Nathan has spent so much time, lately, among the dead Kennicutts, he feels almost at home here among their chattel. But he finds not even a single gravestone to read; he finds no sign of graves here at all. He stares down at the grass as if waiting for a hand to reach upward, or for a voice to call out from the ground. He wonders how they marked the graves, if they did. Maybe with wooden crosses, as in Western movies. Maybe the evidence is here, unseen, beneath the grass. He waits. The others are watching, holding their breath.
Retreating carefully, he joins them. He is acutely aware of his feet. He has a feeling the graves are crowded together and one must be careful. Though he is aware of no fear, he is relieved when he clears the fence and stands with the others again. They are gaping at him as if he has done something extraordinary. "There's nothing in there, you can't tell where the graves are."
"They were slaves," Roy says.
"But there's a fence. Why would they put up a fence if they wouldn't even mark the graves?"
"This is creepy" Randy looks around the dark grove of trees as if waiting for one of the shadows to begin to move.
"It's getting pretty dark." Burke reaches for his flask again. It is almost too dark to watch him drink.
"A ghost will haunt you in the day time just like it will at night," Randy says, "that's what my Aunt Ida told me one time. She says it's a superstition that a ghost will only get you at night. A ghost will get you in the daytime just as quick. If it's a real ghost." He pauses. "But I still don't want to stand around here."
They study their whereabouts carefully, for any signs of suspicious movement. But the graves are still, and the air is still, and the leaves on the branches of the trees are still. The evening weighs down on them. They move reverently away, and no one says anything at all until they reach the stone bam.
"I bet this place is haunted too," Burke says. No one asks why he thinks so. He sips from the narrow bottle again, this time offering to no one.
Dusk passes to twilight. The ruin of the farmyard looks different now. Vast as the shadow of a mountain, the mansion exudes an air of vigilance, as if there are eyes at every window, peering through the shutters. To reach their campsite they will have to dare a walk through inky darkness close to the house, through high grass where they cannot be certain where they are stepping. Amid the wild cries of cicadas, bats, distant owls, they drift forward uncertainly.
"I wish we had a flashlight," Randy says.
"I brought one but I left it in my pack," Roy answers.
"You guys ain't scared, are you?"
"No, I just wish I could see what I'm stepping on." But a slight tremor in Randy's voice betrays him.
They fall silent. The night's harsh chorus rises. Nathan steps toward the shadow. It is safe, in the darkness, to pause near Roy, to inhale his familiar smells. They are close, for a moment, in the overgrown yard; they are almost touching, and no one can see.
"Let me know if you get scared, Nathan." Burke's voice is full of scorn.
Nathan steps past Roy, into the shadow of the big house. He refuses to turn. The others can follow, or not. He vanishes into the blackest shadow of his life.
The cool darkness lends his motion a feeling of gliding. He is a fish slipping through water, he remains very calm. Soon he can hear the others following, and he smiles to think he has gone first, even ahead of Roy. Breathtaking, to walk so close the house, to slide through air as if it were water, headed toward vague light that is more and more like mist or cloud. To step past tangled branches, to lift them aside. Who knows how many eyes are there, watching from the black space around him? He listens, and it seems to him the silence of the house engulfs the sound of the others; now he can only hear the ringing emptiness of the house beside him. The emptiness beckons him, as clearly as if it is calling his name. Again comes the sensation that the passage of time has been slowed or stopped. That he will never leave this darkness.
He is hardly aware of walking anymore. The house breathes beside him. His heart is pounding.
When he bursts into the twilight of the yard and can see again, he finds himself surprised, as if he had expected to be blind like that for a much longer time. He is gasping; he has been holding his breath. He moves forward, taking gulps of air. Overhead, stars slash and burn in a fiery sky, early night. The other boys emerge behind him. They are breathless, too, as they rush toward the creek. The bulk of the house waits, silent and cold beneath a crown of stars.
The three close on Nathan, and there is something brotherly in their buffets of affection. "That was great," Randy says. "Jesus."
"I could swear something was touching me," Roy says.
"Me too."
"It was like there was something in the house looking at us. I could feel it."
"We should go in there," Burke says. "We should go in the house."
Silence.
