The Nightwatchman

It all began as a thrill-seeking joke; three high school friends roaming the cemeteries at night in search of the living dead. But, it ended as a lesson: That perhaps not every door in the universe has been opened…

Two weeks and five burial sites into their zealous quest, Darlene, Jenny and Andrea arrived at the vine-covered entrance of Beech Grove Cemetery. It was the oldest creepiest cemetery in the city and as such, reputed some legendary stories of various ghost sightings. Dismissed as merely folklore, the tales of Beech Grove dated so far back that no one ever truly believed them. Well, at least not the younger folks.

There was an unusual nip in the air for early autumn. A soft but consistent wind howled through the clusters of shedding tress that sparsely populated the sacred grounds. The only light to guide their way came from a sliver of moon. Besides the intermittent chirp of crickets, Jenny's nervous giggle was the only sound to be heard. To say the least, it was incredibly eerie. Then again, that was the very point. There couldn't have been a more perfect night for a spine-tingling scare.

Strolling through the fields of granite, Darlene fumbled with her tracing paper and charcoal stick, stopping at every other headstone to get the perfect imprint. Most of the stones were cracked and faded; badly decayed from the decades of harsh rains and battering winds. There were others, however, that had endured terrible desecration, either being defaced or toppled. It was disgusting.

The graveyard was split into two sections. The old section was actually located at the front of the grounds, with the recently departed planted toward the rear. For a while, the girls lingered in the front. It promised more goose flesh.

"Get off my land," an angry voice hissed in the distance. Darlene leapt to her feet, dropping her artwork all over the black ground.

"Stop it," she yelled at Andrea, "you almost gave me a heart attack!"

Andrea's mouth hung open, but she said nothing. Turning her suspicions toward Jenny, Darlene discovered that her other friend's eyes were as big as blueberry pies. Jenny was obviously using them to scan the area and she was no longer giggling. Every hair on Darlene's body stood at attention.

"Don't make me come out there," the disembodied voice called again. This time it was closer and much meaner.

Darlene screamed. Andrea and Jenny tried to match it, but couldn't. All three were paralyzed with fear.

Then, they saw it. From within the limbs of a tree, it began as a hazy glowing orb, but gradually formed itself into the translucent figure of a person. The apparition floated out of the tangled branches and moved unnaturally, gliding inches above the earth in short aggressive spurts. As it got closer, the girls observed it was an old man, his clothes outdated by nearly a century. Within seconds, his face also came into view. It was twisted and contorted, like that of someone insane; his mouth forming the most horrifying grin. Nearly ten feet from them, he let out a shrieking laugh. He turned toward the last stone Darlene had traced, bent slowly, and then vanished into the shadowy realm of the nether world. Into six inches of granite, he completely disappeared. The echo of his laughter, however, stayed a few moments after him.

Fighting through the freezing numb of shock, Andrea and Jenny took off at a sprint. Without thinking, Darlene paused and grabbed as many papers as she could, eventually beating her friends to the car. They were miles from the cemetery before a word was spoken.

"Tell me we didn't just…" Andrea was trembling so bad she could hardly drive.

Darlene nodded and kept nodding. She couldn't speak. She couldn't even think. The brief experience was so unnerving, so unsettling- she couldn't decide whether it was reality or merely their wild imaginations. The stutter of Jenny's whimpers drifting over the front seat finally made her accept the truth. They had witnessed an actual poltergeist and an evil one at that.

Andrea dropped Jenny off first. Throughout the ride, the poor girl refused to speak a word. Now, in her driveway, between sobs, she managed, "I'll see you guys tomorrow in home room," and that was it. It was clear. Jenny wasn't going to speak another word of the night's bizarre experience… ever. Obviously, she preferred to dismiss the traumatic event as nothing more than a harmless nightmare. Darlene and Andrea silently respected her wishes.

In Darlene's driveway, however, the remaining two rationalized in whispers. There was no one else they'd be able to share the chilling story with. Who would believe it? It was too disturbing. It brought up too many questions. People didn't want to believe and for once, the girls could understand. They didn't want to believe either, but it was too late for that.

As if she forgot she'd even recovered them, Darlene lifted the gravestone tracings up to the moon's faint light. Instantly, she pointed out the last of them; the one in which the evil spirit had vanished. It read: GIDEON EVANS. The dates of birth and death were too faded to make out, but it appeared that the anguished soul had dwelled on earth before the turn of the century. "Maybe it's your…" Darlene started.

"Great grandfather," Andrea answered, "and my family never talks about him."

"Maybe we should ask your Dad about…"

"Not on your life," Andrea interrupted again, "He'd kill me if he knew we were in the cemetery!"

Darlene agreed not to say a word, but as if their quest was not yet complete, the girls made a pact to find out as much as they could about the demon that terrorized them. Darlene would interview the older folks who worked at the newspaper, while Andrea would check the records at Town Hall. They decided to convene with their findings the following night. The only thing left to do was get some sleep. Wishful thinking! Without even being in their presence, the angry wrinkled spirit was still haunting them.

Andrea reported that according to Town Hall records: GIDEON EVANS, her great-grandfather, was born in September of 1821 in Fall River, Massachusetts and died almost to the day, sixty-nine years later. He was a turnip farmer, owning a good share of land that was now dissected into neat little house lots. He married Annette Margaret Borges on December 1, 1840, who later bore him three sons, Alfred, Arthur, and Herbert- her grandfather. In the fall of 1890, Gideon took his wife's life by hanging her by the neck. Immediately following her death, he took his own life, stringing up a rope right beside hers. Alfred, Herbert and Arthur Evans inherited the land, but only worked it for a short time. Within two years, all three sold their shares to independent buyers and left the county altogether. Gideon and Annette were laid to rest at Beech Grove Cemetery. Their final resting places, however, were registered at opposite ends of the cemetery. The rest was merely small-city rumor and age-old hearsay.

