Why Are There Five Little Gravestones In Your Backyard?

Tully Tacklebeth never could keep her big nose out of other people’s business. A big crooked thing that jutted out from her face like a rock formation off a sheer cliff. She’d tilt her head back and look down that nose when she was being nosy. “Where are you going, what is that, who are you,” she would ask and pepper and prod. She always had to get to the bottom of things. And if there was one thing she hated, it was a mystery. She had no time to be left in the dark, she needed to move on and stick her nose in some other business so she always expected quick answers to her queries. And she would have many questions to ask, now that she lived in the town of Jackson.

She had been living in her hometown all her life, but after meeting everyone and finding out every little detail about their lives, she became bored because there was nothing left for her to dig out. So, she packed up her things, much to the delight of her beleaguered neighbors, and moved to Jackson. Fresh faces, new places, a veritable feast of gossip. She walked into town with her bag on her back and tilted her head and swept that big nose from side to side, scanning the scene. A nice quiet place it seemed. Well, not for long, anyway. What caught Tully’s eye the most was the house on the high hill, way above the other buildings and houses.

Who are they to be so high and mighty? I’d better find out.

Tully made her way through the town, exchanging greetings and chit chat with everyone she saw. Everyone was polite and some even chummy and Tully sucked them dry of personal details like what were their plans for the day or where they lived or how long they had lived there. But when she asked about the house on the high hill, everyone had few words to say. Tully could not get anyone to shed any real information on the subject. 

 She made her way to the bottom of the hill and there was an old iron gate in her way. The gate was not shut and the wind made the door dance in a clanging and banging flutter. Above the door, wrought in old iron was the family name; Wartner. She walked through the old gate and looked up at the house. It was twisted and crooked, leaning forward like a bent backed old man. On top a brick chimney gurgled out smoke. All up the way to the house the lawn was black with soot with desperate yellow patches gasping for air. A large oak tree’s barren branches pointed accusing limbs out in every direction like a thousand snakes writhing in the wind.

The front porch had enough room to host a small family, but the boards were beaten and warped. The house was black and blue, as if it had taken a beating from the earth itself. Tully knew that if you really wanted to know a person, you had to look at their backyard. The front yard was for show, what you wanted people to see, but the back was for secrets. Naturally, Tully walked to the backyard.

Around the house she went and what she was a first for her when dealing with backyards. Five gravestones, lined up in a tight order. Tully was not unaccustomed to seeing a grave site. She always attended funerals in her hometown, just to see who else would show up. But what made this scene so bizarre was the gravestones, large white crosses, were completely blank. No names, no dates, nothing of significance.

Five people buried anonymously in the backyard of a crumbling estate. This was the sort of thing Tully lived for. Walking onto the warbled porch, she knocked sharply upon the door. She knocked again and the door opened and there stood an old woman, as old as Tully herself.

“Good morning, my name is Tully Tacklebeth,” announced Tully.

“What may I do for you, Ms. Tacklebeth,” said the woman.

“I wanted to introduce myself, I’m new in town and I couldn’t help but notice your lovely house, so big and high up.”

“Thank you. Would you like to come inside?”

“Yes, thank you, you’re so kind.”

The two women sat in the large parlor of the manor, dark and dusty. Tully asked all the questions pertaining to the house, who owned it, who lived there, for how long, when was it built, were they going to change the paint, could something be done about the lawn, and so on and Rebecca could answer them all, having been the personal housekeeper for so many years. She told Tully the story of the Wartners.

 Rich from oil drilling and pompous by nature, the Wartners built their house on the high hill so that they take their self-perceived proper place above everyone else. On the porch you could see the father, sipping his tea with a scowl big enough to see for miles. In the highest window, by way of candlelight you could see the silhouette of the mother praying. Praying for what or for whom no one could say. On sunny afternoons you could see the two boys playing in the yard, Gerald and Osgrey. Their laughter rang down the hill and served as the only sign of humanity at Wartner Manor. 

“Where is the family now?”

“Only Osgrey lives here now. He inherited the house and hasn’t left the grounds for years. He runs the affairs of the estate from here. Very powerful man.”

