Young Writers Society

February 14th, 2013. The day was overcast and it was one of those times where it just drizzled all day instead of really raining. There was a bite to the air that chilled anyone who went out with exposed skin. Although Autumn was thoroughly covered by her leather jacket and long jeans every once in a while a shiver ran down her spine, causing her to tighten her grip on her motorcycle's handles.

Maybe it was the inherent eeriness of going to a cemetery, but today more than ever Autumn's senses were tingling for no reason. Cursing her own superstition, she pulled off the highway and let her mind wander to anything other than ghosts and demons while she took the myriad of turns etched into her brain. She had just succeeded in finding a position where the rain couldn't leak under collar and down her back when her thoughts were interrupted by the loud crunch of motorcycle's wheels on gravel.

She glanced up at the imposing arch that made up the entrance into the cemetery as she parked her motorcycle. It was almost as if the people who owned the land wanted it to seem as haunted as possible. The arch was made of large stone blocks weathered by time and held together only by hope and a few rusting, twisted pieces of metal that were once in the shape of roses. It was nearly impossible to tell that now, since nearly every inch of the stone was covered in half-dead ivy that just barely hung on in the cold breeze. Every week when Autumn came here she could picture it collapsing just as she passed under it, killing her as she walked into the cemetery. Sometimes, on really bad days, she wanted it to happen just for the horrible irony of it. She could picture the headlines in the local paper quite vividly. College Student Dies Entering Cemetery That Is Definitely NOT Haunted

Then she would always shake her head to cast off the morbid picture, take the flowers she brought for her mother's grave, and walk ahead. She always walked a little faster until she was out from under the arch.

Coming here every Saturday for the last five years had given Autumn a very exact ritual. She would pull up, stare up at the arch for a few minutes, then traipse across the cemetery until she reached her mother's grave. She would place the flowers, linger for a few minutes to tell the gravestone about her week, and finally leave when the eeriness became too much for her.

It wasn't that she was scared of the cemetery, so much. But she always found it strange that she was the only one she ever saw there. Flowers appeared on different graves every so often, and the grass was cut often enough that it never reached much above her ankles, but she never saw the people who did it. Never any mourning families, old friends, grave diggers. Every once in a long while a fresh plot would turn up, but she never saw the funeral. Did people just not schedule them on Saturdays?

She shivered, turning her collar up against the wind and trying to forget her suspicions. Most people didn't like coming to graveyards, what was so wrong about that?

The mud pulled gently on her boots as she walked in between the headstones. She glanced briefly at each one, nodding in respect to the souls that had passed on. She didn't know any of the other people in the cemetery, but she recognized most of the names now. Kylie Andrews, 1932-2001. Nicholas Spencer, 1894-1976. Abigail Parker, 1994-2007.

Autumn stopped in her tracks a few steps away from Abigail Parker's headstone. There was someone there. Why hadn't she noticed her before?

The figure didn't move, or give any indication that she noticed Autumn. Clad in black skinny jeans, combat boots, and a blue hoody soaked through by the rain, she kept her hands shoved in her pockets and her hood up. She was staring at the grave, completely silent.

“S-sorry.” Autumn mumbled, stepping around the strange woman quickly and continuing on her way. She walked a little faster than before, her nerves set on edge by the strange figure. Why should I care? She's probably Abigail's sister or something. Even as she thought it she felt eyes boring into her back, watching her as she wove her way through the headstones. Autumn looked over her shoulder quickly, but the woman was still watching the grave. She hadn't moved an inch.

Autumn shivered, turning back around just in time to avoid running into a gravestone. She cursed quietly and made the sign of the cross, sending a quick apology to the dead person resting there before continuing. She let out a sigh of relief when she reached her mother's grave. Melissa Summers, 1956-2008. Everything just the same as before.

Autumn crouched down and placed the bouquet of roses and tulips, her mother's favorite flowers, at the base of the headstone. “Hey Mom,” she whispered, a sad smile twitching on her lips. “How you feelin'?” she paused like she did every week, pretending that her mother in heaven was replying to the question. “I'm okay. They're still searching for Dad.” she swiped at a tear that had found its way onto her cheek. “Ridiculous, isn't it? He could have at least done it in a way we could find his body.” a rattling sigh escaped her lips. “He left me the house. In Wisconsin. How stupid is that? I'm never moving back there. I just have to sell it now.” the strange figure momentarily forgotten, she reached forward and placed a hand on the corner of the gravestone. “I was in the attic and found a bunch of your old prescription bottles. You never took them. You always said you didn't want to drag it out.” a humorless chuckle left her lips. “All this time I blamed the doctors and their stupid medication that didn't work. But it was just your awful stubbornness. I feel kind of bad for Dr. Roberts now. Maybe I shouldn't have given him that black eye.”

