Free Shadow of a Life by Mute8 Page B

and spirits. I realized that there was a lot of
truth behind people’s fears. Since cemeteries aren’t often visited
at night, it’s a place that ghosts could gather to “be themselves.”
Sophia insisted we were going to the cemetery at night. I’ll admit
it—I was more than a little bit nervous. Camille was terrified.
Sophia was giddy with excitement and couldn’t stop
smiling.
    We packed backpacks with jackets,
snacks, and flashlights. I texted Dad and told him I would be
spending the night with Camille. I really needed to stop telling
him half-truths. As Sophia pulled into the parking lot of the
Evergreen Cemetery, the sun started its descent from the azure sky
and there was a cool breeze in the air, bringing the smell of new
spring foliage with it. Marion received a ton of rain earlier in
the week and the earth was still damp. We slowly weaved through the
rows of headstones, reading names and dates as we went. Sophia
walked slightly ahead of Camille and me, appearing to know exactly
where to go. She stopped to look at a stone monument, her fingers
gently tracing the names on the stone. I caught up to her and read
the names, too. It was a cenotaph erected in honor of Benjamin
Spooner Briggs, Sarah Elizabeth Cobb Briggs, and Sophia Matilda
Briggs. Camille and I didn’t say anything and Sophia soon continued
walking. Eventually we made it to the grave of Arthur Stanley
Briggs. It was a small stone covered with white lichen. We had to
brush away dead and overgrown grass to read the
inscription.
    I read his headstone aloud. “Briggs.
Arthur H., 1865-1931, and Margaret H., 1871-1939.”
    “ He died on my
birthday—October 31, 1931,” Sophia said sadly.
    “ He died on your birthday?”
I said incredulously.
    She nodded. “I didn’t find out about
his death until many years later, but when I heard the date, I
thought maybe it was his subconscious way of showing he was still
connected to me. Silly girlish dream, I guess.”
    “ Wait,” Camille said. “If
you die on Halloween, do you automatically become a
ghost?”
    “ Not necessarily. That’s
just an old wives tale. You can become a ghost if you die on Halloween, but it
isn’t assured.”
    “ Sophia, this really could
mean something. There has to be some sort of connection between you
and Arthur that wasn’t completed.” I was starting to get
excited.
    “ I’m starving.” Camille
announced as she spread a blanket on the ground in front of
Arthur’s grave, sat down, and pulled out a granola bar. She was
doing a lot better with Sophia’s news than I expected and in only a
couple of hours she’d gone from hating Sophia to acting like an
adoring fan.
    “ Ouch.” I rubbed a spot on
my head where an acorn had just landed. “Aaggh!” I was hit again.
“I think the squirrels in these trees don’t want us hanging out
here.”
    “ Who are you calling a
squirrel?”
    Startled by a male voice, I whipped
around to see Peter Ashby appear from behind a tall monument a few
yards away.
    “ Peter. Hi. What are you
doing here?” I felt my voice go up an octave and I squeaked like a
mouse. I could hear Camille snickering on the blanket behind me and
I turned around and glared.
    “ I came to put flowers on my
grandparents’ graves.”
    “ That’s mighty . . . uhh . .
. noble . . . of you.” Why do I always
sound like such a dork around him?
    “ My parents usually come on
Memorial Day, but they’re on a cruise right now and they made me
promise that I’d come out here for them this weekend and leave some
flowers. I think they’re afraid my grandparents will haunt them if
they don’t make their presence known.” He laughed at his own joke.
Camille and I involuntarily glanced at Sophia.
    “ How about you guys? What
are you doing here?” He spied the blanket and basket of food. “Are
you having a picnic in a cemetery ? Cool.”
    Sophia was the first to respond. “Why
not picnic in a cemetery? Want to join us?”
    Peter seemed to notice Sophia for