Requiescat in Pace - Chronicles of the City of the Die - Prelude

It was done! After a long and tiring process, which included several interviews, psychometric testing, medical examinations and negative debit certificates with the police and justice, I received confirmation that I had been admitted to the new job. The interviewer gave me the news in a way that made me think that I had won the lottery. Still not knowing how I should feel, I responded to her smile. It was another underemployment in my life, but absurdly necessary.

— Welcome to our "family". — She said with that strange and impersonal way that seemed to contradict the meaning of the welcome phrase. In fact, she cared little and I didn't care, either, so it was okay. This did not prevent me from imagining myself squeezing the woman's neck until her eyes popped out of their sockets. It was just imagination, of course. Just a fleeting thought to make up for my low self-esteem. She seemed so well adapted to the rules of this petty-bourgeois world, that perhaps she could never have imagined what was going on in the head of someone who was sitting there, in front of her. Anyway, the reality is this. Dropping out is not a viable option, unless you change your planet or give up existing.

After her introduction, the woman gave me a manual of company procedures and general information about my new job. I had been admitted to a third-party surveillance service company and could be sent anywhere in the city. I didn't like that, but I needed the job and I wagged my tail like an obedient dog. Then I took a deep breath and asked where my place of work would be.

— You are going to work as a night watchman at the Municipal Cemetery, isn't it interesting?

— Much. — I replied, almost stuttering. Not that I had any problems with cemeteries, but it was so unexpected that it surprised me.

— Do you have a problem with that? — She asked, while raising an eyebrow over the rim of the glasses.

  — No, anyway. I even think it suits me. Dealing with the dead should be easier than dealing with the living.

— It is true. — She said with a cold smile. — It is not the dead who bother in that cemetery. There have been complaints of violation of graves, and that is the reason why we were hired. You must remain vigilant and call the police, if any attempted invasion.

That last information, of course, did not please me.

Between facing invaders from the world of the living and hauntings, I still preferred the company of the dead. However, I left the company office willing to prevent the souls from being disturbed by grave robbers. Not that I cared much, but I had a commitment to watch over the city of the dead and intended to do it. Jobs have been scarce lately. A cemetery's night watchman wasn't exactly what I expected, after years of writing my first novel. However, I soon discovered that the publishers didn't give a damn about my urgency to get published. That job was very important to me, since nobody cared with my basic needs, except myself and my ex-wife. Furthermore, the job would allow me to continue writing. The salary was not bad, for the needs of a lonely guy, but let's agree that the position of night watchman in a cemetery would not make me a success of social acceptance.

Despite some doubts that the new career still provoked me I arrived on time for the first day of work.I was received by the cemetery administrator, a talking old man and humorous. He looked like a faun and hopped through the tombs with surprising agility for his age. He must have been ninety, I think. A longer look might conclude that he was at least a century old.

 — Do you believe in ghosts? He asked, when he saw my gaze on him. — I'm not talking about me, of course. Not yet, at least.

That last sentence was said seriously, but his eyes had an undisguised playful brilliance.

— I still have no reason to believe, nor to deny their existence. - I answered as accurately as I could. That question seemed to have a specific purpose and that I did not risk unnecessary controversy.

— You stayed on the fence. — He said, with a mocking expression. — But it does not matter. There will be a day when you will have your reasons for believing many strange things. He expected me to reply, but I remained silent. That subject was not comfortable for me. It had always been like this, since childhood. However, I had no intention of speculating about this with a stranger.

— Well, that's all I have to tell you for today. Watch out for invaders, but don't play the hero. Call the police if you need to, or expect help.

— Help?

— Yes. If they like you, they may help you with your task.

— They who? I asked, making an effort to remain serious.

— Your new friends, of course. They will certainly be around at some point. They'll love meeting you.

was he really trying to say what I understood? For a moment I thought the old man was senile, but the belief in existence beyond the grave did not make him crazy. Many people believed that. I personally wished many times that the specters that inhabited my dark mind really existed. I even believed that this was possible. Unfortunately, the reality of adulthood, with the accompanying cynicism, destroyed my youthful fantasies.

After a few more recommendations, the old faun left me alone with my duties. The evening came quickly and the few visitors soon left. It was time to close the gates of the necropolis and get ready for the first sleepless night. I don't know if it was because of his words when saying goodbye, or because of my fertile imagination wanting to play a trick on me, I was overcome by a strong unease as soon as I was alone. It was as if, while looking at the corridors formed by the rows of tombs, I could hear the cry of the lost souls of that place.