The final question Tully had, for this evening at least, was why were there gravestones in the backyard? 

Rebecca said, “The first is for the father. One night he was sitting outside on the porch as he always did, but this time he stayed out all night. The next morning the mother found him stiff in his chair with a lockjaw grimace and eyelids painfully peeled back. The second stone is for the mother. She was a pious sort, always up in the attic, closer to heaven. During one of her nightly prayers her candle burned out and she tripped and fell out of the highest window in the house. The third is for the gardener. He worked and lived on these grounds for forty years and kept a magnificent lawn, green beyond belief. One morning he didn’t get out of bed. He had no family, so we thought it best if he was buried here. The fourth gravestone is for the first born son. Terrible accident. The fifth, ah, well, I shouldn’t say.”

“And why not? Why shouldn’t you say it? Come on, out with it.”

“Well, the fifth grave is actually…”

“Rebecca,” came a voice from the staircase. There stood a pale man with deep eye sockets. 

“Osgrey. How are you?” asked Rebecca.

“Just fine. Who is your guest?”

“I’m Tully Tacklebeth, pleased to meet you.”

“I am Osgrey Wartner.”

“We were just discussing your family, very fascinating.”

“The Wartners are a proud family. High above any accusations.”

“And just what are you accused of?”

Osgrey held his tongue but he frantically ran his spider hands up and down the staircase rail. He was dressed in black and his pale white face glowed in the dim light.

His voice finally came to a whisper. “Leave.”

“You really should go, dear,” said Rebecca.

“That’s fine. We can talk later,” Tully said.

Tully Tacklebeth passed through the old iron gate but not before taking a long look back at the old twisted house.

I’ll find out who’s in that grave.

The next day Tully came strolling back to the house and knocked on the door. Rebecca answered.

“Ms. Tacklebeth.”

“Rebecca, how are you? Is everything ok? May I come inside?”

Rebecca held the door only slightly open, her face appearing from just beyond it.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Tacklebeth, but Mr. Wartner is not welcoming visitors today.”

“Well just tell me one thing. Who’s in that fifth grave?”

“I can’t say.”

“Yes you can. Just whisper it to me.”

“I really can’t say. Mr. Wartner doesn’t like anyone to talk about it.”

“I can keep a secret.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Tacklebeth, but no. You must go.” 

Rebecca closed the door on Tully, nearly clamping her nose in the jamb. Tully made her way back to the backyard to take another look at those gravestones. Father, mother, gardener, first born son, and one more. All died under questionable circumstances. Osgrey, the second born, now stood with all the power of the Wartner family. To Tully, Osgrey looked like a cat caught in the cream. 

On the back of the house there was a door which Tully found unlocked. Walking into the back of the house Tully found herself alone in a pantry. Going through the next door she was in the kitchen. She saw Rebecca in the large parlor sitting down, back turned to her. No sign of anyone else. There was a way to the staircase, upstairs to where Osgrey was. Some investigation would get to the bottom of this. Osgrey didn’t scare her. 

She tiptoed her way up the stairs and made it to the second floor. A few closed doors but behind one she could hear mumblings and mutterings. Tiptoeing closer she pressed her ear to the door and could hear the voice of Osgrey, talking to someone. There was no other voice in response but Osgrey said, “Don’t worry. Everything’s fine.” Tully tried opening the door but it was locked.

“Not now, Rebecca. We’re fine.”

Tully leaned her ear close to the door and heard Osgrey singing a lullaby in a low voice. A hand laid across Tully’s shoulder made her gasp. She turned to see Rebecca behind her.

“Come downstairs,” she whispered.

“What was that,” asked Osgrey from behind the door.

“Nothing, dear.” She pulled Tully’s hand to lead her back downstairs. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I just want to know who’s in that grave.”

“Forget it. It’s not for you to know.”

“Why is it such a secret? Why can’t you tell me?”

“It’s a shameful thing. Osgrey doesn’t want anyone to know because he says it dishonors the family. He said he won’t let his family’s name be disgraced.”

