The Graves We Leave Behind

Silvered moonlight creeps across her pale, ashen face. Sunken cheeks, glassy eyes, and lips as red as the day she died.

Death, though it follows everyone, follows me more viciously than anyone. As I lean on the shovel, my mournful hum escapes into the crisp night air. Accidents, one after the other. They say I'm the most unlucky woman alive. A bad omen. My mother drowning, my father's car wreck, my eldest brother being struck by lightning and our sister's unfortunate tumble down the stairs of her new apartment. Countless other's have been struck by the reaper at my back. Classmates and teachers, coworkers and bosses, exes, lovers, enemies. No one is spared.

Certainly not my Elise.

She looks beautiful—she always does, but autumn always brings out nostalgia—with her periwinkle dress and its little red bows at the shoulders and waist. It's one of her favorites. Shame that it's covered in so much dirt. Her once lustrous black hair lays in a flat and fraying halo around her head.

This gets messier each time. I jump into the grave to attach hooks to the wooden board beneath Elise. Climbing out, dirt gives way beneath my elbows. My lip curls at the feeling of losing ground before I swing my leg up and roll away from the grave. Back wet with yesterdays' lingering rain, I shiver and breathe in the steadfast scent of pine. I give myself a few breaths to lie looking up at the stars before hauling myself to my feet. The borrowed tractor pitches a fit as it comes to life, and I ignore it to fiddle with handles and find the one to lift the bucket that the hooks are tied to. The challenge comes with lifting Elise out.

The hooks meet the four corners of the wooden board, but there's always a chance that Elise careens over the side. I grumble that I should've tied her down and no one but the howling wind responds in agreement. It's slow going. Up, down, up, keep the board away from the grave walls. Once Elise is safely out, I relax in the seat and give her a smile.

"There you are, sweetheart. I've missed you."

I stride over, placing my satchel at her side and pulling out the vivid sea foam green dress that she wore when I proposed. It swishes pleasantly as I lay it out and set to work removing and replacing the other dress. "Things have been strange without you, Elise. Two of my coworkers died a few nights ago in a house fire. I watched in my rearview mirror as it went up in flames. You would've loved it and-" I press my thumb to her clavicle and my jaw clenches as the skin gives way. "Oh dear. We need to move this along, but don't worry sweetheart. We're going someplace where you don't have to hide anymore."

I hold her cheek in my hand and lean down to place a chaste kiss against her lips. When I close my eyes, her lips are soft and warm and her hand lifts to run her fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck. She sighs, lips twitching as a soft smile begins to form. My thumb presses into her dimple and she laughs against my lips and pulls me closer.

I jerk away as my eyes fly open to see-

Elise. Still. Unbreathing. Heart, unbeating. Her body is cold under my cautious hand, but I recoil to scratch at the phantom feeling of the soft, warm hands of my bride wrapping around my shoulders.

Kneeling beside her once more, I test her pulse and press my finger under her nose. No exhale comes, but this revelation does nothing to soothe the pitter-patter of my heart.

"It's okay, my love," my voice trembles but I shake away all anxiousness in favor of lifting Elise in a bridal carry. "See? I told you I'll always be strong enough to lift you. Now, I've placed soft covers on the truck bed. It's not perfect but it'll do. We'll be on the road and reach Breckenridge before you know it. The house is a bit of a fixer-upper, but it was distant from any nosey neighbors. Perfect for us."

Predictably, inevitably, Elise does not respond.

She lies surrounded by moving boxes and doesn't move as I pull the canvas over the truck bed, sealing her inside. When no cries or screams come, I plant my face in my palms, scrubbing until the paranoia dulls.

Nights' like these—falling leaves of oranges and reds, a nip of cold to soothe the heat of day, and starry skies unpolluted by light; the season of bonfires to chase away the shadows of the past—brings forward the precious images of Elise, alive, as she dances around the kitchen. She smiles. She laughs. She calls out for me to join her, and I am ever at her beck and call. Always eager to love and hold her for so long as she lets me. In these visions, she is reanimated. Elise turning to grin at me with her rosy red cheeks. Her trailing behind me, hand pressed against the crook of my elbow. Even her in all her mundanity. Bills and furrowed brows and trash day and dishes. Endless dishes, now bitter proof that our days weren't as endless as we'd dreamed. That our story would end as all others' do; with one of us buried.

These memories haunt me long into my drive to our new home and the coming dawn.

There's scarcely a soul on the road, but I only relax when we've put four towns between us and the past. I knew when I saw that first welcome sign, with its false asphodels, that that town was rotten. Sure enough, we couldn't stay more than two and a half months before the deaths started. The fire was the last straw. Big, flashy, and a beacon that highlighted me and my reaper.

Unfortunate, but predictable. Boring, even. The idealistic child that I was had dreamt of some way to end this cycle. She was a stupid child with no knowledge of the real world. The truth is, people die. People die, people cry, but I've got no tears to waste on those passed. Their time ran out. Mine goes on. Mine is all that I have. They'd do the same in my shoes, not that a single one of them would admit it. The same ones that call me heartless are the same ones that would spare me only a breath before reveling in their own continued inhale, exhale, and heartbeat. I glance in the rearview mirror as the "Welcome to Breckenridge" sign comes into view. I sit up straighter, furrowing my brow at the dead-empty road behind me. I tamp down the shiver that threatens to run down my spine.

