Page 23 of Dancing with a Ghost

Several days after our first kiss, I made my way to the graveyard, making an appointment with the curator of the church to look at the parish records. I took the first names I'd found in the journal with me in the hopes I could find them.

"So, what brings you here, young man?" He was old with white hair and a beaming smile.

"I'm looking for any information you have on three airmen to start with. Also, if you know about Ellison Manor when it was a wartime hospital? I'm just doing some research for a friend."

"Ah yes, I remember you calling us. I found some records, but I don't think it'll be what you want. Data from that time is limited. There's actually a gap in our files, which is most unusual. I found this, though." He brought out a map of the graveyard. "What are the names you're looking for?"

I grabbed my notebook out of my bag, flipping to the relevant page.

"Donald Smith, Peter Donahue and Reginald Parker. Those are the names I have. All of them died in December 1942."

He heaved a large, heavy book out of a cabinet, placing it in front of us.

"Let me see." He turned each page slowly, running his finger down each column. It was painstakingly slow, but any attempt to hurry him up was met with a tut.

"Patience, young man. We'll get there. Would you like some tea? I can get some if you would like."

"No, no. It's fine, just the information then I can be on my way."

Ten minutes later, and I had the location of all three graves. Each one was next to each other. No surprise really seeing how they died at a similar time. He'd not been able to give me any further information. He was quite right when he said there was nothing else. Nothing about Ellison Manor.

I didn't know what I expected to find but it wasn't the small square stones set into the ground, each one inscribed with their name, date of birth and date of death. That was it.

It had proved to be a pointless exercise until I had another thought. One that could help in our search for answers.

I knocked again on the door to the vicarage, waiting patiently for the curator.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" He asked walking with me back to the church.

"Not really but I wasn't sure what I was looking for. Can you check one more name for me? Matthias Holmes. This one is 1943, October I think." I didn't need my notepad for this one.

"Of course, let me take a look."

Another few minutes while we went through the same process, him removing the book, running his fingers down the page.

"Ah, yes. Here it is. Died 14th October 1943, interred 15th October. Do you want the plot number for this one too?"

I was stunned, almost lost for words. Did I really want to go visit his grave? Would it make it better or worse to see where he was buried? I hesitated for a moment before finally making my decision.

"Yes, please. I'd like the number."

He gave it to me and the location where it could be found and I walked slowly to the spot he'd given me. Again, just a simple stone.

Matthias Holmes

Born 19th September 1919

Died 14th October 1943

That was it. It was so touching in its simplicity and even though I knew him, could see him, the thought that his body was here beneath the ground made me sad. I bent down and touched the stone. It was cold to the touch, much like Matty's hands.

But here he lay. Here lay the person I'd come to know over the past few weeks. The person I'd kissed, the one that was my kindred soul. A single tear tracked down my cheek and I wiped it away.

Tears wouldn't help anyone, not me nor Matty.

What was important was freeing him of the chains he wore, the shackles that kept him in limbo.

I stood, determined now to make sure that happened.

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