“I don’t want to go in there. Cemeteries creep me out,” said Michael
“It’s a graveyard, not a cemetery. Come on. It’s just a short-cut and you’ll see it might even be interesting.”
Heather led hear boyfriend through the iron gate of the graveyard adjacent to the ancient village church. The worn gravel pathway wound along a low moss covered stone fence toward another iron gate similar to the one they’d both just passed through. Heather stopped about half way down the path and turned to Michael.
“Take a look at this,” she said pointing to a pair of modern looking headstones. “There is always a story in places like this.”
Reluctantly Michael looked over and noticed what grabbed her interest. There was a pair of small headstones cut from polished granite. On one of them was the inscription:
“Jonathan Marcus Jacobs”
16 June 1972 – 30 March 1996
Beside the first one was an identical headstone with the engraving:
“Alexander Scott Jacobs”
3 February 1991 – 30 March 1996
There was a small collection of rusting “matchbox” cars lined up on the small strip of cement below the headstone.
“Whatever it is, I’m not sure I like this story,” said Michael.
“Probably a car accident. So sad,” said Heather as she turned and slipped her arm around Michael’s waste. “Let’s get out of here.”
In the evening Michael was sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop.
“Listen to this,” he said to Heather with a tone suggesting he had a point to prove.
Michael read from the obit he found on line. “Jonathan M. Jacobs was found dead of a self inflicted gunshot wound at his residence in Godmanchester, Huntingdon Cambridgeshire. It is presumed the single parent took his own life shortly after learning that his only son succumbed to leukemia earlier that morning.”
“Did it say if he left a note?” asked Heather.
“No. Would it matter?”
“No, I guess not. I wish you hadn’t looked that stuff up,” she said.
“I wish you hadn’t insisted on a detour through the graveyard.”
Next week’s prompt – “Myths”