The Odd Grave

       Andrew Baskin ambled up the hill to the lone grave marker at the top. The headstone was a seven-foot structure of cement that read Here Lies Elizabeth Crowfeather: “The Witch of Eston County”, with the dates Oct 31, 1812- Aug 4, 1874. The monument to the supposed witch sat as a lone sentry over the small town of Estherton, PA.  Of course, the town was a lot smaller fifty years ago when Andrew had first come to the grave.

             In the summer of 1970, Andrew and his newly divorced mother moved to Estherton to get away from the painful memories and high prices of the big city after Wendy Baskin had walked in on her husband with his secretary-turned-mistress in their bed. The town had been a quiet agricultural-based society with a population of about 22,000 residents before developers moved in to build apartments and chain stores over the once-green landscape. Still, though, Estherton only had a population of about 70,000 these days.

             Andrew had been a shy twelve-year-old that was happy to trade concrete buildings and honking cars for untouched woods and chirping birds. He was, however, nervous to endure the trials and tribulations of being the new kid at a school where all the other students had been friends since before kindergarten. The boy preferred characters in his abundance of novels and self-written stories to the often-rude people of real life. While Wendy worked long hours as a cashier at Phil’s Pharmacy or her part-time job at the retirement home, Andrew wandered the open fields and inviting forest around the dilapidated two-story shoebox of a house. It was on one of these adventures through the rural landscape that Andrew- looking for inspiration for a new story and halfway pretending to be fighting through the forests of Ardennes- had noticed the Gravestone of Elizabeth Crowfeather.

             Still imagining that he was a soldier fighting through hordes of Germans in the Battle of the Bulge (never mind that it was a warm summer day and not a frigid winter night), Andrew began his trip toward the curious-looking gravestone. He found it odd that that the monument stood alone on this hill instead of with the other graves of St. Lucy’s Cemetery across town. The preteen child made his way up the grassy side of the hill, hiding behind trees or boulders with an imaginary gun in his hands. Ahead of him, Nazi soldiers and their artillery- that only Andrew could see- took up the clear landscape.

Out of nowhere, a rustling of leaves followed by a sudden thump sounded ten yards to the left of Andrew. He paused his heroic valor on the battlefield to examine what had made that noise. Nothing stood out, even the squirrels were hiding.

“Ahhhh!” Andrew heard screaming behind him. Panic took ahold of the young boy, sending a deadening chill through his veins. The boy spun around just in time to view a blur before he was knocked off his feet with a whimper escaping his lips and gasping for breath on the ground.

Andrew lay on the soft ground, allowing the stars to stop shining in his vision and the air to enter his lungs. He sat up in a half daze, still off guard about what happened.

“Gotcha pretty good!” a shrill voice spoke behind him, “I saw you playing war and thought you might like company. I threw a branch in the woods to distract you while I snuck behind to get you off guard.” The voice sounded like whoever the speaker was had been incredibly proud of themselves. Like they had executed a new military strategy that Sun Tzu or General Patton would have been proud of.

Andrew looked behind him to see who was speaking. Sitting on a boulder, feet kicking back and forth happily, was a girl of around Andrew’s age smiling ear to ear. She had greasy brown hair that hung unbrushed over her shoulders and down her back; the girl’s eyes were blue and seemed to take up a fair bit of real estate of her pale, freckled face (not that that was a bad thing at all). She wore a dirty red t-shirt that appeared to be about two sizes too large for her and was filled with tears around the shoulders and stomach areas. The jeans the young woman wore were equally decrepit looking with countless holes at the knees and ankles that had been patched with ugly yellow plaid fabric. Her shoes looked like they had been passed down from family member to family member for the last thirty years. Her smile showed slightly crooked teeth, but it was infectious and bright nonetheless. A funny feeling- that Andrew would later learn was live- flumed alive like a match to gasoline in Andrew’s stomach.

“Well,” the girl said a bit impatiently, “cat got your tongue? Ain’tcha gonna say something about how amazing my plan had gone.” Andrew didn’t reply, somewhat from skittishness and somewhat from the fact that he was still trying to piece together what happened. “Well… ya got a name at least?” she asked, she held out her name and announced, “I’m Sammy Hildern,” like she was beginning a lecture to a room full of people.

“Andrew Baskin,” the boy finally managed to speak, he took Sammy’s hand to shake, but she dragged him up to his feet. She was an inch taller- much to the embarrassment of Andrew (though he wasn’t sure why).

“Sorry to scare you like that,” Sammy spoke without the smallest hint of apology in her tone, “but I saw you playing out here and thought you might to play with someone.”

“Oh, um,” Andrew tried to think of something to reply with, but Sammy kept talking.

“So, Andrew,” at least she knew the trick to remembering someone’s name upon introduction, “you must be new here, I’ve never seen you before.”

“My mom and I just moved her two weeks ago,” Andrew said, “She works most days until pretty late.”

