Strange, a beautiful happening in my village.

Strange, but beautiful happening in my village

The pesky alarm sounded, another day had begun. My arm and hand stretched out to silence the sound. I turned over to embrace my wife with a morning kiss. She was still fast asleep. I lay there for five minutes looking up at the ceiling. My first thought was that I realized I had a full day of work before me.Then images about my life collected in a series of memorable snapshots. I was the only son of the owner of the village's largest dairy farmer. I had lived in the village all my life, apart from the period I went to a university. I married a local girl. We had two children, a boy and a girl. At this point in my reflections a haunting image of my daughter appeared. Tears swelled in my eyes and my throat tightened. There she was a young woman in all the glory of youth and beauty smiling at me. She had died one year ago in a terrible car accident. My wife and I were still struggling to get over her death. At the time of her death my wife was in the throes of organising her wedding to a local young man. The young man was so devastated that a day after my daughter’s funeral he committed suicide. The two lovers had been buried beside each other in the village’s graveyard. The whole village fell into a long period of mourning. My daughter had accepted a lift home, after giving a lecture at the county's university, from a young man who lived in the next village. We know his parents, who in a short period of time had built a successful speculative building business by acquiring farm land aided by the authorization of a very lenient mayor. There had been considerable agitation and discussions in their village with many disturbing rumours circulating. Over the years I have observed that easy money generally denotes excessive spending. They had given their nineteen year old son a sports car. How pleased I was as I had never been accused of spoiling our children.

My five minutes of reflections were over….. time to face the day. I look out of the bathroom window. A glorious spring day. I could see nature waking from its winter slumber. My first act of duty was to drive out to the farm and have my mornings meeting with the manager. As I finished my coffee I left a note for my wife saying I would be in the mayor’s office at ten. While writing this note I thought about my father. Definitely a man of the old school. He had been elected mayor at a young age. The voters appreciated his sense of duty and his known love of the village and the surrounding countryside. They also knew he had inherited the farm from his parents. With prudent and visionary management he had considerably increased the farm’s activity. I believe the villagers felt safe and content with his management as he remained their mayor over many years. It was a quiet and picturesque village with a population of 3,000 souls. Its cultural interest lay in a labyrinth of streets exposing half timbered medieval houses. The village was dominated by the Norman tower of Saint Mary's church surrounded by a large old graveyard. In the summer months we had a trickle of visitors. My father had persuaded the voters to elect me as his successor.

The morning meeting at the farm proved very satisfactory with the birth of two calves during the night. Also certain crops were beginning to show their heads. The only disturbing news was that wild boar movements were showing traces on two fields. I noted the need to organize a shooting party for the next weekend. At 10 o’clock I was sitting in the major’s office signing a number of papers put before me by my assistant Catherine. There was a knock on the door.

“Coming in.” It was Harold, a good looking middle aged man responsible for the village's water system.

“Morning Harold, don’t tell me there is a problem.”

“No, I want to talk to you about something else.”

“Fine, just let me finish signing these two papers…pause… thanks Catherine.”

Now Harold, what is the subject.?

At this point Harold looked a little sheepish. Unusual for him. He started with a slight stutter. “ Last night I was in the graveyard and I saw images of your daughter and her fiance.”

Suddenly all my haunted dreams crowded my brain. For a minute I could not speak. “ Harold, what do you mean you saw my daughter?”

“ She was there sitting on her grave stone discussing something with her fiance.”

“ Harold, my first question is, have you been drinking? Were you there with anybody else that could witness this revelation?"

‘’No to drinking but yes to being with somebody.

“Did that person see what you saw?...pause…. Who was it?”

“ A married woman from the village. We occasionally go there for peace and quiet and to enjoy the love we have for each other. She saw what I saw. I cannot disclose her name. I am sure you will understand.”

“I am not sure I do, don’t forget I am mayor of this village. But tell me did they look like ghosts?”

“I am not sure, as I have never seen a ghost. Your daughter looked young and radiantly beautiful but sad. It was like looking at her photograph but slightly blurred. We both felt she and her fiance were in the process of discussing the wedding they never had. It was the most moving scene ending in a prolonged kiss. Their talk only lasted about a minute and then still kissing they vanished

I just sat there looking at Harold. All kinds of rivers of thought flooded through my mind. Was Harold and the mysterious woman delusional? Was their love for each other being transposed to that time when the village was drowned by grievance for the young couple's accident and suicide? Harold was a man that had his feet well planted on the ground, hard working, responsible, honest and reliable. Difficult to know if he really saw my daughter. I did not believe in ghosts or spirits rising from the dead, although I was aware a few books had been written about the subject. I then had an interesting idea. If these apparitions were supposedly talking about marriage it surely would be on the anniversary of either my daughter death or her fiance suiside.

