The Graveyard Game

This is a piece I wrote for a 24 hour short story contest sponsored by Writer’s Weekly in October .

I actually won something in this contest...a door prize, drawn at random, but hey....it's something!


A Red Pontiac swerved into the cemetery, nearly toppling one of the marble pillars holding the sign which read Beekman's Grove Memorial Garden. It came to an abrupt stop throwing a slushy mix of dirt and snow onto assorted headstones in the front row.
Jolene emerged from the vehicle leaving the door open and engine running. She headed up the hill to Soldier's Circle.
Seconds later another car entered the cemetery in the same fashion as Jolene, followed by a Dodge truck. Veins of muddy tire tracks stretched from the main gate to haphazard parking spots on the dirt road.
"Jolene, you ran the stop light on Morgan Street, you cheatin' bitch!" Bobby, who possessed a bellow that could shake the bark from trees, sent his voice toward his sister with javelin-like delivery. He could see her running methodically on the hilltop.
Marianne was helped from the truck by her husband, Duane. She dabbed at her eyes with a balled-up tissue. "Before I do this, I need to see Mama," she said with an unsteady quiver in her voice.
It had only been three days since Darlene Harrell had been interred into the hallowed ground where she spent the last Monday of every May. Honoring the dead on Memorial Day was important. She'd arrive at sunrise with the trunk full of assorted flowers which she arranged the night before. One-by-one she’d visit each of her ancestors, say a short prayer, and leave a small token of love.
An expert on her family's genealogy, Darlene knew where each of her kin was buried. Her yearly routine ended just in time for the Memorial Day service at the Ring of Eternity, a small park inside the cemetery. Jolene, Bobby, and Marianne would grow restless after an hour, insensitive to the reverie of the day, and rebel by annoying their mother.
On Memorial Day, 1972, when Bobby, the oldest, was 9, Darlene invented the Graveyard Game after Bobby and Jolene tied Marianne to the flagpole. "The first one of you to locate your cousin, Stanley Arndt's grave and tell me how old he was when he died will win a prize."
"What's the prize, Mama?" Asked Jolene, engaged along with her siblings, huddling tightly around their mother.
"A shiny 50-cent piece," she said as she pulled it from the bottom of her purse and held it before them. Darlene beamed as her children scattered like mice.
Bobby was the first winner. It took him 45 minutes, reporting that Stanley was 43 when he died. Darlene, alerted to Bobby's discovery by a triumphant "yahoo," came in second. Her answer was a number off, since she couldn't perform subtraction in her head.
The years progressed and the stakes grew higher, sending the Harrells on a yearly frantic search across the cemetery. They played until Bobby turned 17, leaving their game at a three-way tie. The Harrell children had lost interest in the game and complained that they were too old to accompany their mother anymore. "I'm disappointed in all of you," she scolded. "Someday you'll find out how important this day really is."
Attorney Hiram Jenkins issued Darlene's final challenge in a letter offering a bequeath of $5,000 to the one who could return first with the age of Uncle Martin Johns at the time of his death. Darlene had convinced Hiram that while the challenge was cruel, it was necessary. "Those three have fought all their lives and they will continue to fight. I don't have much, but one of my children will get it all."
The pristine snow on the hill was marred only by the bright orange and red leaves that had fallen in the night wind. The graveyard was more beautiful than Jolene had ever seen it, but she couldn't dwell on the beauty around her, however, because she had only moments to decipher the etchings on the gravestone once she found it. She gave a quick glance to check on her siblings. Bobby was circling the graves down the hill while Marianne was laying on top of her mother's grave, digging her fingers into the dirt. On her second pass down the last row she saw the name "Martin" partially covered by snow. Her heart started racing. She ran to the stone and made a swipe through the white covering revealing "Johns." Below it were the dates May 4, 1862-September 25, 1927. Jolene immediately started subtracting. "Sixty-six," she said, "no, no, sixty-five, or is it sixty-four. Oh hell!"
She knew any sudden movements would alert them, so she sprinted toward her car, calculating 1927 minus 1862 in her head. She would check her math on her checkbook calculator while driving to Jenkin's office. She pulled off, throwing a fresh mixture of slush onto another grouping of headstones. In her rearview mirror she saw Bobby running toward Soldier's Circle.
Bobby followed his sister's frantic footsteps in the snow to where they ended. "That one's easy Mama. Sixty-five." Bobby let out jubilant "yahoo," and ran down the hill toward his car. He was sure he'd be the winner, since he had taken a minute from his search to check the gas gauge on Jolene's idling car which was teetering below "E."
Bobby's exuberant cry was disturbing to the peaceful surroundings. Birds flew from the trees, a flock of deer moved deeper into the woods and a chunk of frozen snow fell from a piece of granite, revealing the inscription in its entirety: Martin Johnson.
"Well hon, I guess that about does it," said Duane, kneeling next to his wife, pulling her up from a messy mixture of flowers, snow, and mud. "We better get going."
Marianne dabbed at her cheek with the same tattered tissue. "I didn't care about the money anyway. I want my Mama." Just then, through a blurry mixture of tears she saw it, sitting directly behind her mother's grave: Martin Johns, 1900-1960. "Sixty," she screamed, "Thank you Mama, Sixty!"