Introduction: The Graveyard

“This is stupid.” says Quinn. Evan shines his flashlight on his face so Quinn can see him rolling his eyes, but all she really saw was a scraggly redhead with mommy issues. Quinn continues, “Can we please just go home?”

In an exaggerated tone, Evan responds, “Can’t we just stay five more minutes? I want this to be a memorable Halloween.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever, dude. But if we die, I’ll kill you.”

“Look. You can leave if you want to, but we’re nowhere near the trick or treating neighborhoods. How is a graveyard spookier than walking alone in the dark?” “I don’t think anything could be spookier than the oversized coat you insisted on wearing.” Quinn says followed by a sigh of contempt.

“Okay, it’s called a duster. It’s the ideal garment and, not to mention, super badass.” Evan responds, defending his billowy coat that he purchased at a local Goodwill, waiting for the opportunity for it to see daylight or, in this case, the moonlight.

“How is it the ‘ideal garment?’ It barely fits you.”

“Uhhh, have you ever heard of the Cyberpunk 1999 action film known as The Matrix? Neo wears a duster.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are we trying to end the war between humans and machines right now?” Quinn hears a branch snap that wasn’t caused by the four feet she was aware of. “Did you hear that?” “Whatever, Quinn. It’ll just be five more minutes.” Evan says as a way to soothe Quinn’s worries. It, in fact, does not soothe Quinn’s worries. However, she trudges on, following her best friend into the night. The midnight mist complements the battery-powered streams of light. The owls warn the two to beware of the limbo between life and death they had wandered into. “I remember when Halloween meant tee-peeing random houses,” Quinn whispers. “Yeah, but sneaking around a graveyard is much more fun.”

“How? Better question: do I want to know?”

“I used to believe that ghosts were just a made up thing for alive people to blame things on dead people,” Evan shines his flashlight directly onto Quinn, “I’m trying to to become more open to the idea.” Quinn pushes the flashlight away. The gravestones lay still surrounded by grass about as live as those six feet under it.

“The proper term is ‘spirits’ not ‘ghosts.’”

“Did your tarot cards tell you that bullshit?” Evan asks.

“Hey, tarot cards are a respected practice!”

“Then why do you charge $10 for a reading?”

“Respect comes at a price...for my clients.”

“Oh, for your clients? Okay, well that changes everything.”

“Shut up. It’s been five minutes, can we leave now?” Quinn says through her teeth as gravestone that reads “Her li s Norm Fou cade” catches the beam from Evan’s flashlight. It intrigues Evan. When people bring up the topic of death, he usually contemplates the afterlife, who would get

his stamp collection, and who would come to his funeral. But never had he thought about who would come visit his grave and when would those he so deeply cared about would stop coming. As Evan takes on this powerful question, Quinn moves closer to him, places her hand up to his ear and whispers, “I heard the fence we went through is broken because a group of teenagers snuck in and saw...well, they saw something. No one is sure what they saw because they were never seen again.” Evan jumps back.

“You never heard that. You’re just making things up to scare me into leaving!” “Then why’d you jump?”

“Because I wasn’t prepared for my eardrums to be assaulted by your stupid story!” The dynamic duo hears a subtle crunch of the fallen leaves and grass in front of them which prompts Quinn to say, “What the fuck was that?”

“A ghost.” says Evan.

“You mean a spirit?”

“Hey! Who’s there?” says an unfamiliar voice, “Show your face or I’m callin’ the cops. I’m not dealing with this shit tonight.” The sound, what they now recognize at footsteps, grow faster and louder. Quinn and Evan turn off their flashlights to not draw further attention.

“Hey, I think your ghost friend wants to talk to you.” Quinn says, making sure to keep her voice low.

“I have an idea. Follow my lead.”

“Evan, whatever you’re about to do--”

Evan shouts, “Run!”

Evan and Quinn break out into a sprint. The whistling breeze pushes them along and, contrary to Evan’s belief, the undead do not grab at his feet. Quinn stops. She no longer hears Evan’s exasperated breathing. A million scenarios run through her mind. What if he got caught? What if he got lost? What if he tripped over a gravesto--

“Fucking move!” Evan yells and grabs Quinn. The two near the broken fence and Quinn climbs through with only minor scratches. However, Evan’s oversized coat that he thought would make him look hot and mysterious, gets caught in the fence.

“Evan, just take the coat off!”

“I can’t do that, Quinn.” Evan says, maneuvering the jacket.

The unfamiliar voice returns, “I see you fuckers! I’m calling the cops right now!” “Evan, leave the stupid coat!”

“It’s not a coat, it’s a badass duster.”

“It’s a coat that’s three sizes too big, you can get another one.”

“Shit, Quinn.” Evan takes off his beloved, oversized coat and yells, “I’ll come back for you, Neo!” and the duo runs off. With only the street lamps as their guide, they run and run until they couldn’t anymore, which happened to be three blocks.

By the look of them you’d think they knew how to run, but their muscle cramps said otherwise. After a minute of having their hands on their knees and repeated attempts at catching their breath, Evan raises his arm and says to Quinn, “High-five?”

“Fuck you, Evan.”