Mina ✓

•|chapter six: the visit to the graveyard [1882]

Seeing his reaction, Paisley turned back and resumed her trudge. Johansson stayed back for a few moments, eyes upon her retreating form. A part of him did not want to follow her; it wanted him to turn back and run back to the chateâu. But there was this other curious part; curious to know what awaited him next. He desired to know the unknown and at the same time wished to avoid it.

"Oh God, what have I got myself into?" Johansson moaned dolefully. Why on the earth did he have to agree to Paisley's offer?

***

The rest of the walk to the graveyard was a silent, sordid affair. Neither Johansson nor Paisley spoke a single word until the crumbling gargoyles at the entrance of the graveyard came to near sight. Leaping over a few clumps of bushes and stray stones, the two landed in front of the entrance.

"Now that we are here, I must tell you something. Consider this as a warning," Paisley said, once they caught their breath after the leap. "Do not question or speak at all when I shall work."

"What are you going to do?" Asked Johansson, as they started to make their way into the interior of the graveyard. "You are confusing me, Paisley. I do not understand what you want to do."

"I am going to do something which cannot be described in words," Paisley answered, a rueful smile on her plump lips. "You have to trust me, Johansson. You have to have complete trust in me." Johansson merely nodded in acquiescence at the statement and once more silence ensued between the two.

The walk through the graveyard was almost as gloomy as the walk to the graveyard had been, if not more but certainly not less. The mist there was so thick that it formed distinct forms in the dark, giving the semblance that one was walking amongst the spirits of the dead. The cold here froze the breaths and the silence rang in the ears of the two.

All around them were grey and white tombstones peeking from above the ground, while the slight rustle of the cerulean trees felt like a banshee's weeping. A dilapidated mausoleum stood stoic on the southern end of the graveyard like a sentinel on guard duty, a testimony to this nightly visit.

"We are here, Johansson," the voice of Paisley brought Johansson to his senses. So lost was he taking in the scene around him, that he jumped in fright at her call.

"Oh-oh yes!" He exclaimed, clutching a stitch in his chest. "Now what?"

"Now, I prepare," she said, bending down beside a tombstone. "Wait for my instructions. Do not make sudden movements or speak at all," she commanded.

"Yes, of course." Stealthily moving close to her, Johansson made out that in the scanty of the moon that it was the stone that marked Felicity's grave. It was still very white and the writing upon it was very clear. The mud beneath smelled of petrichor and was still a shade of deep brown.

At first, he was unable to comprehend what Paisley was doing, bending over her sister's grave and muttering beneath her breath. He inched even closer, ignoring Paisley's instructions. A surprised gasp escaped his lips as he saw what was happening.

Paisley's index finger was pressed against an indention on the middle of the tombstone. The indentation resembled a snake in an ouroboros formation, the head of the snake eating its tail, thereby indicating the eternal nature of life and death. Touching it Paisley mumbled a chant with bated breath, however, the most curious thing happening at the moment was her eyes. Her pupils were upturned in such a way that only the white part of it could be seen but it was not white, rather it had turned into a smoky shade of black.

Johansson felt once more fear trickling down his spine. Fear, pure, terrifying fear gripped him tightly. His heart was a wild horse racing through his chest frantically. He could not move, he could not speak. Maybe this was why Paisley had asked him to stay away. But what kind of witchcraft was this?

"Bend down Johansson, "Paisley proclaimed, raising goosebumps on Johansson's skin. It was not her voice, he felt trembling in his position. This voice was much too deep and husky. Yet he did what she asked. He bent down on his knees, staying as far away from Paisley as possible.

"Touch the tombstone and you shall know it all."

Johansson hesitated. He did not want to do it. He did not like what was happening, it terrified him and he was intensely scared. But was there any other option available? He had chosen this path. Thus with much reluctance, he did what he was asked to.

And no sooner did he touch the ice-cold stone, complete darkness swallowed him whole.