October 19, Saturday

I MADE my way to the graveyard, notebook clutched to my chest. Part of me felt guilty for the sense of relief at Sawyer's absence. His reservist duty had called him away for the weekend, sparing me from the awkward dance we'd been doing since our almost-romance.

I settled onto my usual bench, the cool stone seeping through the fabric of my jeans. The graveyard was peaceful today, the only sound the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Perfect writing weather.

I had just put pen to paper when a scratchy voice broke the silence. "Mornin', Graveyard Girl."

I looked up to see Muriel, the old forager, her gnarled hands clutching her ever-present walking stick. Today, she wore a patchwork coat that looked handmade.

"Good morning, Muriel," I replied, forcing a smile. Something about the old woman always set me on edge.

Muriel's rheumy eyes scanned the graveyard, a knowing smirk on her weathered face. "Good pickings today," she muttered, more to herself than to me.

I watched, fascinated and slightly horrified, as she made her way to Rose's empty grave. Without hesitation, Muriel swung her legs over the side and dropped down into the open vault.

"Muriel!" I gasped, jumping to my feet. "What are you doing?"

Her cackle echoed from the grave. "What's it look like, girl? I'm foraging."

I approached cautiously, peering down into the vault. Muriel was on her hands and knees, plucking small, pale mushrooms from the corners of the cement box.

"You can't just... go into people's graves," I sputtered.

Muriel looked up at me, amusement dancing in her cloudy eyes. "Ain't nobody using it at the moment, is there? Might as well put it to good use."

A shiver ran down my spine. "But it's... disrespectful, isn't it?"

The old woman snorted. "Girl, you're too caught up in all this." She waved a gnarled hand, encompassing the graveyard. "It's just dirt and stone. Ain't nothing to be afraid of here."

"I'm not afraid," I protested. "If I was, I wouldn't spend so much time here."

Muriel's knowing gaze seemed to see right through me. "Then why you jumping at shadows and watching your back all the time?"

I blinked, taken aback by her perception. "I just... there's been a lot of strange things going on lately."

"Hmph," Muriel grunted, returning to her mushroom harvesting. "Take it from an old woman—it ain't the dead you need to worry about. It's the living that'll cause you trouble."

Her words sent a chill through me, reminding me of Tilda's warnings and the strange rituals I'd witnessed. "Muriel," I said hesitantly, "do you know what happened to Rose's body? Why the grave is empty?"

Muriel paused, fixing me with a stare that seemed to pierce right through to my soul. "Now that's an interesting question, ain't it?" She cocked her head to one side. "But are you sure Rose was ever here to begin with?"

"There was a funeral."

The old woman just shrugged, a secretive smile playing on her lips. "Lots of things in this town ain't what they seem, Graveyard Girl. Best remember that."

With a grunt, Muriel hauled herself to her feet, her bag now bulging with mushrooms. "Give me a hand out of here, would you?"

I reached down, grasping her surprisingly strong hands and helping her climb out of the vault.

"Thanks, dearie," she said, patting my cheek with a calloused hand. "You take care now."

Muriel turned and shuffled away, her patchwork coat fluttering in the breeze. As she disappeared among the headstones, I could hear her voice carrying on the wind, singing an old folk song I didn't recognize.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at Rose's empty grave. Muriel's words echoed in my mind, adding yet another layer to the mystery surrounding me.

It occurred to me I was spending way too much time in the graveyard.

When had it become a place I needed to be?