“Harold, I am not sure what to say. We have known each other for several years. I remain a little skeptical but I have an idea. If mortal creatures want at death to rest in peace I do believe that their souls before dying must have found peace in this world. Therefore I can image my daughter and her fiance might want to consummate their marriage on either the anniversary of her death or the suicide of her finace. What time did you see them?”

“On the strike of midnight because I hear the church clock.”

“Therefore I suggest on 12 May and the 24 of May at five minutes to midnight my wife and I meet you in the graveyard. I think it would be interesting if your lover could attend. She can come disguised. In the meantime let’s make sure the village has ample water.

That morning at lunch I related in detail my conversation with Harold Walton. When I had finished, my wife spent several minutes assessing the news. She had been deeply affected by our daughter's death and since that time went weekly to place a bouquet of flowers on their grave.

My wife spoke.

“ Harold has always appeared to me as not a man lost in his imagination or listening to stories verging on the unbelievable. I wonder who the mysterious woman was. It would be a glorious present for our peace of mind if we could actually have the same experience.. I like your idea. I think I should talk to Betty and Franck about this as you know Betty has fallen into a deep depression over her only son’s suicide. They say she spends most of her time in her room.”

“I agree my dear. I am sure they would like to be with us. In truth I remain a little skeptical. But given the slightest possibility of seeing our daughter happily married even if it is for a fraction of a second I would go to the ends of the earth”

On the 12 th of May five minutes before midnight we were six people in the village's graveyard looking intently, at a respectable distance, towards the young lovers' grave stones. There was little wind and a few billowing clouds with the moon showing half its face like an actor peeping out at the audience. One member of our group was heavily disguised with a face mask, hair covered, and a coat that was at ankle length. The only sound that disturbed a nearly perfect silence was a number of bats flying across the graveyard to and from the church's steeple. Within seconds a large and handsome owl appeared but instead of chasing the bats he perched itself on our daughter's tombstone. Its eyes carefully watch the procession of bats. A nightly kill was at hand.

The church’s clock struck midnight. The tension in the graveyard's visitors was visible as we cautiously took a step forward. There was no image sighting of the lovers, only a faint scraping noise of earth being moved. It only lasted a few seconds but clearly came from the lover’s grave. Even the owl bent its head to listen.

Fifteen minutes later we left the graveyard disturbed by the bats, the owl and the faint noise. We all intended to return on the 24th.

The 24th of May. This time our group was present ten minutes to midnight. The mysterious woman was again heavily disguised. The moon no longer timid was showing itself in its full glory. It shed a silvery light on the graveyard. There were no bats or no owls. As the church clock started to strike midnight there appeared Emma (our daughter) sitting on her gravestone dressed in a magnificent wedding dress. Her arms and hands were held before her holding the hands of the bridegroom who was kneeling on her grave.They nodded to each other, bent forward and passionately kissed. Within seconds the supposedly married couple seemed to disappear into the bride’s grave. We all fell on our knees with tears in our eyes. As we started to leave the graveyard we heard a dull and delicate sound of earth shifting and bony hands clapping. This sound then took second fiddle as the owl of our last visit swooped in and perched on Emma’s tombstone. We left without saying a word.

The next morning I sat at my mayoral desk trying to understand what happened last night. It was the most moving experience I have had and, no doubt, will ever experience. Was it real, or a powerful result of groups’ imagination built up by an intense desire, or one of those rare events in life nobody can explain? In the moonlit graveyard there was my daughter in her wedding dress looking not only breathtakingly beautiful but incredibly happy. Her fiance gave the impression his tortured soul had been put to rest. It was all so fleeting, but so magical.

Two weeks later Betty died peacefully in her bed with a smile on her face

Four months later Harold asked me as mayor to marry him to a recently divorced woman. The woman in question was my wife’s best friend.

Two years later my son published a book about our village. There was a long detailed chapter on his sister's death and the graveyard happening a year later. His book was a minor success basically due to the graveyard incident. For a period the village was inundated with the curious and the so-called experts on strange happenings in graveyards. I detached myself from all the discussions, rumors and various theories, happy in fact I never had another haunted dream.

David Nutt November 2025