Darkness is rising

This is one of my old stories but very appropriate for Halloween ūüéÉūüėä

Someone had the decency to unlock the sun for an hour yesterday.
It is hard to imagine now when rain and hail are tumbling down. I was about to end my walk as the sun went down and dusk took over. I had some concerns because of the growing darkness.
Should I walk through the bog in the darkness or across the cemetery? Strange stories passed through me as I thought of the cemetery.

Once my brother took a short-cut across a cemetery late at night:

He entered our living room, pale with fear. His age in mind the experience must have been fierce. He was a teenager, and at that age it is inappropriate to be afraid. He was sure that he had stumbled upon a corpse on a small church path. My parents were sure that there was another explanation and they calmed him down so he was able to fall asleep.

Early the next morning my father went to the cemetery with my brother, and they did find a man. He wasn’t dead, but lacked a place to sleep. That finding brought my brother’s mind in a state of relief, but the cemetery was no longer an option for a short-cut.

An artist I once knew worked in a cemetery where he used an old gate house as a studio. He told me lots of stories one evening over a bottle of wine. I have never been able to forget this one in particular.
We sat by the fireplace and actually the weather outside was very similar to the weather in his story. He began the story describing how terrible tired and exhausted he was:

I’d been working late every night with the aim to get my last painting done for the opening. One night it became very late. Sometimes I get so tired that I have to pull myself together to go to bed, and I wasn‚Äôt even home yet.
So I turned off the lights and locked the door. When I went out in the storm and rain to find the car, I almost lost my breath, for it was bitterly cold.

A short stay in the wind combined with a break caused me to listen more attentively. Yes, there it was again! Help me, help !!!

It was difficult to determine the direction. The rain, the darkness and the wind created shadows where there usually were open spaces. After a while I decided to walk into the darker section of the cemetery until suddenly I saw a strange thing.
From one of the open graves prepared for the next day funeral I sensed a movement. Carefully approaching I could see two hands cling to the edge of an open grave.

At this point in his storytelling, he made a little stay and I could swear that there was a shiver running through him. He continued: I found myself in a state where my adrenaline whizz around in my body. I didn’t know whether I should turn and run, or just let myself be completely frozen with fear because I was nearly there already.

The rough terrifying voice tore me out of my trance by screaming in my ears: Heeeelp! Help me! I saw the man down in the grave. Two big scared eyes midst of all the mud, and a pair of hands which reached out like a child who wants to be lifted up.
I stood and gazed at him. It felt like hours. Then I recognised him. He was a slightly tipsy gentleman who often take his lunch on one of the benches, if not every day and in a liquid form.

Close to the grave hang a water hose. I tied the hose onto an iron pipe and handed the other end to the man in the grave.
The exhausted man was rescued from the cold grave, and after a drink and some dry clothes, he told his story about how he fell down in the grave by an accident.

But I was still considering which way to choose. I looked at the bog and the growing darkness and my thoughts went to Frodo, Sam, and Gollum when they went through the Dead Marshes on the way to Mordor.
I chose the cemetery ūü§ěūüėä

The Cemetery Mariebjerg

Those who dwell among the beauties and mysteries of the Earth are never alone or weary of life.
Rachel Carson

I wouldn’t dwell too much here when the night comes but now with the sun reflected in the frost, the cemetery is very beautiful. It’s always a pleasure to take a stroll among the huge trees and corridors.
Mariebjerg Cemetery is designated as one of the ten most significant works of architecture in Denmark. Mariebjerg was built in the years 1926-1936 under the direction of architect G. N. Brandt.

Note

Mariebjerg Cemetery

When darkness is growing

Den danske udgave af ‘sp√łgelseshistorien’ ligger under billederne!

Someone had the decency to unlock the sun for an hour yesterday. It is hard to imagine now when rain and hail are tumbling down. I continued my walk as the sun went down and dusk took over. The growing darkness made me do some considerations. Should I go through the marsh in the dark or over the cemetery.

Strange stories passed through me as I thought of the cemetery. Once my brother took a short-cut across a cemetery late at night.

He entered our living room very pale with fear. His age in mind the experience must have been deafening. He was a teenager, and at that age it is inappropriate to be afraid. He was sure that he had stumbled upon a corpse on a small church path. My parents were sure that there was another explanation and they calmed him so much that he was able to fall asleep.

Early the next morning my father went to the cemetery with my brother, and they did find a man. He wasn’t dead, but lacked a place to sleep. That finding brought my brother’s mind in a state of relief, but the cemetery was no longer an option to a short-cut.

An artist I once knew worked on a cemetery in a little rented house containing an atelier. He told me lots of stories one evening over a bottle of wine. I have never been able to forget this one in particular: We sat by the fire and actually the weather outside was very similar to the weather in his story. He began the story describing how terrible tired and exhausted he was:

I had worked late every evening with the aim to get my last painting done for the opening. One night it became very late. Sometimes I get so tired that I have to pull myself together to go to bed, and I wasn’t even home yet. So I turned off the lights and locked the door. When I went out in the storm and rain to find the car that was parked in the cemetery, I almost lost my breath, for it was bitterly cold.

A short stay in the wind combined with a break caused me to listen more attentively. Yes, there it was again! Help me, help !!!

It was difficult to determine the direction. The rain, the darkness and the wind created shadows where there usually were open spaces. After a while I decided to walk into the darker section of the cemetery until suddenly I saw a strange thing. From one of the open graves prepared for the next day funeral I sensed a movement. Carefully approaching I could see two hands cling to the edge of an open grave.

At this point in his storytelling, he made a little stay and I could swear that there was a shiver running through him. He continued:¬†I found myself in a state where my adrenaline whiz around in my body. I didn’t know whether I should turn and run, or just let myself be completely frozen with fear because I’m nearly there already.

