Utiseta

Chapter 3: Beware

Griffin's eyes fluttered open. He simply lay there for a long moment while his eyes adjusted to the dark. As he lay, memories slowly trickled to the forefront of his mind. His first instinct was to deny those memories; his rational mind told him they couldn't possibly be true. But they were true. As much he would love to go on denying it, the fact remained that he had just seen and spoken to a woman who was already dead.

Using a nearby headstone for support, he hauled himself to his feet. His head ached and his vision swam into and out of focus. He'd been rendered unconscious not once but twice and, boy, could he feel it. His dual trip into sleepy land brought with it the troubling possibility that the whole encounter had been in his mind. Again, his gut told him otherwise.

He scanned the darkness in front of him. A few feet before him lay what appeared to be a very hastily dug grave. The mound was fresh, the dirt having been disturbed not too long before. What was missing, however, was a tombstone or any sort of identification. It seemed Kiera's headstone, at least, had been figment rather than fact. In a dreary sort of way, this made sense. Griffin had met Kiera - living, breathing Kiera - at the bar just hours before; if he had in fact been communicating with her spirit, there wouldn't have been time for a proper burial, let alone the creation of a headstone.

This, in turn, led to an even more unsettling conclusion: Kiera's body had been dumped here, her murderer opting to hide her where she wouldn't immediately be noticed. Riding this train of thought, Griffin thought back to the hulking man he'd seen her leaving the bar with, and his stomach wrenched with guilt. If he'd only acted quicker, tried harder to stop the couple from leaving, maybe Kiera would still be alive.

"I'm sorry." He crouched down gingerly, placing his hand on the grave.

"That you, Griff?"

Griffin rose and turned to see Jason staggering toward him. His friend was clutching his head, obviously a little dazed, but looking none the worse for wear. As Griffin got closer, he could hear Jason muttering obscenities under his breath and felt distinctly sorry for whoever had robbed them if his friend ever got his hands on them.

"Did they get your phone and wallet too?"

Griffin nodded.

Jason swore again, then jerked his head in the direction of the front gate. "Let's get out of here.

Griffin groaned with the effort but forced his feet to carry him toward the exit. He didn't want to spend one more second in Hope Hills Cemetery.

As they walked, he wondered whether or not he should tell Jason about his ghostly encounter; very quickly, he decided to table the internal debate for another time. He was tired, distraught, and likely confused. All things considered, telling his story to Jason now would only achieve one thing: making Griffin sound like a complete loon.

A dark shape flitted across his peripheral vision.

Griffin halted immediately, hoping with all his might that their robbers weren't still lurking around. Despite bracing for another attack, Griffin saw only the silhouette of someone standing roughly thirty feet away. Though he could not see it clearly, he was fairly certain the silhouette was that of a man. Average height and build - fairly nondescript.

For a moment, he was able to convince himself that the shadow was just that - a shadow. Then it moved, almost imperceptible at first - an ever-so-slight nod of the head. More unnerving still was the impression Griffin got. Despite not being able to see the shadow's face, he got the sense that it was smiling at him.

As though in a trance, he took a step toward the darkness. Jason began speaking at the same time, though only snippets of his words made it through the blockade and into Griffin's subconscious. From what he could tell, Jason was lamenting the loss of his phone, wallet and, more importantly, the contents therein. The minutiae of the conversation, however, was lost to the depths of his suddenly foggy brain.

"Griff? Griff? Griffin!"

Griffin turned to find his friend staring at him with concerned eyes.

"Everything all right? You've been standing there, staring at nothing for the past five minutes."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Wait...You said five minutes?" To Griffin, it had felt like only seconds.

"Okay, I think we need to need to take a little trip to the ER."

As Jason steered him through the front gates, Griffin took one last look back to where the shadowy figure had been, not at all surprised at what he saw.

Nothing. Just darkness.

When Griffin arrived home, he collapsed onto his mattress. He'd managed to convince Jason not to take him to the hospital, insisting that any symptoms of confusion or light-headedness had all but vanished. And, when blessed slumber finally came upon him, he slept like the dead.

It wasn't until the day after Jason's wedding that Griffin was provided with a resurgence of odd events, this time stemming from something as inconspicuous as a newspaper.

The article read: Renowned Italian cellist Juliano (J.J.) Jacobo passed away earlier this week at the age of 84. When he wasn't performing around the world, Jacobo split his time between Milan and Toronto. Often citing Toronto as his second home, Jacobo chose to be interred at Hope Hills Cemetery next to his wife of fifty years. A celebration of life ceremony is to be held both in Toronto and in Milan.

"Find J.J.," Kiera had whispered to him. "He'll help you. Trust me, you're going to need it."

Griffin was tempted to ignore the cryptic warning from Kiera and the obituary he'd just seen. What he should do was finish the dinner he'd just made, watch some tv, and head to bed. He should forget this whole thing had ever happened. But, even as these thoughts flitted unconvincingly across his mind, Griffin knew he had to do something. He wasn't a great believer in the Great Beyond or the supernatural in general. He just had this feeling, this gut instinct telling him that, if he didn't shimmy down this particular rabbit hole from hell, he would wind up like Kiera. Dead.

It was with these dark thoughts still bumping around in his mind that Griffin grabbed his car keys and drove over to Jason's house, almost out of habit. Jason was his best friend and, while Griffin didn't believe for a minute that Jason would believe him, he trusted that his friend would help.

Perched on the stoop of Jason's house like a large, nervous bird, Griffin knocked hesitantly. His friend and his new wife had delayed their honeymoon by a couple of days; they were leaving for two weeks in Fiji the following day.

Jason opened the door a few moments later; his hair was dishevelled and the buttons on his rumpled shirt were done up haphazardly, some buttons in the wrong hole, and some having missed their mark entirely. What's more, Griffin's friend did not look pleased by his spontaneous arrival; if looks could kill, Griffin would be more than six feet under.

"Sorry," was his lame response, a knowing grin pulling at the corners of his lips.

"Yeah, you'd better be," said Jason in return, but his look of mild rage had softened a bit. "To what do I owe the 'pleasure' of this evening visit?"

"I was hoping you'd take a little trip with me." He paused, watching Jason's eyebrow hitch in a look that said yeah-right. "Later tonight," he added sardonically.

Jason turned to look at something - or, more likely, someone - behind him. "I'll be there...later."

"Thanks." Griffin turned to walk away. Right before he climbed into his car, he yelled. "Meet me at Hope Hills at midnight."