--the cramps
"THIS CRYPT IS OCCUPIED!" i snarl, and kick at the door.
the earphones slide off my head and the bach sounds tinny and small. the couple continues to slam up against the crypt. i stomp my feet against the door in frustration. the latch snaps and the couple falls in together, landing with a thump and a moan directly in front of me.
ahhhhh, young graveyard love! they don't even notice me.
muttering, i stand and step over the writhing lovers. a small, leather-bound volume has fallen out of the young man's back pocket. i stop for a moment, straddling the two, and pick it up.
"byron," i murmur, gloomily. "geez, i love byron."
with a heavy sigh i wander out of the crypt and into the busy cemetery. the graveyard is filled with lust tonight. it's hallowe'en and the dark carnival is in town. death will lie down with life and rut on the tombs. young lovers' hearts will curdle with pain and desire. spirits will rise up and gibber senseless prophecies. ghouls will lead living souls in the danse macabre. daemons and angels will pipe the tune, forcing the quick and the dead to prance in a saint vitus' jig of frenzied celebration.
i leaf through the byron and walk. ghosts wind around me and fly off, screeching at an almost inaudible register. couples laugh and wail, dragging each other into the crypts. votive candles left burning near tombs sputter and are snuffed out.
i pause to admire a fresh funeral wreath. the ghost of the newly-dead bows and motions for me to take a blossom. i incline my head and pluck off a red carnation. i take a bite.
"delicious," i congratulate him, and move off, still carrying the byron. the flower is sweet and chewy. i munch on it.
i hate going to festivals alone. i would've been happy to remain in my cozy crypt, brooding and listening to bach. but the deadly bacchanal could not be ignored. not with fervid lovers falling into my restful grave.
i weave through the headstones until a small, reddish daemon jumps out in front of me. i stop and frown. i'm really not in the mood to play, even if all of the dark carnival is beckoning.
the daemon pulls a long face and gestures obscenely at me. then his razory grin stretches wide enough to touch in the back of his head.
i fold my arms.
he points at the byron and shakes his finger. if he could have spoken, i'm sure he would have said: tch, tch. byron is too moody for such a night as this.
i shrug and put out my hands. i know, i tell him with my look, but what can i do? despair has me by the throat.
the daemon laughs soundlessly and pulls a finger across my throat, then lightly touches my forehead as if to push my severed head off my shoulders. he magically pulls red scarf after red scarf out of my collar.
my mouth twitches.
he backflips and lands atop a monument. he clambers into the outstretched, stony arms of a silent, mournful angel.
i put my hand over my mouth to hide the smile as he lasciviously licks the angel-statue's face and vigorously tongues her ear.
then when the daemon grabs a passing ghost and pulls it through his ears as if to swab out his brain-pan, i lose it and laugh out loud.
he jumps down and bows, deeply. i applaud.
he scoops up some bones lying near our feet and ceremoniously hands me one. i accept it. we each place a broken tip in our mouths and suck the marrow.
"mmmmmmm," i smile and slurp out the bone-candy.
the daemon laughs again, silently, then undulates forward, beckoning me to the dance, the dark carnival. the pipes and drums make my feet prickle and shift. the bone-candy makes my mouth loose and languid. a ghost tousles my hair.
"all right," i chortle, and we disappear, running into the night.
copyright 1997 by jewel (Julieann M. Brown-Micko)
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