We stood in our Halloween costumes like absolute idiots. We were absolute idiots. I mean, going to a graveyard at this time of the year wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary, but what we were there for didn’t fit with the festivities. It just didn’t feel right.
“Isn’t this a little disrespectful?” I asked.
“Lighten up – he would have loved it,” she said, her mouth and eyes the only skin peeking out from under the toilet paper covering her body. She was a mummy. “Plus, I thought this was what Halloween was for? Remembering the dead.” She also held a bouquet of flowers, fresh and colourful, to lie on his grave.
“I’m just against the costumes. If I knew we were going here first I would have picked something a little more… dignified,” I said while fidgeting with my sheriff’s badge. I was a cowboy. God we were ridiculous. She looked up from the grave and laughed at my cowboy hat, the toilet paper slipping from her face.
“Are you sad?” I said with as much seriousness as a girl dressed as a cowboy could possibly muster. She looked back down at the grave and didn’t answer.
“Now’s the time for him to come back as a zombie I guess. Fingers crossed,” She mumbled.
I ignored her too. I looked at my feet and imagined a hand suddenly shooting out of the dirt like in every generic zombie movie I’d ever seen. I shuddered, imagining the face of the corpse the hand would belong to. Great. I really didn’t want that image in my head, messing with my psyche.
A far off shout snapped me out of it, reminding me, luckily, zombies didn’t exist. Well, not yet. A group of teenagers, most likely carrying sleeping bags and vodka, were heading in our direction.
She saw them too and placed the brightly coloured flowers under his gravestone before they got any closer. In the light of the setting sun I could see her eyes glistening and her fingers crossed.
That night she was a mummy and I was a sheriff. And he was a ghost.