Andrew and Sammy sat on the large rock for a good portion of the day talking to one another about their interests. Sammy was a tomboy through and through. She was a year older than Andrew but the age gap didn’t seem to be a problem to her in the slightest. While most girls at this age were beginning to act more “lady-like” and bring out their beauty, Sammy was still happiest wearing her cheap, tattered clothes and playing in the woods. Actually, the wilderness was Sammy’s life.

The knowledge that Sammy’s father had passed away when she was just eight years old came to Andrew in a horrible yet understanding way. With her mother also working long nights- though as a nurse at the little hospital a town over- the girl had taken solace in the forests and fields surrounding Estherton. She also enjoyed reading the second-hand paperbacks that one could find for cheap at Glenn’s Discount on Broad Lane. Though, where Andrew cherished a good story and liked a walk in the woods, Sammy cherished a walk in the woods and liked a good story.

“So,” Sammy eventually asked when she felt as if the two had learned enough about each other in their introduction, “What brings you to exploring ole Witch Hill?” That wasn’t the real name of the hill the children were on but it’s what everyone called it for obvious reasons.

“I wanted to see what that statue was for,” Andrew said.

“Oh it’s not a statue, that’s a gravestone,” Sammy answered with newfound excitement, “That’s where the witch is buried, she died almost a hundred years ago, but they say she killed her entire family in some evil ritual to the dark forces.” Sammy had raised her hands and attempted speaking in a sinister tone, but it only came out to be comical.

“That didn’t happen,” Andrew didn’t mean to give the know-it-all sound in his voice, but that’s how it came out, “witches are just a made-up evil from old times.”

“Uh uh!” Sammy fired back, “Elizabeth Crowfeather was the real deal. They say if you sit out here on a full moon at midnight, you’ll see her walking around.”

“That’s not true,” Andrew laughed it off. They had reached the gravestone by now with Sammy nearly pulling Andrew’s arm out of the socket dragging him to the piece. The cement tower had the arks of mold and mildew on it with moss growing around the bottom, but overall, the mostly plain piece was legible and standing strong.

“Is so!” Sammy defended, “She was a long, black shadow in the woods.”

“You’re just pulling my leg, Sammy,” Andrew only believed in the paranormal when he heard unfamiliar sounds late at night.

“Tonight’s gonna be a full moon, why don’t ya meet me here around eleven and we’ll wait for her?” Sammy wagered.

“I don’t know, my mom wouldn’t like it if was out that late,” Andrew said, especially with a girl, he’d almost added.

“Sneak out,” she offered.

“I don’t know,” he was still unsure.

“Where do ya live?” Sammy asked.

“The white two-story house on Hadley Road,” the boy felt a pang of embarrassment to admit he lived in the ancient structure that looked like no one had lived in for years.

Sammy paid no mind to the house, she lived in a two bedroom trailer with her mother herself, “I’ll come by at eleven so we can walk up here together, do you live on the top or bottom story?”

“First floor,” Andrew’s mother had taken the bigger room that took up almost the entire second level, he didn’t mind, though.

“Alright, eleven o’clock it is then,” Sammy said. The two walked back down the hill with Sammy taunting her new friend about how he would see the ghost of a witch tonight. Andrew still didn’t believe, though a nervousness crept over him. He’d never snuck out before, and while on the surface he didn’t believe, ghosts still frightened him.

Andrew’s mom came home at seven o’clock when the two shared a meal of patty melts and fries from Auntie Jane’s Diner in town with a dessert of apple pie. The pair didn’t not talk much while eating, it had been a stressful day for Wendy and she had cleaned up then gone to bed immediately after finishing her meal.

Andrew washed the dishes and left them to dry on the towel splayed across the countertop before going to his room and trying to pen a story in one of his composition books. He couldn’t do it, all he could think of was Sammy. Her lively personality and the endearing way she got excited while talking about the witch, like it was discovering a new species of animal. Yes, she was tough and outgoing against Andrew’s more introverted personality, but he couldn’t deny how pretty he’d thought her blue eyes and smile were. Even if her teeth were a little crooked.

The clock on Andrew’s desk read ten fifty-seven o’clock when he heard a tap on his window. He’d left his lamp on to ensure that Sammy would know where to knock. He didn’t fear his mother waking and catching him- once Wendy Baskin was asleep, she was out until morning. He did, however, begin to grow uneasy at the prospect of actually seeing a ghost. He climbed out his window to find Sammy wearing darker clothes that still appeared tattered.

“Thought you might have chickened out or gone to sleep,” the young girl teased.

“You wish,” Andrew attempted to sound comical back, but the quiver in his voice was unmistakable.

“Don’t worry, if we see the ghost, I’ll keep ya safe,” Sammy announced proudly as the two began their walk to the grave of the witch.

“I don’t need protection,” the boy’s voice cracked.

