go with her. Using a rope, she successfully hoisted herself over the wall. She was the only person to successfully enter the graveyard, but soon after was found lying on the ground, pale and obviously dead. No one knew how she died, but no one wanted to enter the graveyard after they knew a perfectly healthy girl had died there.  After that, the yard was forgotten, no one even daring to go near it. That is, until Caleb Costard enrolled.

       "Oh come on!" Caleb had exclaimed to me earlier that day, "What's so scary about that graveyard? It's not like The Boogieman is in there!"

       "Are you crazy!?" I shot back, my face twisted in evident disbelief, "Are you unaware of the fact that someone died in there?"

        "Am I unaware that someone died in there?" he asked, acting as if he was pondering the question, "Yes. Yes I am."

        "Then why do you want to go into it? Do you have a death wish or something?"

        "No, I just wanna prove that everyone here is being superstitious." He explained, shaking his head. "Wanna come with me?"

        "Why in the world would I want to do that?" I questioned him, grinning as he pursed his lips.

         "Fame, glory-" he paused, then grinned right back at me "-and cheese puffs."

        Defeated, I whispered "Fine. But you better bring three bags, all the white cheddar kind!" I've loved cheese puffs ever since I was little, their airieness and crunch a mystery to me. However, my mom refused them, saying they were just empty calories. Caleb brought me some of the snack size bags when I begged, but never three whole bags. 

        “Deal. Meet me at the gates at 8:00!” he smiled, then ran out of the room, holding his backpack by the handle.

☆☆☆

        “Oh my word-” I started, pointing my flashlight at the gate and watching it illuminate the metal that wasn’t rusty. 

        “Scared?” a voice asked from behind me, its white teeth gleaming in brilliance.

        “What the heck Caleb?!” I screamed, smacking him gently on the arm.

      “Let’s open this gate already.” he declared, ignoring my question with a flashing warm smile. A dark hood was pulled over his head, making his strawberry blonde hair stick out at weird angles and cover his ears. He took a large bag off of his back, then gestured for me to follow him.

        The closer we neared the gate, the more ancient it seemed. Covered in the strange, rainforest-like greenery that bordered the walls, as well as moss, rust, and something slimy that wasn’t identifiable. The hinges were rusted shut, defeating any idea of swinging it open. Honestly, there was no way to pass this immovable barrier, held together by time, plants and iron oxide. Caleb investigated the gate, running his fingers over the hinges, ripping weeds that blocked his vision. Finally, he stood back, grabbed a bottle from his sizable pack and took a long swig. 

        “Coke.” he explained, showing me the label.

        “Why in the world would you bring Coca-Cola?” I questioned, giving him a puzzled look.

        “Watch.” he instructed, walking over to the gate. Slowly tipping the bottle, he poured a good ¼ of the bottle onto one of the hinges. Slowly, I watched him scrub the rust off of the hinges with a dish sponge. He repeated this process on the other hinges, then stood back to admire his work.

        “Science!” he announced, throwing his arms out in joy.

        I rolled my eyes, smiling a bit under the outrageously voluminous scarf I wore in a failing attempt to keep myself warm against the bitter cold that gripped Vermont in December. As he began to slowly creek open the door, I began regretting this venture. The place was infamous for being haunted, of course. But nonetheless, Caleb firmly gripped my arm firmly and dragged me into the necropolis that stood beyond the gateway, pulling me to my inevitable death.

        Inevitable death isn’t as bad as I imagined. Caleb pushed me into the cemetery first, making me clumsily fall forward and almost fall onto my face. He caught me last second before I fell, assisting me by pushing me back up until I was at a respectable 90° angle. We both laughed in our awkwardness, then shook off the moment and observed our surroundings.  The ground beneath my feet was soft, the dead grass softened by the recent snow flurries.  As we approached the Soft moss grew on each of the randomly-placed headstones, turning them from the usually grey stone color to a brilliant lime green. The air was light, smelling of earth and fresh dew. I stroked my fingers across a headstone, inspecting the name on the headstone. Carol Alby, the memorial stated. Born January 6th, 1670. Died September 13, 1670. Cause of Death: Yellow Fever. May God Bless Her Soul. Though weathered from time, I could faintly make out a picture of a mosquito, carved to look sinister. Many of the headstones near Carol’s grave also depicted a picture of a mosquito, each one posing slightly different. Caleb, however, seemed more interested in one of the old, rotting ash trees. As I ran closer to him, I realized he wasn’t so much staring at the tree, but the memorial that stood next to it. The name, birth and death were covered, but the cause of death stood out, plain and clear. Cause of Death: Gunshot. A beautiful, long rifle was carved into the slab, vivid and realistic.

        “That sounds like a horrible death.” I comment, shaking my head with a slight sadness.

        “Yeah.” he responded quietly, eyes still glued to the headstone. Longing, passion and fear filled his eyes as he glanced from me to the headstone, the headstone to me. He must have sensed the same emotions in my eyes, because soon we were kissing.

☆☆☆

        I pulled away slowly, overwhelmed by my emotions. Caleb sensed my tension, and retracted as well. I let out a deep sigh, running my fingers through my hair.

        "Let's look at some more headstones!" I encouraged him, glancing up at the sun which had begun to set across the horizon, sending brilliant colors across the sky.

        Many of the headstones bore regular causes of death, such as cancer or tuberculosis, but others had comedic causes, such as Hit to Hard with a Loaf of Bread and Slaughtered by a Butter Knife. Soon enough we'd looked at all the headstones except for the one by the tree. Rushing towards it, I used my number rip off the weeds covering up the name of the body that lay beneath me. Stained green, I could distinctly see the named embed onto the marble: Caleb Costard. Realization struck me like an arrow, horror slowly spreading across my face. I opened my mouth to scream, to whimper, to let out any noise at all, but no sound came out. Instead, I heard a soft chuckle from behind me. 

     Caleb's voice was low, serious and a bit intimidating, very unlike his usual personality as he spoke "So I see you've found my little secret. Please don't be mad, Lynn, I just need to lure people here. No one ever cared when I died so long ago, so I'm teaching society lesson. Please don't take this the wrong way, I do like you. I just- I can't let you live now that you know my secret. Neither could Mariam. Have a nice sleep…"

        As I slowly felt the world around me fade away, the distant ominous chuckling of Caleb rang in my ears, filling my head. I knew I'd get him back, I'd get my revenge...