 I was not superstitious, nor did I have any apprehension for supernatural beings or apparitions. Not that I was endowed with much courage, it wasn't about that. I just couldn't believe in the afterlife anymore, tormented ghosts or anything like that, so convinced that I was of materialism, although the subject still fascinated me. But believing in life after death was not possible for me. It wasn't always like that, I admit.

There was a time when I thought I saw sad souls, but nobody believed what a little boy said, so I gave up talking about it. I ended up overcoming the disdain of adults and stopped seeing strange things, until I started this job. Now, on this first night, I couldn't explain to myself the strange feeling of not being completely alone in that place.

The fine rain that fell soon after increased that feeling of desolation that insisted on meddle in my mind. This sensation contradicted the parameters of logic that supported my way of looking at the world. Until tonight, what I realized was everything that existed, and that was enough for me. This way of thinking simplified things for me and got rid of unnecessary existential conflicts, or at least that was how I expected it. However, these beliefs were to be tested. There was still nothing to make me think that, but unconsciously, I already feared what was to come.

The first few hours dragged slowly and gave me the chance to recover from that restlessness. The reason gradually overlapped the atavistic instinct of my superstitious cave ancestors. After checking the entire perimeter of the cemetery, I went to the small office, which was attached to the chapel. I was willing to enjoy the sleepless night to continue one of my many literary projects. It was just a gothic horror novel. Despite all my overt materialism, horror was my favorite genre for writing.

Some time later, I don't know how much, I heard the sound of stealthy footsteps. It looked like my first night was going to be very busy. Annoyed by that interruption, I turned off the main light switch. I thought of giving a good scare in the invader of the city of the dead.

As soon as darkness enveloped the cemetery, the noise stopped. As quietly as I could, I slid out of the office. Fortunately the door was already open and my movement made no sound that could be heard after a few meters. Then, hidden behind a headstone, I saw it. It was a girl. She was there, sitting quietly on a grave, as if on a park bench, on a Sunday morning. Despite the gloom I could see some details. She was dressed in black and looked like a tragic and sad figure. There I was fantasizing as usual. I was an incurable romantic, but I had a job to do.

Before I took any initiative, other people emerged. They wore black clothes like hers and some had spiky hair, probably modeled with some kind of fixative gel. It looked like a group of goths. One of those urban tribes, who cultivated strange habits. Something like picnicking in cemeteries, I thought, based on my deep and rancid preconceived ideas.

Still fascinated by the girl, it took me a long time to decide what to do. They were just strange kids and didn't seem dangerous, but a little prudence is always a good thing, I stayed hidden while I decided what to do. My hesitation came in handy, because nothing would prepare me better for what came next.

One of the boys took a hookah out of a bag. Soon after, a sweet odor spread through the cemetery, while the sound of a drum filled the air. They had come prepared for that weird little party and everything indicated that there was more to come.

The girl got up and climbed on the headstone. At the sound of a song sung by the others, she started a tribal dance. Her body spun and writhed in ever more frantic movements. The others seemed to have fallen into a hypnotic trance. I have to say that I was very close to joining the group in that frenzy. Fortunately, I remained in control of my mental faculties, so that I was able to follow the extraordinary events of that night from a privileged point of view.

Although some boys already looked so drugged that they couldn't fully understand what was going on, others managed to remain with some lucidity and were able to witness what was about to happen. These soon regretted having invaded the cemetery that night. And before you ask me: no! I had nothing to do with what happened. I just witnessed the facts that I now narrate. These memories are indelibly engraved in my memory, like embers on wood.

The beat of the drum beat accelerated and, then the instrument was silent. The girl who danced on the grave stood still, her expression blank. The others looked at her and let out insane screams and giggles. That was when it happened the strangest of events that I have ever witnessed in my life. The girl started to float in a horizontal position. It would be a scene worthy of a good horror movie, let me say. However, due to the rush perpetrated by her "brave" companions, among the tombstones, it was more like a slapstick comedy.

Were it not for the screams of terror that the girl uttered when she left that supposed trance, I think the girl would still be floating on the headstone to this day.   Suddenly the girl fell and plopped down on the grave cover. Despite the strong impact, I believe she was not seriously injured, for the strange girl immediately got up and ran off, only to disappear into the darkness.

As for me, I was still stunned for a long time, without fully understanding the meaning of that bizarre event. There was really more things between heaven and earth, after all. Soon I would have other reasons for reviewing my concepts, carefully constructed within an essentially materialistic bias. However, the remainder of my first night as a night watchman was quiet and nothing else occurs to me, for now.