“What’s done is done. Don't dishonor anything to know about it.”

“Ms. Tacklebeth, please, do not come back here.”

Rebecca walked Tully down to the iron gate.

“I’m so sorry, but you must stay out.”

She closed and locked the gate door.

Tully stood outside the gate, looking up at the highest window, and saw Osgrey by candlelight watching her. 

Two days later Tully came knocking on the door again and Rebecca answered.

“I”m not leaving until you tell me who’s in that grave and who’s up in that room.”

Rebecca stood in the doorway for a moment, before finally letting Tully inside. 

“I’ve been asking around town and I’ve learned about this family. Died under suspicious circumstances. Some say murdered. Were they?”

“No.”

“You’re a bad liar. I know liars. Is he here?”

“Yes. He’s…”

“Upstairs? With his guest? Who’s up there?”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Tell me what’s going on here. Who was he talking to? I know someone was in there. Rebecca, you said he was alone in there. Who is in that room? Tell me.”

“Ok, I’ll tell you. Upstairs is his brother’s son. The fifth grave is empty but is meant to be his. With his brother and his brother’s son dead no one would stand in Osgrey’s way to gain sole possession of the Wartner fortune. Osgrey hated his brother and took pleasure in killing him, I’m sure, but he couldn't bring himself to put his hands on the child, so he chose to poison him. The boy survived, but was left blind and deaf as a result. When Osgrey found the boy in his pitiful state he was overwrought with grief and he has kept the boy alive since. But he told everyone in town that the boy had passed.

 Osgrey has kept him alive because he is too ashamed to kill him. He has promised to keep the boy here for as long as he will live. Strangely, Osgrey cares for the boy like he was his own. Osgrey spends most of his time by the boy’s side, feeding him, bathing him. Osgrey was always a cold hearted fiend, but I think he truly feels remorse for what he did to the boy. But he wouldn’t take back what he did, either.”

“Well that’s just not right, Rebecca. Someone has to save that poor child!”

Tully jumped off the couch and ran to the kitchen.

“No, no, stop, Tully!”

Tully pulled a long knife from a wooden block and made her way to the stairs. Rebecca tried to stand in her way but Tully pushed her aside and quickly ran up the stairs. Tully banged on the door, knife in the other hand.

“Let me in! Let me in!” 

She twisted and pulled the door knob but the lock held fast. 

She banged on the door with her open palm.

Osgrey jerked the door open quickly.

“What are you doing?!”

“It’s not right to have that boy in there!” She pointed the knife at his face. “You let him go! Murderer!”

”Get out!” He pushed at her and she slashed at his pale hand, drawing a red line across the top. A new look came into Osgrey’s eye, a terrifying one devoid of sympathy. 

Tully waved the knife at Osgrey, slashing back and forth but cutting only air. His spider hands kept clawing for her and pulled at her hair and coat. He grabbed her arms and squeezed her wrists in a vice. She yelped for pain and dropped the knife and he kicked it behind him. He threw her to the ground, mounting her with all his weight on her body. His cold hands wrapped around her throat and Tully felt the last bit of air be squeezed out of her. Darkness slowly filled her eyes and tears ran down her face. Her whole body felt hot and her feet shook. She couldn’t see or hear or feel anything. Her eyelids were cold, sealed cement.

“Aaaaghhhh!” Osgrey screamed. He let go of Tully’s throat and slowly she regained her vision. When her sight was clear and she caught her breath she looked around to see the boy, standing over Osgrey, knife in hand, blood everywhere. Blood poured from several wounds in Osgrey’s back and front making thick puddles around Tully’s hands. 

“Come here, come here,” she said to the child. The boy stood shaking with the knife still in his hand. Tully gently placed her hands on the boy’s shoulders. It made him flinch, but she brought the boy close to her and in her arms he dissolved into peace. Over the course of a few months Tully learned that the boy was taken into a foster home and the Wartner estate would be run by company men. The boy stood to receive a good bit of money, and whatever care he would need, courtesy of his family’s company. Tully would always ask about him.