The whisper

Moonlight seeped through the heavy cloud and dripped onto the street to light my path. Frosty winds caressed my skin as it blew past. I raised my collar to it and quickened my step. The clouds threatened rain so I wanted to be home as soon as possible. While walking I heard something like a whisper, a mumble, near my ear. I hunched my shoulders even more,put my hand to my ear, thinking I had imagined it and walked on. It happened again. I grasped my keys in my pocket and turned on the spot “Who’s there?” I called out, but there was nothing but silence. I turned towards home and started running. I heard it again as I reached my front door. By the light of the moon I fumbled for my keys. I had to get inside. Dropping the keys, I cursed under my breath and bent to pick them up. Again, mumbling in my ear. I could not make out what it was saying and finally got the keys into the lock. I opened the door and slammed it shut behind me, leaning against the door, my breath catching in my throat.

Once I caught my breath I brewed up my courage to peer from behind the curtains. Light rain had begun to fall but the moonlight exposed nothing unusual. I watched the bushes in my garden but nothing moved. I looked up and down the street, holding my breath for no other reason than expecting a scare. No one was there, no cat or dog and certainly not the person who I thought spoke to me.

After a time I dropped the curtain and left the window. It was late and I busied myself getting ready for bed, all the while trying to make out what it was I heard in my ear. The words just did not make sense, well, I did not understand at all. Unable to sleep, I made myself a cup of hot chocolate and sat at the kitchen table reading the mornings paper. I flicked through the pages, read the notices and obituaries and ignored the sports as usual. My eyes started closing so I made my way to bed and tried to sleep. It did not come easy, the whisper haunted my dreams and I woke constantly, peering through the darkness at the window, wondering what was out there and if I had imagined it.

Morning came with great relief.  I rose and headed to the bathroom. I knew a quick shower would clear my mind. After my shower, I dressed and left the house. My usual Sunday routine, I headed to the bakery for a nice brewed coffee and a sweet bun. From the bakery I headed to the cemetary where I found a bench, bathed in dappled sunshine.  I enjoyed my coffee, steam rising high from the cup.  I sat and watched the birds dig through the leaves and fresh turned earth, I listened to their songs and fed them the crumbs from my bun. 

On finishing my breakfast, I stood then walked the well worn paths. I read the tomb stones, old and new and stopped every now and then to offer words to the newly buried. I came to the end of the large plots then started on the lawn plots, I knew most of them by heart but still took the time to read each brass plate.  Dotted amongst them were some graves that held no plate, just well manicured grass and an occasional dead flower arrangement.

I came to the end,  a new grave with a plastic number marking its position and a large mound of earth covered with artificial grass. I smiled gently when suddenly the whisper came back… “help” it said. “Help Me” A quiet young voice desperatley asking for help. I looked up and around for the source when my eyes spied it; small fingers protruding from beneath the artificial turf.  I lent forward to confim it. Yes, they were indeed fingers.  My mind falshed back to the front page of the paper I had read: “Missing!”  I stumbled back and took my phone from my pocket to dial the emergency services, fingers trembling.

It seemed to drag on forever, I was ushered away, yellow police barricade tape had been erected around the grave. Men in white hazard suits were gathered around the plot, digging, holding things up, bagging them.  A police woman kept asking me what seemed the same question over and over.  I knew nothing more other than the headlines I had read, a young girl taken from her home in broad daylight.

My typical Sunday was no more. The whisper was a cry for help,  one I could not understand. I stood, dumbfounded, wondering what more I could have done.  Something that would haunt me forever.