Fireside Tombs

By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. Great, just another day at Fireside Tombs Cemetery. I give Gus a withering look, then extinguish the flames. In all his 6 "1" translucent glory, he ducks his head and scuffs his shoes across the leaf-covered walkway. "Gus, I don't have a permit to burn leaves. It's detrimental to the headstones. Besides, these leaves are to be bagged up with the rest so I can deliver them to Let's Talk Dirty Compost Company." 

 "Sorry, Lottie." My name is Charlotte, but he insists on calling me, Lottie. Sometimes, he gets cranky when he thinks he's not getting enough attention. That leads to small fires and broken windows. I'm going to be busy today, and I want one day without his or anyone else's crazy cemetery shenanigans distracting me. I need a diversion. I rake the smoking leaves again and leave them in a pile to finish cooling off. It won't take long. It's another chilly autumn day in October. 

I usually don't mind killing time with the ghosts that haunt this place. I've been training to be the cemetery caretaker since my mother's funeral. My aunt Rochelle became my official guardian, but she was a busy woman lacking time or patience. I was six years old, and the owner, Bill, was a family friend who treated me like a daughter. At first, I shadowed him on summer breaks, and when I turned sixteen, he officially started training me. I saw my first ghost a few months after my mom's funeral. I was terrified, but Bill got me to stop screaming bloody murder and told me he could see them too. They're not malevolent, mostly. They just haven't moved on for whatever reason and want some attention.

Sometimes the newly buried get confused and linger near their graves. I calmly explain to them that they're dead and no longer have a body. I don't antagonize them by yelling, "You're dead." Ghosts have feelings too, and sometimes they're terrified with no idea what's going on. The longer it takes to move on, the greater the chance they'll become an earthbound spirit. It's funny; this necropolis used to be my playground. Now it's a huge responsibility that I don't take lightly. I would want someone to do the same for me.

 There are tons of books and tv shows about ghosts that people go crazy over. I think it's great that people aren't as terrified at the idea as they used to be. I tried telling my aunt once. She looked at me like I was crazy and told me to go outside and play. I stopped telling people after that. I keep my gift to myself. I do attract strange looks sometimes when people think I'm talking to myself. The gravediggers that come in and assist me on busy days are used to it.

Gus realized I could see him years ago and has been keeping me company ever since. He won't move on because he likes earth too much. I think it's fear of the unknown. He's spent most of the morning retelling stories about life on his farm. He drowned in a manure pit sometime during the 1930s. 

I run back into my cottage on the grounds. Bill left it to me when he died. Many people think it's strange, living in a cemetery, but I love it here. It's peaceful, for the most part. I grab the necessaries, then lock up. I tour the grounds every morning; we get night visitors that make a mess. I've lost count of the number of times I've found ladders lying against the gates. I close the gates at 5:30 P.M. and open them again at 8:00A.M. I guess rules were made to be broken. Trees surround the area changing color with the seasons. There are headstones for miles. Gothic, square top, raised shoulder, etc...with the occasional humorous one.

Gus follows beside me, commenting on one of his horses. I often wonder what he sees during our morning tours, trees covered in autumn colored leaves like I do, or strangers dressed in 1930's clothing driving by on a horse-drawn hearse? I wish he would quit being stubborn and move on to enjoy the afterlife. I've tried everything, but today I'll settle for a distraction so I can finish my work in peace.

 Dorothy materializes and walks towards us. What perfect timing. She's a tiny ghost in a pale pink dress and a Raggedy Ann doll hanging from one arm. She's haunted the place long before I was born and won't move on because she's waiting for someone special, but she won't tell me who. 

"Good morning Dorothy," I say and give her a bright smile.

 "Hi, Ms. Charlotte."

"Dorothy, do you think you can give Gus a tour of the grounds."

Gus gives me a shrewd look. Ghosts aren't stupid; they're just dead. Unless a brain injury caused their death, they have the same IQ they had in life.

"Yes, ma'am," she says. She walks away, expecting him to follow, which he does but not before throwing a glare my way. I roll my eyes and wave them away. I'm going to pay for that later.

Finally, I get to work. I jump in my '77 Cadillac hearse and take a real tour of the grounds. There are 50,000 occupants, and three of them are currently haunting the crematorium. I give them a wave and drive right past them while glancing at a few visitors leaving flowers for their loved ones.

Cemeteries can be sad, but they can also be a great place to hang out. Fireside Tombs has always been my home. As I cruise around, I think of my childhood. I learned subtraction by figuring out how old people were when they died. Bill gave me a camera letting me run amok taking pictures, and I also got free history lessons. Some ghosts are very chatty. 

I've got three funeral burials scheduled for today. I pick up some leftover garbage, dig and prepare two burial sites(yes, I can operate a tractor), and perform general maintenance duties.

It's almost time for the first service. I run home, take a quick shower, dress accordingly, and report for duty. The service is going fine until a fistfight breaks out, and a relative throws their dentures. It's easily broken up and quickly concluded—the second service proceeds without a hitch.

Finally, it's almost the end of the working day. It's been a humdrum day compared to the usual high jinks people get up to. I didn't have to call the police, break up a fight, or have to guide the newly dead into the afterlife. I toss the leaves in the back of the hearse, jump into the car, and there's Gus in the passenger seat. Thank God I don't get spooked every time a ghost materializes next to me.

"That wasn't funny, Lottie. That child talked at me all day.."

"I'm sorry." I'm really not. They're always chattering at one another.

"Well, let's go,” he says impatiently.

I sigh and drive off—just another day at Fireside Tombs Cemetery.