Ghost of a Rose

by V Loric

The fairies gathered at the cemetery gates. The mood was unusually somber for the wee-folk, their tiny lights dimmed in sadness. Some one was buried today. A man. Stockbroker. His fat, lifeless body stuffed into a wooden box and placed beneath the ground. The people milling about did not notice the bright patch under the tree where the fairy-folk had gathered, their weeping sounds masked by the wind.

One by one, the tall mourners left the freshly dug grave, tossing roses of varying hues upon the mound as the passed. Each falling flower sparked a new round of whimpers from the shimmering sparkles hidden in plain sight. By the time the last person had paid their respects, the cries were almost audible to humans, who shrugged off as the chills one tends to get in cemeteries. They all left. The fairies spilled forward, lightening quick towards the grave.

They lamented over the dead roses, cut down viciously in their prime. The mother fairies hushed and soothed the babies, whispering quickly into pointed ears. They floated gracefully around the plot of freshly dug earth, tiny hands clasped. Tears turned to song, as they began to dance rapidly around the grave. Had there been any onlookers, they would have seen a whirling circle of light spinning faster than the eye could track. But, of course, there was nobody watching.

One by one the dying roses began to vibrate, as if zapped by an electric prod. Jumping and jilting, the flowers joined the dance. A fairy for each flower, a circle roses ringed by light spun crazily as the sun began to drift westward. The dance came to a halt as suddenly as it had started. Roses jerked upright, then fell limply back in place upon the soft soil.

The fairies stood perfectly still, wings not fluttering a breath, looking with anticipation at the fallen flowers. Silver sparkles were rising from each rose until a perfect silhouette glimmered above each solid flower. The fairies let out their collectively held breath and waved farewell as the ghostly visages rose upward to a bright light in the sky. All save one disappeared into the hazy brightness. It floated melancholy over its former host. The fairies urged it to move on to the next plane, but it sullenly refused to go. The fairies moved away, returning to the nooks and crannies of the flowerbeds and trees nearby. They could not help this poor lost soul....

“An’ that was when I was a boy, 50 years ago. But if ya go to the old cemetery at sunset, y’all see it, alright.” The old man finished his story, and began knocking the tobacco from his pipe.

“But Grampa! If no one saw the fairies, how do you know the story?” Jillian piped up, always the curious and defiant one.

“Ya don’t always need to see something to know it’s true, do ya Jilly-jelly?” The old man’s face seemed to crack into pieces as he smiled.

“No...But...”

“No buts about it! Go and see the Rose’s ghost for yer self if you don’t believe yer gramps!”

Jillian crossed her arms stubbornly, and the old man knew they were about to go on a walk.

The cool air was nice as the strolled leisurely through the old parts of town toward the old cemetery behind the old abandoned church. The new one was in the center of the new part of town, and it gleamed, but the old man never liked it like he had this old one. He placed a gnarled hard on the warm red bricks as they rounded it to face the barely tended plots. The sunset was just starting and Jillian gripped his arm tightly.

Out in the fields, above the wavering grass a silvery form began to take shape, and for a moment, Jillian swore it looked just like a rose.