Elise always did say I was too paranoid. So focused on what everyone else was doing, but no more. This town, these people, don't matter. Only my Elise. I pull out my map, slowing to find the off-roads that will bring us home. As I navigate through the dour town I look every which way for some sign of life, but none comes. It's as if I'm the only soul awake in the cold, pre-dawn sunlight.

My frown doesn't let up until we've turned right on the dirt road that leads us home. The trees rise high above us, curling over the road to plunge us into near darkness. Despite myself, the tension in my shoulders melts. It so strongly juxtaposes the prickling apprehension at the nape of my neck that I look into the rearview mirror and the darkness behind us.

My eyes meet two crimson, steady dots. Far enough and close enough together that they look like eyes. The hair raises on my arms, alarm bells ringing in my mind, and something feeling much, much older than me warns me not to look away now that I've seen it.

Whatever it is.

It can't be alive. It's not an animal. It's distance remains behind the truck without getting closer or further, and it doesn't bob like an animal loping across the uneven ground. I can scarcely keep my eyes on it when, in my periphery, the lights of our home comes into view. I manage not to look away, but panic claws at my throat as teardrops form to soothe my burning eyes. What would happen to me if I looked away? What would happen to Elise? Would anything happen? Or, am I losing my head? Is this the reaper of mine?

I slow to a crawl to turn into the driveway. The dots—eyes?—remain at the edge of the treeline, more still than death itself.

I'll be safe in the light. It doesn't hunt in the light.

I throw the door open and rush towards the house, keys jangling incessantly in my trembling fingers. I shoulder my way inside, spinning to see what haunts and hunts me, expecting-

Expecting some terrible monster, but instead I find the sun rising above the horizon, and no red eyes lurking in shadow. I fall to the floor clutching my beating heart before it thinks better of its residence in my ribcage.

Only when my hands cease their trembling do I get up and begin the arduous task of moving boxes from the truck into the house, knowing that later I'll have to put everything in its place. Elise is my silent companion throughout it all. With every sight of her, my pace increases. "Soon, sweetheart. Soon you'll see our final resting place. No more moving, I swear it." Once the last boxes are inside, I lift Elise and step over the threshold of our home. "We'll be married soon, and I'll do this again. As many times as you like."

I press a kiss to her forehead and bring her through the backdoor to lay her gently on the back porch. My hand glides over a shovel, spade, and wayward gardening tools left by the previous owner. Pointing, I say, "We'll plant the azaleas along here but I'm thinking I'll build a greenhouse for most of your flowers. I'm sure you'll want to spend lots of time in there, but you must remember that your skin's very sensitive now." I go down the short steps to survey the land, humming appreciatively. "Beautiful."

"Beautiful," a soft voice echoes.

CLANG!

Something hard—the shovel?—meets the back of my head and I feel blood trickle behind my ear as I land on the dewy grass. I groan, turning over only the be stopped by a cold foot against my back. "Elise?" I rasp out as I turn my blurry eyes towards the figure.

Swishing sea foam greets me, as unwelcoming and stunning as the raging sea. She doesn't respond to my questions, my pleas, nor my lost cries. I lie, unable to move no matter how hard a will my body to obey, and I hear only two sounds: Elise's ragged breath as decaying vocal cords scratch against themselves and the ever-familiar crunch of shovel into dirt. No bird greets the morning nor squirrels chitter to each other in the pecan tree. Just Elise, the grave, and my silent surrender.

Noon sees the completion of the grave and I startle as two hands press into my side to roll me towards it. "No, no! Wait, Elise please! We can be together now! There's nothing keeping us apart anymore, sweetheart-"

Brittle bone snaps, and she removes her right hand to replace it with her foot as she readies herself and kicks.

The ground gives way to air; weightless, I'm finally able to see my love. Rotting skin, one arm bent unnaturally, and that smile that I fell in love with. The air is torn from my lungs as I land on my back, ears ringing as my head cracks on the hard ground. By the fourth shovelful my eyes and ears have cleared and I sputter to spit out the dirt.

"Elise, Elise don't do this," I plead to unhearing or perhaps uncaring ears. She, in a move painfully familiar, sticks her foot out to test where the drop off is and to adjust where she stands and her shovel find the dirt pile once more. The way the grave dirt shakes attests to my unanticipated fear. It spreads from my chest outward, an ice cold jolt to every nerve. The dirt fills the grave and my mind until cognition is a useless afterthought. A soon-to-be-extinct remnant of my four decades of life.

Is this how they all felt? Helpless? Hopeless? Paralyzed with fear of the end? Death, my constant acquaintance, do not take me yet.

"Please," I say, "please."

The last image I see, before I squeeze my eyes and mouth shut and breathe my last unimpeded breath, is of my eternal bride. Shovel in her one good hand whilst her other reaches out for some unseen creature that growls lowly. The noonday sun shines red across my eyelids, until incandescent darkness greets me.

Elise walks across the grave until the dirt lays flat, spreading around what's left over until everything is as even as it'll get. A fur-covered weight presses against her leg. She smooths her good hand over its head and scratches between its ears. Wind whistles through the trees as the birds flitter and twitter about, and the hound huffs out a chilling breath in the heat of midday. Her own sigh is the precursor to a change in the air; the fresh and sweet scent of a flower she knows well, but she kneels at the grave to confirm her suspicions. The hound guides her hand to where the flowers are and Elise smiles at the soft glide of her fingertips against asphodel petals. She plucks a single flower, standing and placing it behind her ear. Death is permanent for all except for those it isn't and, when digging up the past, ensure the past has not dug a grave for you. The hound leads Elise, home.