Sammy laughed a loud, boisterous laugh and punched Andrew lightly on the arm, “You’re cute.”

They had gotten to the top of the hill and sat on a tree stump in the shadow of elms. The gravestone seemed to glow in the Iight of the full moon against the darkened backdrop.

“Why is she buried here and not in the cemetery,” Andrew asked the girl.

She thought the question over then answered, “Can’t bury a witch on holy ground I guess,” a simple, yet direct answer that seemed to be satisfying enough.

“I guess that makes sense,” the twelve-year-old answered. The two sat in almost complete silence, occasional hoots from nearby owls and the cracking of branches as animals walked the forest the only sounds occurring.

“It’s midnight, the ghost should be out almost any second now,” Sammy said, she was getting glittery with excitement. Only, nothing happened. The two sat with eyes never leaving the grave for a full thirty minutes. “Guess she’s not- hey there she is!” the girl screamed through a whisper. She had grabbed hold of Andrew’s arm in a death grip as she bounced up and down on her seat.

Andrew could see nothing except for the gravestone and trees behind it. A spider was crawling around the side of the cement, but no ghost. He finally saw it, a faint movement accompanied by the sound of leaves rustling. His heart dropped and veins froze over momentarily. Except, it wasn’t a ghost, it was just a deer stalking the area for food, Sammy didn’t seem to realize what it was. The animal was in a part of the hill where the trees covered the ground from the moonlight, Andrew didn’t have the heart to tell her what they had actually seen. The lone doe sped off into the night.

“Oh! Did you see it?” Sammy was pawing and softly hitting Andrew’s arms in excitement, “It was really her! The ghost of the Witch of Eston County right in front of us! Did you see her, Andrew?”

“Yeah,” he lied, he couldn’t ruin her excitement, “I saw her, right over there.”

“I told you she was real!” Sammy was calming down, but her excitement was still there, “And you didn’t believe me.”

“I guess I’ll have to believe you from now on,” he said. He felt a new flush of feeling run through his body at seeing Sammy so happy, it was like witnessing a work of art or a moment in history with his own eyes.

Sammy had finally regained her composure as she told Andrew stories she had heard about Elizabeth Crowfeather. That people had witnessed the woman yelling loud chants late at night in the woods, how she had supposedly brewed potions on an open fire during autumn, and even that she led a small coven of other witches to do their bidding. Andrew was enjoying the stories immensely, gasping and replying at the right moments, acting shocked when he was supposed to. All the sudden, she her face got serious.

“Do you like me, Andrew?” her big eyes or even larger.

“Sure I do, you’re groovy,” Andrew replied sincerely.

“No, I mean do you like like me?” now it was Sammy’s turn to sound apprehensive tonight.

Andrew felt a warmth crawl up his ears and cheeks, “Oh, um, yes,” he answered sheepishly.

“Good. Because I like you too,” Sammy might have been strong and confident, but she was nervous while admitting her feelings, “You’re a lot nicer than all the other kids in this town and I want to remain close when school starts. Have you ever kissed a girl before?”

If Andrews face was hot before, it was burning now. His heart raced faster than when he had thought he’d seen the ghost of Ms. Crowfeather. “No,” he answered, embarrassed but truthful.

“I’ve never kissed a boy before either,” Sammy admitted, “do you want to?” she asked in the innocence of true love that only children can feel.

Andrew couldn’t answer, he only nodded. Sammy took his hands and pressed her lips against his. It was the best thing that had ever happened to Andrew. In that moment, the sadness from his parents divorce, the anxiety about a new school, missing his old friends, and loneliness from having to be alone so much while his mother worked dissolved away. It was a warmth Andrew had not felt since he’d discovered how moving literature had been to him. If Sammy had asked Andrew to give her the moon on a ring, he would have jumped all the way up to it. He wanted to marry her.

And he did, on May 4, 1984 in a humble ceremony. He’d become an author, successful enough to make a living off of and Sammy had worked as a botanist to preserve the wilderness as much as she could. The two had been inseparable since that summer day in 1970, with Sammy asking Andrew to be her boyfriend when she was fifteen and he fourteen, going to separate colleges but spilling their love and emotion into love letters every couple of days that both had kept, and Andrew finally proposing while hiking through the mountains on a vacation to Washington. The marriage had never failed to be positive.

Andrew had gotten to the top of the hill and panted heavily. He didn’t quite have the strength he had had at the age of twelve. The witch’s grave was still standing over the town. Covered in more mildew and bearing the marks of teenage graffiti artists, but still what Andrew remembered. He smiled, thinking back on waiting for the witch and his first kiss. Breast cancer had taken Sammy in the winter of 2016, but she had led s fulfilling life as a wife and mother to three grown, successful children.

The old man found the tree stump, still poking out of the ground and sat on it. In the fifty years since he had first been to this park, benches had been placed for visitors to sit on, but he preferred the stump, it made him feel closer to Sammy.