The Friend from the Graveyard: After My Husband Vanished, My Mother-in-Law’s Hatred Forced Me and My…

Friend from the Graveyard

One evening, my husband popped out to the corner shop and never came back. For the past five years, wed been living with his mother in her old terrace with our two kids.

The next morning, I turned up at the police station to file a missing person report, but the officer behind the desk told me they couldnt take anything until hed been gone for three days. So I did what they said, and filed the report.

That was three years ago now.

Every single day, I keep hoping to hear the front door and see him walk in again. Before he vanished, we lived with his mother who, truth told, had never been fond of me you could say she quietly despised me. But after he disappeared, she completely lost her grip. She even started telling the neighbours that Id had lovers whod murdered her son and dumped him in the local quarry.

I tried to ignore her vicious lies, hoping shed come to her senses. But things only got worse. Yes, theres a massive quarry outside town, and, yes, some men noticed me, but I never even considered having an affair my family always came first.

Life with my mother-in-law just kept getting worse, squabbling over teacups left in the wrong place, or the spoon not facing the right way. One day, Id had enough and started looking for ways to swap the flat.

Dont think Ill let you get a nice flat out of this! she sneered at me one evening. Dont even dream of it, you murderer!

Every time a flat swap came up, shed sabotage it. If it was on the third floor, her legs were too bad. If it was on the ground floor, the local kids will wake me up partying all night. If it was a nice second floor, the area was too rough or too far from the shops. Nothing pleased her.

Finally, a spot opened up directly across from us: second floor, same neighbourhood, shops close by. Perfect or so I thought. She refused again. Ill see the windows where my son disappeared. Never!

She drove me to breaking point. I just wanted peace, for the kids sake. In the end, desperate, I found an old ground floor flat right on the edge of the cemetery. It was all I could afford.

We left the flat and my mother-in-law behind like sworn enemies. Youd never have guessed wed lived under the same roof for so long. She made it clear she didnt care a jot about her grandkids. She didnt care that now, instead of a playground, theyd look out of their window at gravestones every day or hear funeral marches drifting through the wall.

Still, I had no choice but to try and settle in. First thing I did was buy the thickest fabric I could and sewed up heavy curtains didnt fancy watching hearses all day. After hanging the curtains, we carried on, living almost in darkness.

A month went by. One morning while making porridge for the kids, I heard a loud clatter in the hallway. I went to investigate and found my neighbour in a heap on the stairs, moaning and clutching her ankle. Her shopping had spilled all across the landing. I helped her to her flat, then gathered up her groceries. When I came back, she was sitting there weeping.

I offered to ring for a doctor, but she refused and insisted her tears had nothing to do with the pain.

This place is cursed, she blurted out, rubbing her eyes. Theres always something going wrong around here. Anyone who lives by the cemetery has bad luck every single day, I swear.

I tried to reassure her, saying she was only imagining things, and told her Id been here a month myself things werent that bad, apart from the daily funeral processions. You get used to anything.

She just shook her head. I wont say any more. Youll find out for yourself soon enough.

And, sure enough, bad luck did seem to follow right on cue. First my son dropped a dumbbell on his foot and wound up with a plaster cast. Next, my daughter started having stomach pains turned out shed got gastritis.

But the worst happened a week later.

One night I woke suddenly to a strange scraping sound, like fingernails scratching at the glass. I glanced at the clock 2 a.m. exactly. Some force seemed to draw me to the window. I gently pulled the curtain back and nearly jumped out of my skin.

A woman about my own age stood outside in the glow of the streetlamp, her face pale and bluish, twisted in a cruel smile. She stared up at me, silent, her expression both mocking and forlorn.

Terrified, I couldnt scream, couldnt move I just stood there, gripping the curtain. The woman slowly turned and walked towards the cemetery, vanishing between the gates. I barely slept a wink after that, heart thumping until dawn.

All the next day I couldnt think of anything else. I was too nervous even to tell anyone theyd surely think Id lost the plot.

By midday, I came up with what seemed a reasonable explanation: perhaps my mother-in-law had hired someone to frighten us out of our new flat, even now. Or maybe it was some undertakers scheme, hoping to buy the flat cheap for their business.

But after that night, it became impossible to put the string of disasters down to bad luck. Only two days later, I was told at work Id been made redundant no care for my children or my situation. It was sign this form, or get the sack.

I wrote my own resignation. Two days after I got my final pay packet, I realised on the bus home Id had my purse with all my money left stolen from my bag. I burst into tears.

In desperation, I picked up my wedding rings, stared at them for a long time, then headed to the nearest pawn shop. They offered me next to nothing. I left, vowing to try my luck selling them elsewhere.

Outside, I spotted a man with a cardboard sign, Buying gold. I showed him the rings. He offered a bit more than the pawnbroker, so I agreed, tucking the cash into my coat pocket.