Darlene countered that there was no print available through the newspaper, but that an interview with a spunky Mrs. Isabel Marques proved quite interesting. Allegedly, old man Evans was as hard on his family as he was working the land. He was a brutal coot by nature and had the common reputation of being a heavy drinker, never allowing a soul on his land. He beat his boys on a regular basis and paid the same attention to his wife, Annette. His farm flourished for years until the drought of 1887 when he nearly lost everything. Rumor had it that his mind slipped a few rungs and he was seen chasing some of his livestock through the fields, beating them to death once he caught them. In 1890, they say he suspected his wife of cheating on him. As she was nearly seventy, herself, the accusation was ludicrous, but not to old Gideon. While the rest of the family attended church services, the crazy bastard took his beloved wife out to their small orchard and strung her up. Apparently missing her, he quickly joined her. They were buried in the same cemetery; Beech Grove, but the boys decided that out of respect for their mother, she should rest without suffering another minute of his cruelty. Gideon was buried right across the cemetery at the very tip of the east corner. Mrs. Marques added, "He can still be heard hollering when the wind blows right!"

Andrea and Darlene were still perplexed by the hideous sighting and probably would be for life, but they were equally attracted to the mystery of the supernatural. After several mutual challenges, they reluctantly decided to visit the cemetery during daylight hours. There was no use asking Jenny along.

It was exactly as reported. Mrs. Evans rested in one corner, her brutal husband, in the other. As the anxiety levels turned goose bumps into sandpaper, the visit was brief. The graveyard seemed so peaceful during the day. Leaves covered the small rolling hills. The trees were bare but beautiful. Jenny should have come along. The tranquil experience really took the edge off of the nightmare they had shared.
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A few weeks had passed, yet Andrea's deranged great-grandfather remained the only topic of conversation. The girls couldn't shake him during the waking hours, or especially when the rest of the world slumbered away. His cruel cackle, his melted face - the more time that passed, the less that night seemed real. If only to put their thoughts to rest, they decided on one more visit. This time, though, they would stay off his land.

It was nearly midnight and though it was a grand evening for ghouls, goblins and Gideon Evans to prance about, Andrea and Darlene saw nothing. Hours passed and still nothing. Then it came. A blurry light shimmered from the corner of the cemetery where Annette's remains had long rotted away. The winds seemed to carry some strange sound and for a second, Darlene couldn't make it out. It was only a drone; a sorrowful whine, much like the cry of an animal that sensed its own death. As the winds picked up, however, so did the undeniable message being carried. "Annette…Annette…" It repeated over-and-over, becoming angrier at each summons. "ANNETTE! ANNETTE!" The light pulsated and got brighter each time. Nothing answered back. Eventually, the winds died down and so did the sad beckoning. Andrea and Darlene left. It was certainly a different experience, but just as disturbing. This time, however, it was frightening in a way they could not yet define. They needed a definition.

Reverend Vincent Dimarco listened attentively to every detail of the girls' excited but provocative tale. When they finished, he simply smiled. He believed every word of it, but from the look on their faces, although it was their eyes that beheld the paranormal, it was they who needed to be convinced.

He responded, "As far as I'm concerned, Gideon Evans, or 'The Nightwatchman' as most folks call him, is probably the sorriest soul in Bristol County." The confusion in the girls' faces caused him to speak slower. "Ladies, some people only believe what their eyes can see. I'm in the business of believing things that cannot be seen by just the eye. Gideon Evans…" He looked at Andrea and winked, "…your great-grandfather, did take the life of his wife and then his own. In those untimely deaths, I think the answers that you seek can be found."

The girls looked at each other. It still didn't make sense.

"There are two theories you can take with you. The first, though scientists might disagree, is that time is only a measuring stick used by mortal man. Perhaps the vision you witnessed was merely a glimpse of the past superimposed on the present?"

The blank look in their eyes remained. He went on.

"But, I believe the second theory - that we live in a dimension, or a plane of existence, different from those who pass on from this world. I also believe that Gideon Evans exists in neither. If I can be so presumptuous as to analyze the deceased, I think that 'The Nightwatchman' holds more guilt than anyone I'll ever know. He harbors great amounts of unresolved pain, with no way for him to right his wrongs. The forgiveness he must receive, before passing on to the next world, must come from a woman who has been gone for over a half a century- never to return. You see, Gideon Evans is trapped or imprisoned in the very hell he created. When you hear him calling for Annette, I wouldn't think that he's angry. He's just desperate for her forgiveness. When you saw the viciousness in his face, you saw a rage that frightened you, but you never considered that it might be an inexplicable pain. You have to understand that anger is merely depression turned outward."

Darlene and Andrea sat with their mouths open. It was something they had been doing quite regularly lately. This wasn't the explanation they expected.

The good priest directed his next words at Andrea. "'The Nightwatchman' is only protecting your great-grandmother and the land that will imprison him, perhaps for eternity. As they say, 'He watches over the night.' It seems to me that he just doesn't take kindly to three young sightseers snooping around."

The girls laughed.

Reverend Dimarco concluded, "If I were you girls, there are only two things I would do. One is to say a prayer for a man who committed a serious sin without ever affording himself the opportunity to repent. The other is to take heed: Forgive freely and accept forgiveness just as freely because you'll never know when you might need it!"

Andrea and Darlene left stunned. As they reached the car, Darlene blurted, "Now that I think of it, your great-grandfather wasn't laughing at all that night. He was crying. Oh my God…the Nightwatchman was crying!"