A rumble of thunder interrupted her one-sided conversation. Autumn sighed and looked back at the headstone, patting it briefly before straightening. “Tell Dad I love him okay? Even if he is a coward.” without another word she turned around and started walking away. Morbid thoughts dragged her down this time, contemplations of why her mother hadn't taken the medication that might have saved her life. She didn't even glance at the figure at Abigail's grave as she passed. Until the woman spoke.

“I warned her, you know. Abigail.”

Autumn stopped, turning back to the woman. She still hadn't moved. Autumn glanced around the cemetery once, confirming she was the only one for the woman to be talking to, then reluctantly replied.

“Warned her?”

For a moment the woman didn't answer, and just when Autumn was going to leave she spoke again. “I warned her not to go to that party. There was a fire and she didn't get out.”

Autumn blinked. So that was how the thirteen year old Abigail had died.

“She didn't heed my warning and she died that night.” the woman said, her back still facing Autumn.

Autumn stared at the woman. Was this some kind of joke? A prank? Or was this person really insane? Did she hang around in cemeteries just to freak out college students? “Who are you?” Autumn asked, her hands curling into fists.

The woman was silent for a moment, then she turned around. Autumn's mouth fell open in horror.

The hood fell off the woman's face seemingly on its own. The first thing it revealed were startlingly green eyes, set deep in her face and surrounded by dark circles like she hadn't slept in weeks. Her skin was pale, almost white, in harsh contrast with the silky black hair framing her thin face. Her lips were blood red.

She looked like a corpse.

“Don't take the highway on the way home, Autumn Summers.” she said, her voice suddenly pitched lower than it had been before.

“How do you know my name?” Autumn asked, backing up slowly. “Who are you?”

“Don't take the highway.” she said again. Her sharp features softened slightly, her expression almost pitying. But Autumn didn't really notice. She spun on her heel and started sprinting as well as she could in the wet grass. Eyes were boring into her back again but this time she didn't turn around. She turned slightly to reach the arch faster, and skidded and fell on her back. Mud splashed around her, caking her jeans and leather jacket, but she was on her feet seconds later. She swiped a strand of her red hair out of her face, streaking her forehead with mud as well. Then she was under the arch, out of the cemetery, on her motorcycle. She shoved her helmet on carelessly and revved the engine, pulling away in a spray of gravel.

Back at Abigail Parker's grave the woman shook her head. This one wouldn't make it either.

Autumn's heart was pounding in her chest, spurring her to go faster and faster to get away. She finally managed to get her breathing under control a few minutes later and slowed down considerably. Just a weirdo in a cemetery. A harmless weirdo in a creepy-ass cemetery. Nothing to worry about. She was just trying to freak her out.

She succeeded.

Slowly, her grip on her handlebars began to relax. Nothing to worry about. Everything's fine. Don't let her get to you.

But Autumn's mind was still reeling, and she ended up taking the same route she did every week. Half a mile on the various backroads, then turning onto Highway 65. Straight shot back to the university. Everything was fine.

She pulled onto the highway and soon the normal sounds of traffic melted away the last of her worries. Her mind began to wander, her fatal mistake.

Then everything was happening at once, and she only caught glimpses of everything. Brake lights, yells. A broken turn signal. A black SUV pulled out right in front of her and she slammed on her brakes. She skidded. Brakes wet. Road wet. Everything was wet.

Screams and sirens and pain and wetness coating her face. Wasn't rain, wasn't tears. Oh, it was blood. Yells for help, more sirens. Ambulance, police? Fire Department? There was a really bright light above her . . .

A flash of a pale white face and green eyes off to the side. A last, rattling breath escaped her lungs and Autumn almost laughed. Her last thoughts were morbid; a morbid regret.

She didn't heed my warning and she died that night.

Don't take the highway.