Just as I turned for the bus stop, a young lad raced past and dropped a wrapped bundle on the pavement. I hesitated, called out, but hed already disappeared. When I picked up the bundle, I found it was a wad of fifty pound notes.

At that moment, a woman in a headscarf appeared: Look what weve found! she cried loudly, snatching the money from my hands. Lets keep quiet, dont go to the police they just pocket it themselves. Lets split it up!

She peeled half off the pile, thrust the rest into my hands, and hurried away.

Shaken, I shoved the notes in my pocket. As ashamed as I felt, I admit my heart leapt I needed the money so badly.

But joy didnt last. Round the next corner, the same young man stood waiting, now with a huge bald bloke holding a cricket bat. They came up to me, the lad accusing me of finding and stealing his parcel.

All I could do was hand over the cash. Thats not all of it! he scowled.

They didnt care about my story. They called me a thief, said Id already given half to accomplices. I protested, but looked guilty and panicked. In the end, they took every penny Id got for the wedding rings.

I stumbled home in tears, remembering what my neighbour said about the house bringing nothing but misfortune. Id never felt so rotten.

That night, again the scratching woke me. Horrified, my feet nonetheless carried me to the window. There was the same ghastly woman outside, staring at me.

Had it not been for the children sleeping in the next room, Id have screamed my head off. Clamping my hand over my mouth, I stood paralysed while we looked at each other. After a long moment, her dead face seemed almost softer, gentler. Then she turned, headed towards the cemetery, and disappeared through the gate. I slid to the floor and stayed there, shaking until morning.

I just couldnt believe all this was really happening to me.

The next morning, there was a knock at the door. My neighbour handed me the council tax bill. She told me she was off to pay hers and asked if she should settle mine, too. That was it I broke down sobbing in front of her, blurted out everything: the rows with my mother-in-law, the kids illnesses, my husband, how much I missed our little family, losing my job, my empty wallet. My neighbour listened in silence, then pulled me into a tight hug.

When Id calmed a little, I told her about the woman who kept appearing at my window in the night.

“Right,” she said. “Come on, wash your face. You need to see something.”

In ten minutes, we were walking through the gravestones. She led me to a rather neglected grave, and I stopped when I saw the photograph on the headstone. It was the very woman whod been haunting me.

Is it her? my neighbour asked.

I nodded, unable to speak.

She quietly took my hand and led me away.

Once we were back in her flat, she confessed she too had seen the womans ghost. After her own encounter, her son died in an accident, then her husband left her. Shed fallen seriously ill, and lot of bad things happened.

After that, several days passed. The ghost stopped appearing at my window. Yet, a strange compulsion began building in me I desperately wanted to visit her grave. The urge grew stronger each day.

Finally, I gave in and went to the cemetery during the bright midday sun, no longer afraid. I found her grave, stood quietly by the railing.

It was overgrown, brambles obscuring the headstone, as though nobody ever visited. I weeded the patch, gathered fallen leaves, carefully avoiding the photo.

When I did look, she seemed friendlier by daylight even beautiful. Her arched eyebrows were like gulls wings, her features delicate, the dress she wore tight over her bust. I wanted to ask her, Whatve I done wrong? Why do you appear to me? Do you think Im happy?

Suddenly, the words just poured out of me. What I said, I barely remember maybe I simply told her about all my troubles and pain.

Anyone seeing me then would have been sure Id gone mad, sat there chatting to a gravestone. But with every word, I felt relief, lighter and lighter inside.

Before I left, I said goodbye to her, almost as to an old friend united by shared grief hers was being denied a life, whereas mine was losing hope while still alive.

That night, I dreamed of her. She wasnt the terrifying spirit Id seen before, but a dignified woman from her photograph.

She sat by my bed and spoke quietly: You havent any guilt on your soul. Remember this. Listen now, and things will change for you. Your husbands in trouble over gambling debts sold into virtual slavery, drugged and forced to work somewhere up north. Hes still alive, but theres no way back for him. Youll never see him again. Sell this flat to the funeral parlour, move far away, and Ill help you. Youll meet another man, a good one hell love your children as his own. Goodbye.

With that, she faded like smoke.

I awoke crying, her words etched on my mind the tone of her voice, her lace dress, the green stone of her brooch, even the smell of damp earth and fallen leaves seemed to linger in the room long after.

Three days later, someone from a local undertakers firm turned up, wanting to buy the flat for their new office. Prophetic words, I thought, already coming true.

I agreed on the spot and headed straight to the estate agents office. By the end of the week, I had an offer for another flat, almost the same money, in one of the best parts of town.

Now, here we are, living in a lovely neighbourhood. Sure enough, I soon met a wonderful man and he truly cares for my children.

It all unfolded just as my friend from the graveyard had promised.

And Ill never forget her.