In Your Bones

The walk into the cemetery was short but pleasant for most that would walk through its gates. Many ordinary people meandered through its gardens and past the gravestones, the majority of the grounds were friendly and full of a light air. It was a normal scene to see a person walking their dog, or having a date sitting on the grass near the head of a stone in the spring or summer. Once fall arrived, fun abounded. Pumpkin contests, light shows, and the very looked forward to trick or treating near the end of October brought with it even more visitors to its grounds. 

This year, however, the festivities were at an end. It was winter, and the many people that usually happened to come by were few and far between. This didn’t stop certain people though. A person was busy keeping themselves warm as they cradled the equipment in their hands gingerly. They’d been trying to listen ardently for the past few minutes to a speaker, having to fidget with the small buttons on the side as they yearned to hear what shouldn’t have existed to begin with. 

They end up huffing great white clouds into the air in a fit of anger. Unable to hear anything, they slam the recorder into a large black bag and call it quits. 

Something beyond the nearest gravestone was a large ragged trunk of a tree. It was long charred by a variant lightning strike years before, and the charcoal like ends especially showed up in the cold white atmosphere. The person lays down next to this trunk, holding their hands together for warmth. 

There has to be something here. They thought, frustrated. I know there’s something here.

The wind picks up around them, snow flurrying softly above their head. 

A feeling strikes the person, and they scramble to take out the forlorn equipment from their bag and hold it up fervently, hoping against hope for what they wanted to hear. 

Once again playing back the audio, this time they hit beyond the jackpot. A voice not their own!

You smell like marsh is in your bones.

The voice says jaggedly. 

Perplexed, the person plays back the audio just in case. Marsh? In my bones? 

What on earth could that mean?

A foot fall scares them, as the silence around them has sucked them into temporary lethargy. Looking up, there's a woman. She smiles, but beyond it, an unknown emotion that causes the person sitting to have chills. The woman holds out her hand, but the other person fails to take it. They are frozen, physically and otherwise. 

“Don’t you want to know?” The woman says, still smiling. It never wavered. 

“What do I want to know?” The person sitting slowly asks. The longer the woman is in front of them, the more they feel as though danger is ahead. Her voice is somewhat familiar too, but they can’t quite place it. 

“The marsh, silly.” She replies simply. “Don’t you want to know?”

The person stands, chills running through their arms like lightning. “How did you get onto my recording? Were you nearby? How did you manage to-”

The woman stops them, holding a hand up. “Come to the center with me.” She asks, the person hesitant, but complying. 

The two wander to the cemetery's center along a large brick pathway with a mausoleum to the right and rolling graves to the left. Well taken care of, the grass is hardly yellow even in the deep of winter, and this year was to be no different. A large yew tree grew from the side of the pathway, lining the brick with green overtones. Next to this tree, the woman stops. 

“My name is Lizzie.” She says after a long moment. Her eyes wander around the area with childlike wonder and a smile that once again never wavered. “But that’s besides the point, isn’t it?” 

The person with her looks on in confusion and a growing sensation of unease. “How did you get on the recording?” They ask again, perplexed. 

“You come here often, don’t you?” Lizzie says it as more of a statement than a question. 

“I…Sort of.” They stammer. “I like this place. I sometimes feel as though I don’t come here enough, really.” 

“Mm.” Lizzie replies simply. “The closer to the center you come, the more you drown.” 

The person stares, flabbergasted. “What do mean…drown?” 

Lizzie looks around the way, breathing in deeply. “In the grass, between sinking and waking.” Her voice dies off to a near whisper, and her companion strains to hear the end. 

“Waiting?” 

Lizzie shakes her head. “You know something?”

“Uh…what?” 

The woman turns her head, eyes grave. “You come wading in the water when you come here. But you smell different. You don’t smell like I did. The way mama did.” 

“I’m sorry?” Her companion feels a vice grip in their stomach, gnawing at their insides as the feeling of fear creeps into their bones. 

The crackle of their voice recorder comes alive, static loud and vibrant in the coming silence between them. “Don’t you want to know?” The woman’s voice excitedly comes across the microphone loudly, her voice startling sharp. Lizzie hardly moves her lips as the audio comes across, her simple beaming smile crossing her face. 

The person almost drops their bag in horror, the growing sound of whispers surrounding the pair of strangers. “What’s happening?” They stare at Lizzie, their eyes large as saucers. Tears begin to form at their rims, burning at their skin against the coldness of the air. 

“You’ve got to be pulling my leg,” They continue, taking a step back. 

The same voice chatters once again over the volume of low voices. “Nuh uh! Because if you were, you’d already be underwater! You're getting there though!”

Lizzie smiles gently, but doesn’t explain the voice or even tries to. She walks to the middle of the pathway and nods towards its center. “Will you join us?” She’s gentle with the question. 

“I- I didn’t come here for any of this!” Her companion shouts, their hands shaking. They turn away, about to bolt for the entrance of the grounds, only to see Lizzie standing before them with that same smile across her lips. 

“But didn’t you?” The voice recorder crackles. “Didn’t you ask for this?”

The person throws the voice recorder at Lizzie and runs past her, rushing for the exit. “I didn’t ask to join you!” They call over their shoulder rapidly. Their bag snags on something and they fall backwards, choked on the sling. Falling on their back, they see Lizzie above them, holding out a hand to them. 

“Don’t you want to know what I meant?” She asks, tipping her hand. “Your heart begs to know.” 

The person laying on the ground’s heart crashes against the inside of their chest. It was almost like they would suffocate if this kept up. 

“The closer you get to the center of this cemetery, the closer you are to drowning. The closer you are to drowning, the closer you are to me.” 

“I just wanted to know if you existed-”

“You wanted more than that.” Lizzie retorts flatly. “You smell of marsh in your bones. Why else would you have come here so often?” 

The person on the ground cries bitter tears. “I don’t! I don’t!” They shake their head profusely with a sob. “I just- I just-”

Lizzie runs a hand across their head, down their hair and along their shoulders. “Come with me.” She says, kneeling down beside them. “Come with me to the marsh. You're welcome here. Once you wade into the marsh, you’ll wake up. You’ll sink and wake.” 

The person below her closes their eyes, shaking their head. “I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t want to!” 

Silence. 

“Are you okay?” A new voice shows itself in the quiet, a voice further away from them. 

The person opens their eyes one at a time and looks around. A new stranger was before them, one in a coat and suitable attire for winter. They wore no long old dress, no apron across the front or ripped stockings to their feet. Just a normal, ordinary person. 

“I’m….I think I’m fine.” They finally say, building themselves back up from the brick pathway. “You didn’t happen to see anyone near me just now, did you?” 

The other stranger shakes their head, clearly weirded out by the conversation. “I think you lost this thing though, it's a voice recorder, right?” 

They nod, taking the battered piece of metal and plastic into their hands. “Thank you.” 

The stranger nods, then walks away. 

With recorder back in their hands, they look around the way one more time before retreating to their car beyond the cemetery gates. Once safely back in their car, they turn on the poorly scratched equipment and listen intently. For several seconds, there’s silence to the moments up to when the voice originally showed up. After listening to more than half a minute’s worth of stillness, nothing more seems to show up. 

Breathing out a sigh of relief, the person sets down the voice recorder and turns on the car. Adjusting to their seat and glancing to the backseat, they send chills down their back as they see nothing behind them. Something still feels off, and they look towards the gates of the cemetery in faint curiosity. 

The voice recorder turns on once again, the tape rolling. “Don’t you want to know?” It says.