Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I guess it was too late night to be on the road by myself, as the route, a main street intersecting the historic town's cemetery, was not my favorite one to take. The coated with reddish rust cyclone fence isn't precisely the best barrier to mark the boundaries between life and death. I'm sure it was just a cheap measure taken by lazy architects as to stand a hedge, but not to match and honor the beauty of the brick and stone original one. For me, I've always thought it's an insult to the solemnity of the graveyard dwellers as the marble tombs and crosses stretch over the sidewalk, as they push the galvanized wired fence, claiming the space it was theirs before the road was built.
Completely exposed, the graveyard displays it's lavishing architecture and that always distracts me for moments from the road. That night, as an obligated way to drive through to have some drinks in a nearby bar, something more than the mere admiration of the Old Graveyard's portrayed history, dragged my attention. Dressed in white, an elegant lace Victorian gown, a lady meandered amidst the tombstones lids. The skirts brushed the marbled floors and grass as she walked, her feet never showing. Crestfallen, the woman stopped for moments as if reading the plaques and perhaps, not finding what she looked for, headed to the contiguous grave.
As I slowed down to take a closer look, I confirmed she was not a mad woman, though a woman herself but not a living one. The paleness on her skin, translucent to the point it reflected the light of the street lamps and the full moon shining above, perhaps as amazed as I was to witness with such an incredible clarity the sighting.
A halo of sadness enveloped the feminine slender figure as she moved, searching for something, or maybe someone... The sense of urgency told me it was not her own grave but someone else's. I stopped my car, right next to her, as she was only three of four meters away on the other side of the fence. I stared at her when a cold current ran up my spine and goose bumps raised all over my skin; she stared back at me.
A tear rolled down my face to feel her sorrows, her mourning. I pitied her, for she was so young and beautiful... empty sockets looked back at me reflecting the poignant emptiness both death and sadness bring to a lost soul, as I've seen many. Her head cocked asides, lips curving half down with hopelessness as if asking for help. Then she dropped her shoulders and looked away.
The light of the front lamps of an approaching car forced me to move on... and made her vanish away. Too many witnesses of her misfortune weren't required, either wanted for the lady of the cemetery.
***This happened to me two weeks ago, when I drove by the old town's cemetery. The principal road intersect it, splitting in two the couple of acres graveyard. It's a place of great beauty, but for those like us able to see the dead ones or to feel their pain, it's strikes us to the bones the heaviness of the air that carries so much tragedy and sorrow (or evil and mysticism).
I can deduct for her dress and features, she was not a creole or native woman. Perhaps a Corsican lady recently arrived to the island by that time, late 1800's early 1900's. She died young, maybe during labor or sadness after loosing someone, I think her baby. There's a lot of babies buried on that cemetery from the time she represented as the place dates from almost three hundred years.
It's less than a hundred meters from my house and an obligated route to take, so sightings are pretty common to me.