The rough terrifying voice tore me out of my trance by screaming in my ears: Heeeelp! Help me! I saw the man down in the tomb. Two big scared eyes midst of all the mud, and a pair of hands which reached out like a child who wants to be lifted up. I stood and gazed at him. It felt like hours. Then I recognized him. He is a slightly tipsy gentleman who often takes his lunch on one of the benches if not every day and it is in a liquid form.

Close to the grave hangs a water hose. I tied the hose onto an iron pipe and reaches the other end to the man in the tomb. The poor exhausted man comes in from the cold and get some food, a drink and some dry clothes telling his story about getting dizzy in the cold.

Still considering which way to choose I looked at the march the growing darkness and my thoughts went to Frodo, Sam, and Gollum when they went through the Dead Marshes on the way to Mordor. I choose the cemetery.

Nogen havde den anst√¶ndighed at l√•se solen ud en time f√łr den gik ned igen. Det er sv√¶rt at forestille sig nu, hvor regn og hagl v√¶lter ned.
Min vandretur blev pr√¶get af solens sidste str√•ler, mens skumringen langsomt tog over. Det tiltagende m√łrke fik mig til at overveje f√łlgende muligheder. Skulle jeg g√• gennem mosen i m√łrke eller over kirkeg√•rden?

Mærkelige historier passerede gennem mig, da jeg tænkte på kirkegården. Min bror tog engang en genvej over kirkegården sent om aftenen.

Han tr√•dte ind i vores stue meget bleg af frygt. Hans alder taget i betragtning har oplevelsen v√¶ret skr√¶kindjagende. Han var teenager, og i den alder er det ‘uhensigtsm√¶ssigt’ at v√¶re bange. Han var sikker p√•, at han havde snublet over et lig p√• en lille kirkesti. Mine for√¶ldre var overbeviste om, at der var en anden forklaring, og de beroligede ham s√• meget, at han var i stand til at falde i s√łvn.

Tidligt n√¶ste morgen gik min far sammen med min bror hen til kirkeg√•rden, og de fandt en mand. Han var ikke d√łd, men manglede et sted at sove. Denne konstatering bragte min brors sind i en tilstand af lettelse, men kirkeg√•rden var ikke l√¶ngere en mulighed som genvej.

En kunstner, jeg kendte engang arbejdede på en kirkegård i en lille lejet hus, der indeholdt et atelier. Han fortalte mig masser af historier en aften over en flaske vin. Der er én historie jeg har haft svært ved at glemme:
Vi sad ved pejsen, og vejret udenfor var meget lig vejret i hans historie. Han begyndte historien med at beskrive, hvor frygtelig træt og udmattet han var:

Jeg havde arbejdet sent hver aften med det form√•l at f√• min sidste maleri gjort f√¶rdigt til ferniseringen. En nat blev det meget sent. Nogle gange bliver jeg s√• tr√¶t, at jeg er n√łdt til at tage mig sammen for at g√• i seng, s√•dan var det ogs√• den forf√¶rdelige aften. Jeg afsluttede derfor mit arbejde, slukkede lyset og l√•ste d√łren. Da jeg gik ud i stormen og regnen for at finde min bil, der holdt parkeret p√• kirkeg√•rden, tabte jeg n√¶sten pusten, det var bidende koldt.

Et kort ophold i vinden kombineret med en pause fik mig til at lytte mere opmærksomt. Jo, der var det igen! Hjææælp mig, hjælp !!!

Det var vanskeligt at bestemme retningen. Regnen, m√łrket og vinden skabte skygger, hvor der normalt var √•bne rum. Efter et stykke tid besluttede jeg at g√• ind i den m√łrkere del af kirkeg√•rden, indtil jeg pludselig s√• en m√¶rkelig ting. Fra en af de √•bne grave forberedt til den n√¶ste dags begravelse fornemmede jeg en bev√¶gelse. Jeg n√¶rmede mig forsigtigt. Nu kunne jeg se et par h√¶nder klamre sig til kanten af en √•ben grav.

P√• dette tidspunkt i historiefort√¶llingen, lavede han en lille ophold, og jeg vil sv√¶rge p√•, at der l√łb en gysen gennem ham.
Han fortsatte: Jeg befandt mig i en tilstand, hvor mit adrenalin suste rundt i min krop. Jeg vidste ikke, om jeg skulle vende om og l√łbe, eller bare lade mig stivne af frygt. Den tilstand var n√¶sten opn√•et.

Den ru skr√¶mmende stemme rev mig ud af min trance ved at skrige i mine √łrer: Hj√¶√¶√¶√¶lp! Hj√¶lp mig! Jeg s√• p√• manden nede i graven. To store bange √łjne midt i al mudderet, og et par h√¶nder, der rakte ud som et barn, der √łnsker at blive l√łftet op. Jeg stod og kiggede p√• ham. Det f√łltes som timer. S√• genkendte jeg ham. Han var en lidt bedugget herre, der ofte indtog sin frokost p√• en af b√¶nkene, hvis ikke hver dag, og det er i en flydende form.

T√¶t p√• graven hang en vandslange. Jeg bandt slangen p√• et jernr√łr og rakte den anden ende til manden nede i graven. Jeg fik stakkels udmattede mand op fra graven og ind i varmen. Her blev han forsynet med mad, en dram og noget t√łrt t√łj. Han fortalte til geng√¶ld hans historie om, hvor svimmel han var blevet i kulden.

Jeg overvejer stadigv√¶k, hvilken vej jeg skal v√¶lge. Jeg kigger p√• mosen, det tiltagende m√łrke og mine tanker g√•r til Frodo, Sam, og Gollum, da de gik gennem the Dead Marshes p√• vejen til Mordor.. Jeg v√¶lger kirkeg√•rden.