Alone in the Cemetery with my Thoughts

Horror fiction.
There were few places a teenage delinquent could go, and drink the scotch he swiped from his grandfather's liquor cabinet in peace. The cemetery has always been one of those places. It had been left to fend for itself, from the vandals and overgrown vegetation for decades now. Many headstones dating back over a hundred years, have fallen over or succumbed to graffiti and thorny vines to which flowers never bloom.

This was my sanctuary... my home away from hell.

The burning from the warm scotch never lessened. I was always alone here, so I never bothered to keep a straight face, as my eyes watered and my gag reflexes fought tooth and nail to reject the poison I was desperately ingesting. It didn't matter... for soon my efforts would surely pay off. That first kick was the best. Your cheeks would grow numb and your neck limp. Your thoughts would then move in melodic waves and soon the screaming of a thousand madmen in the prison cell of a teenage mind would cease...

I thought about girls a lot... but then again I always did. It wasn't just that I was a sexually deprived perv, I really had a hard time compartmentalizing them. I didn't talk about them in the ways other guys did, and so I assumed that I didn't feel about them the same as other guys did. Sure I had urges. That's what complicated matters. I don't know... sometimes I wished things would've just stayed the way they were... an enigma. A faint poem that whispers inside a sleepy head, only to be awakened by it... then it's gone. The cold of a dank world begins to sink in once more.

I'm a third of the way down the bottle now... pretty good for fifteen.
I notice the statue of a woman in the center of the lot. I don't recall ever seeing her before, but I must assume that she has always been there.

Her arms rested upon the handle of a sword, that pointed down to her feet. Her face was without expression, yet her eyes fixated towards me, burned with an ominous conviction.

I didn't like it... no, I didn't like it at all. I pretended not to mind. That's what I did best, yet I could not shake the feeling of disapproval that this statue seemed to harbor towards me. I recalled that look from every adult, a thousand times before. But this... She was just a statue. A sculpture made of marble or some kind of stone. Why in the hell, would I let her bother me so?

Almost half way... still got my whits about me.

I lit a cigarette... yet another unwilling contribution from my dear ol' gramps. I watched triumphant, as a lingering trail of smoke danced and swirled off into the nocturnal sky. My was getting drunk seriously... things were going just right. Ah... but that statue. That bitch of stone was still staring at me. Of this I was for certain, only now... it seemed the details of her face were much clearer... more defined; as if she were much closer than before. "Fucking drunk bastard! Never mind... never mind."

I'm three quarters of the way down the bottle now, and a mean streak has beckoned me. I'm no longer in that happy zone, and decided to blame it on the angel in the cemetery. Oh, creeping much closer now... she thinks she can rattle me! Shit...

The crickets fell silent. I'm not exactly sure when, I just so happened to notice. The clouds covered the moon, and for the first time the cemetery fell under total darkness. I tried to redirect my thoughts in other directions.

I tried to think about girls... no dice. Their existence was completely irrelevant to me now. I tried to hum a tune... but no melody came to mind.

I shook my bottle and consumed the remains of its contents. That bitch! All I wanted was to be left alone without the judgment of others, and what do I get? A fucking deity.

I stood up and slurred my threats, then lunged my bottle at her. I heard the shatter of busting glass and knew something was amiss, as fractions of glass came back, scraping my face. The moon was free again... and the cemetery was illuminated once more. My eyes stared deep into hers, void of pupils and irises, and peered into unknown worlds beyond. Far beyond anywhere sanity would dare lead astray.

There was snow... miles upon miles of white snow falling like the ashes of a burning sun. And within this barren abyss, two travelers upon black horses approached. They stood before me, wearing dark cloaks that covered their faces. I could not have recognized them, but felt that they were centuries old. One retrieved a wooden box from inside his cloak and held it out to me. Reluctant, I received it and dared to open...

Some things can never be unseen. The image burns into your retina, and forever haunts your sleep as the glowing ghost... the mother of your nightmares. The very nature of what consumes you, lied within that box.

For someone else... it might have been a letter. For others... a lock of hair, or a faded photograph from so long ago. How I envy them.

For me? It was the head of a queer doll... aged beyond its years, stained with grim. I once found it upon the shore, where my father once took me.

I was no older than five, and wanted to know where the rest of her was.

I stroked her blond hair and whispered softly, "It's alright... I'll find your body... and my sister has all sorts of dolls for you to play with." I took the head and showed it to my father, upon seeing it, he struck me with an angry blow. The doll's head fell from my hands and into the sea, as my father scolded me and dragged me back to the car.

"Don't ever let me catch you playing with dolls again, or so help me God!"
I heard the crickets once again. The empty bottle lied unbroken at my feet, and the statue was nowhere to be seen. I collected myself and walked home. There was the glow of a T.V. set from the living room window of my home. I ventured not to go inside. Instead... I relived the nightmares over and over again, in the dark... to the point, I knew not reality from dreams. And promises from lies.
Published: 5/14/2015
Bouquets and Brickbats | What Others Said