An unexpected downpour fell in the middle of one of Lawton’s hottest summer nights, but the rain did not stop Matt from making his way to the other side of town, to the cemetery. It is a good thing that he always keeps an umbrella inside his bag, or he would be soaking wet by now. It would not matter to him anyway. The important thing is that he makes time to visit them.

It’s been a year since his parents died. He was only five years old then. Their bodies were found outside the burnt ruins of the Beacon Lodge, and according to the witnesses, they were the ones that started the fire that killed the six other people inside. The once revered Franco name has been disgraced since.

Their funeral was small, knowing that they came from one of the town’s founding families. They found a pile of letters and messages on their doorstep when they got home. All hate and insults. People came to pity Matt as the days went on, but it was clear that they were also afraid of him. People became cautious with their words. How they expressed their sympathy. If they do it too much, they will be accused of associating with the town’s devils. The entire town became a landmine after that. Angry faces spouting hate were no different from smiling faces that fade away soon as he is out of sight, unaware that he can still hear all the bad things they are whispering about him.

It does not really matter. Matt found no truth in their words. Those hateful words that were directed at his parents are wrong. They were good people. That is all he knows, and that is how he will always remember them.

Matt has not missed a single day visiting them at their resting place ever since.

Lawton Cemetery is as dark and cold as ever, even in this particularly warm summer. The thick fog continues to roll in at the same hour every evening, so even the new street lamp installations were of no help in properly lighting the way. The entry gates to the cemetery were left open tonight, but even if they were closed, Matt already knows of five other ways to enter.

Wandering a cemetery in this kind of atmosphere would have sent any other kid running back home, but Matt had spent the last year coming up here to know that the dead stay dead no matter how hard he wishes for them to rise.

The figure of an angel holding a scythe, crumbling almost to cracking, could be seen in the distance. The mausoleum is now only a few steps away, but then he heard faint sobs almost hidden in the sound of the falling rain. It brought a smile to his face, and he hoped it was a ghost. If it were, maybe he could ask it to send a message to his parents.

It was not a ghost, unfortunately. What he found was the figure of a small kid, no bigger than he was, scrawny and poorly dressed for the weather, crouched in front of a tombstone.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The rain started to calm down a little, but it has done a number on the poor kid, now fully drenched and shivering, the cold winds brushing up against them. It was odd to see someone else as small as him around here. Matt walked up to him, putting them both under his umbrella. The young boy turned and stared at him. It has been a while since Matt has seen unassuming eyes that did not condemn him.

“You’re that new kid,” Matt remembered seeing a family who just moved in a few blocks away a few weeks ago. “It’s cold out here. You might get sick. You should go home.”

“I’m here to see my mom.” The kid wiped away his face. Tears or rainwater— it was difficult to tell.

“You are? Me too,” Matt pointed beyond the fog. It has been a while since he’s felt genuinely surprised and happy to hear anyone’s voice. “She’s there with my dad.”

“I mean my mom is here.” He was looking at a tombstone on the ground. He must have thought that Matt’s parents were in the mausoleum, alive and waiting for him.

“Well, my mom and dad are in their urns. The urns are inside the walls, in their own tombs.”

“What’s an Urn?”

“That’s where you put ashes in. It’s a practice here. We don’t like burying the dead because they might come back.”

“But I want my mom back.”

“My lola said they’re now on the other side. My mom and dad are there. Your mom is there too. That’s where people who passed on go. But lola said they’re not coming back.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

Matt shook his head. “I wish we could still make pancakes for breakfast. Mom makes the best hot chocolate. My dad likes to take me to the mountain side by the cliff. We hang out there, just to eat fries and ice cream.”

“Would you want to go with them?”

It was a question Matt has been asking himself for the past year, one that he could not find the answer to. Hearing it from someone else’s mouth made it somewhat easier to answer, as if he knew what to say all this time. “I want to... but lola and tito would be sad if I do. They’re already really sad after what happened to my mom and dad. If I also go, then they’re going to be really, really sad. I don’t think I want that.”

The kid’s eyes lightened up, if only a little. That same question must have been on his mind for quite some time as well. “I don’t want to go home yet,” he said.

“‘I’m sleeping over at the mausoleum tonight.” His words were definitely not something you would expect to hear from anyone, and Matt only realized how weird it was after the kid looked at him with intense curiosity. His eyes zeroed in on Matt as if this was also the first time in a while that he had looked at someone else’s face.

“I’m Morgan, by the way.” He tried to stand up only to fall on his knees, weak and his eyes fluttering as he was about to pass out. Matt caught him just in time, but he had to let go of the umbrella, and now they were both wet in the disappearing rain.

“Are you hungry?” Matt said. “I have snacks in my bag. It’s mostly chips and cookies plus that sugary drink my uncle doesn’t want me to drink but it helps to keep me up at night. Oh, I think I have sandwiches too. My lola makes the best sandwiches. It’s with the spread she uses. She makes them herself from her own plants. She has this whole garden at the greenhouse at the back of our house. It’s like a jungle there.”

Morgan stared at him, again full of innocent curiosity. “You talk a lot.” It could have been an insult, but Morgan smiled at him.

“It’s been a while.” Matt smiled back.

Gray clouds continued to loom overhead, ominous as they remained. But at least the rain has stopped for now, giving Matt some room to breathe.