Vintage: A Ghost Story by Steve Berman Page B

over a fallen marker.
As I passed a row of very small headstones that had sunken into the ground, I heard soft sobs. I had lost sight of Josh. I tried to remain calm. I told myself that I had been alone in cemeteries at night before, and always felt safe and peaceful. Yet the words run false in my head. This time felt different.
The weeping came from close by but I could not see another soul. The wind blew an acrid scent right into my face and I began coughing. The smell of smoke and something worse, like badly charred meat.
I took a few steps back, hand over my mouth, careful not to step in the patches directly in front of the little markers. The graves of children. Near the last one, the air above the headstone had grown luminous. An indistinct shape, as if captured moonlight, hovered. By its glow I could read part of the inscription. Paul Barnes September 17, 1911 — December 3 , 1916 . Dead grass obscured the rest. The cries came from the light. I remained as quiet and still as possible, watching. When the spirit made no further move, my curiosity got the best of me. I slowly knelt down, keeping an eye on this new ghost, while pushing aside the brittle stalks. Like an Ember Gone to Sky . I looked at the other markers in the row. Gerald . Thomas. Anna. Margolis . All but one, the mother’s, Beverly Barnes, shared the same date of death.
The stink in the air and my face and hands feeling blistering hot for a mo ment made me turn back. A fire. The children must have died in a blaze. I watched the spirit begin to fade away until it was all but invisible, yet the sobs remained behind a while, growing softer and softer.
My ears, though, seemed ready and open to other voices. I heard snippets of talking, whispers from the empty air.
“Josh?” I called out. My own voice sounded weak and halting.
Instantly the cemetery went quiet. Even the wind seemed to have paused. Then the shouting began; yelling, pleading, demanding, all calling out to me. I covered my ears and screamed for them to stop but they wouldn’t. It only became louder, the voices more desperate. I ran but I had lost direction and wasn’t sure which way was out.
My foot struck something and I pitched forward. I was lucky I didn’t crack my skull open on a nearby tombstone but my hands and cheek burned where they scraped against the hard earth. Voices trailed off behind me.
I rose up and saw a pale figure with its back to me. Relief doused much of my fear. I ran over. “Josh, I’m glad I found you.”
Even as I spoke, I realized the young man wasn’t dressed the same. He wore an old military uniform and held a widebrimmed hat in his hands. One second, I looked at his back, the next, he faced me. He was older than Josh, much older as far as I could tell. I screamed at the sunken cheeks and the shallow pit where the man’s nose should have been. “She was so kind to me.” The voice slipped through clenched teeth.
I screamed.
The ghost moved so quickly, its hand reaching out to me, the fingers slipping deep into my shoulder. I expected pain, and there was some, but mostly I felt pulled from every sensation around me. Gone was the fear, the darkness, the cold wind and the sound of thunder.
    I’m lying in a hard bed, much of me under a thin sheet. Afternoon light slips in through a nearby window, but it makes everything look cold. The place stinks with sour air. Hospitals are where people come to die. It’s bullshit if you think anyone walks out well from such places….
    Every time I breathe in, there’s an odd whistling sound… and pain, so much all I want is to stop…
A woman comes over to where I lie. She’s a beautiful vision all dressed in white. The nurse. I wonder if her short blonde hair feels soft to the touch. Would her skin? I turn my head to focus on her long legs in their stockings. “Such beautiful legs,” I wheeze out…
She should smile at that. Girls always smiled at a compliment from me in the past. Only, I can see something in her