(A multi-part fictionalized account of the truth)
Jason passed through layers of the cemetery as he walked, and the years peeled away. Polished marble stones darkened, becoming coarse, as he returned to the 1940's and 30's. Then, he crossed over the turn of the century, and the stone turned sandy and white. Jason slowed. He loved the Victorian engravings, even the ones weathered so smooth he could no longer read them.
Despite stopping a few times to trace the lettering with his fingers, Jason soon arrived at the darkened windows of the old records building. Such an oddity. The narrow brick walls defied customary proportions. Jason's mind strained to picture thousands upon thousands of interment records squeezed under such a tiny roof.
But the true purpose of his visit lay nearby. The abandoned carriage road. Remnants of broken pavement and loose stone emerged from the absolute dark of the forest. Jason glanced down. The lane faded to grass before reaching the sweeping curve of the modern road where he stood. If not for those couple of yards, the connection would have been made. Only a couple of steps, really.
The past was not buried in Grandview. It lived on, close enough to touch. With a few brave strides off the road, you could meet it on its own terms.
Jason strode forward onto the lane, then the stone, then the splintered pavement, and was swallowed the blackness. The stars snuffed out, and he was utterly alone.
On to Part VI
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