SEPTEMBER 4th. It was just a little over a week after playing the Graveyard Game that Sara Bishop began sleepwalking. At first she would find herself standing in the doorway of her house, then she began waking up further and further down her street. She began sleeping in her clothes and barricading herself in her bedroom. When that failed to stop her wanderings she started taking sedatives, eventually working her way up to dangerous dosage levels.
Then, with all other options exhausted, she called me...
THE NIGHT BLOGGER:
The Graveyard Game
And Other Cemetery Plots
Digging In the Dirt
Al Bruno III
...I blew it. I had promised Sara I would stay awake and watch over her, that I would keep her from leaving her house in a somnambulistic state. Instead I dozed off. It just goes to show you that a two liter bottle of Mountain Dew can’t compete with the lameness that is Jay Leno’s Tonight Show.
Once I was sure she was nowhere nearby I got in my beat up AMC Pacer and started combing the neighborhood street by street. I had no luck, and by no luck I mean that a cop pulled me over for driving suspiciously, then he gave me a ticket for going fifteen miles and hour in a thirty mile an hour zone.
As I sat there waiting for the cop to write up my citation I wondered to myself why I bothered. If you’re one of my longtime readers you know I’m no hero and truth be told I’m a pretty lousy paranormal investigator. I’ve never managed to get a scrap of real evidence, my photos rarely come out and when they do my camera phone usually ends up getting confiscated by the local PD or broken or both. All I ever end up with is another gray hair and another story for this blog. How many of you reading this really believe me? How many of you take me at my word?
When the ticket had joined the others in the glove compartment I started driving again, but this time instead of creeping around Delmar I headed for the Pinewood Cemetery, the place where this nonsense had begun.
The idea that Sara would be there was one of my loopier notions. The abandoned graveyard was at least twenty miles away, it would take her hours to get there.
But still, I had a hunch. A blogger’s intuition you might say.
While I wasn’t surprised to see Bus 55 zoom past me as I turned on to Harden Boulevard, I wasn’t happy about it either. I parked my car in a secluded spot and headed for the hole in the fence.
I found Sara at her namesake’s grave clawing through the dirt with her bare hands, all the while whispering to herself under her breath. “...Gorgo ...Mormo ...Luna”
At first I tried to call her name but she didn’t notice me. I had to lift her up by her shoulders and give her a good shake to get her to snap out of it.
It took her a few moments to realize where she was but once she did there were tears in her eyes. Sara stared at her broken and dirt caked fingernails, “What’s happening to me?”
“I don’t know,” I said, but I was starting to have some suspicions. Suspicions I didn’t want to share right then, “But let’s try and find out.”
We got back to my car as fast as we could. I told her to wait there, then I went to the back of my car. The rear of the AMC Pacer is not quite a trunk and not quite a hatch. What did I keep there? If asked I’ll claim it’s where I store the tools of my trade, but really it’s just a pile of random junk I keep around in case of... Well, in case of something.
After a minute or so of rooting around I found my shovel and headed back into the cemetery. I stood over the other Sara Bishop’s grave for a moment to gather my courage and then I started digging.
As my longtime readers will know this wasn’t my first time doing this, not by a long shot. I worked as fast as I could and tried to keep the sides of the hole from caving in around me. By the time exhaustion had nearly overtaken me and my back was screaming in protest my shovel hit something hard.
Now the real fun began. Straddling the casket I used the shovel to crack and smash the lid open. Thankfully the wood was old and rotten and it came apart like the skin of a rotten fruit.
I screamed at what I found. A shrill little scream they probably heard three counties over. I clenched my eyes shut and then looked again but there was no denying it. There was no human being buried in this grave.
It was a statue. A statue of a woman with her face split in three, one part was bestial, the second reptilian and the third was smooth and blank.
“Gorgo...” a voice said from above me, “Mormo... Luna... thousand faced moon...”
I looked and saw Sara staring down into the grave...
...It took me longer than before to get Sara to return to her senses. Then she immediately became hysterical, not that I blame her. Before I filled the grave back in I smashed the statue to bits in one of my standard acts of futility.
I took Sara back to my apartment above Vincenzo’s Pawn Shop and did the best I could to nursemaid her. She’s asleep now and I’m sitting here trying to figure out what the Hell I’m going to do.
This is a possession plain and simple, this is no ghost or phantom or girl in the grip of a really creative delusion.
Gorgo, Mormo, Luna, thousand faced moon- what are you and how am I going to stop you from adding Sara’s face to your collection?