Entry 9: Church Library: Tuesday July 19
I decided not to make a big deal out of the kids playing upstairs in the church. I took the anklet I found and turned it in to the office. The secretary, a Mrs. Mabely, wasn’t there, so I was just going to set it on her desk when the Pastor walked in.
I showed him the anklet. “I just wanted to turn this in to the lost and found or whatever.”
He seemed to freeze in place for a moment, his face going slightly pale. “Where did you get this?”
“I found it upstairs in the rec room closet.”
“What were you doing in the rec room closet?”
“Well, I thought I heard something. Those kids were upstairs again. I saw them in the hallway. I thought they went in the room, but I guess I was mistaken.”
He nodded his head, as if he were in deep thought or reverie and just wanted me to believe he was actually listening. I could tell his mind was elsewhere. Finally, he broke the silence. “Well, you can leave it on Mrs. Mabely’s desk. She’ll take care of it.” Then he walked away towards his study.
I have to admit I almost didn’t leave the anklet on her desk. Pastor Chile’s reaction had given me pause and made me think that something wasn’t quite right. But I left it anyway. Hell, it’s just costume jewelry, nothing more.
After my work was done, I decided to check out the library. I used my key and let myself in. It isn’t as large a room as I thought it would be, but there sure are a lot of books crammed in there. Shelves line every wall, and on every one there’s nothing but ledgers, hardbacks, and other volumes of printed matter.
I pulled a book from one of the shelves. It was a photo album. Emblazoned on the cover were the words “Resurrection 1923-1928”. I flipped through the pages. Nothing seemed familiar except the photos of the church itself. Even in sepia tone it looked brand new. There were pictures of people dressed in their Sunday best. In one photo, I recognized an image of the church’s backyard, where our cottage stood today. There was no mistaking the lay of the land, the woods bordering the property. But the cottage wasn’t there. A cemetery was.
But that couldn’t be right. I must be mistaken. They wouldn’t build a house on top of a cemetery. I’ve read enough ghost stories to tell me that is bad news. Superstition or not, to think I’m sleeping over the graves of someone is enough to freak me out. There’s no way I’m telling Donna. She’ll have a fit.
I closed the book and got another one from the shelf. This one was labeled, “1954-1957”. I flipped to the first page and there it was, staring me right in the face. The playground. I recognized the almost new swings, sliding board, and jungle gym. The sand box wasn’t there, but a few park benches were there in its place.
So, the church did have a playground. And in the 1950’s it was a cheerful place by the looks on the faces of the children playing in the picture. So why nearly fifty years later is this same playground discarded and forgotten, claimed now by the woods? Something must have happened there.
I have a lot more questions now, and I have a feeling it will take forever to piece it all together in the library. That’s why I need to call the historian lady,Mrs. Shiflett. If anyone can help, maybe she can.
By the way, Donna said Susan called this afternoon. She wants to bring the boys up this Saturday. She and Matt are dying to see our comfy little place.
Yep, a comfy little place on top of a graveyard…
+ + + + + + + + +
“Resurrection Diaries” by Paul D Aronson.
Original text copyright 2007.
10th Anniversary Edition. 2017. All Rights Reserved.