Mist enveloped the gravestones, dull grey under the bloated moon.
The old wooden gate creaked as Dan slowly pushed it open. “Should we be doing this?”
“You said you wanted somewhere private,” said Angie, holding tight to his arm.
She was dressed all in black, like the night, long coat waving gently in the breeze. He felt awkward next to her and despite the cold, his hands were clammy. He hoped his rapidly beating heart wouldn’t give him away.
Dan hesitated but Angie brushed his cheek and whispered softly, “You said you’d do anything for me.”
“It’s cold.” He only had a thin coat and Angie was pulling it off his shoulders. Her long black hair and Kohl-rimmed eyes suited the night perfectly and as she bent forward to kiss his neck he felt a tingle, then her hot breath in his ear.
“I can help with that.” She turned with a devilish grin, took hold of his hand and led him though the stones.
Leaves scrunched under his feet as she led him deeper into the graveyard, away from the church, away from any light save for the rapidly vanishing moon, now partially obscured by thick, black clouds.
“Are you sure about this?” he mumbled.
Angie shot him a glance. “You said you were a creature of the night, like me.” She turned, pulled him close with her hand through his hair, and led him onward.
She stopped by an elaborate grave with an ornate headstone overlooking a rectangular marble slab. Tiny gargoyle heads looked down from the top corners in mute judgement. The mottled block beneath, glinting in the moonlight, was clear of dust and leaves, as if immune to the entropic decay of that dank late October night.
Its smooth, flat surface beckoned them.
“Here?”
“Here,” she replied, gently pulling him down.
He expected the marble to be cool to the touch, but it was warm. That doesn’t seem right, he thought before Angie distracted him with a kiss.
Something caught his eye. He shifted, pulled away. “There’s some writing here.”
She sighed. “There’s always writing on these things.”
“There wasn’t before.” She moved back in for another kiss, but Dan had a mystery to solve. “’Here lie the lovers, Jacob and Lizzy. Condemned by their wickedness to a restless eternity’,” he read. “There’s a date here too—May 1649.”
“Stop looking at the gravestone and start looking at me.”
Angie slipped her shoes off and edged out of her coat and his attention shifted. Then her arms were round his neck and, together, they embraced the slab’s cool comfort.
“Wait, there’s more,” said Dan, looking down at the slab. “In small print around the edge.” He was sure that hadn’t been there before, either.
She rubbed his neck and peered at the inscription. “’When the moon is full and the sky is clear, one lingering kiss will bring us here’,” she read, lowering her voice in an effort to sound sultry.
A gust of wind ruffled Dan’s hair. “What’s that mean?”
“Who cares,” she said, turning him over and silencing him with her lips.
Neither of them noticed as the mist began to rise.
***
Close by, as the mist cleared, so did the fog clouding Lizzy’s head. Thoughts began to coalesce into long-forgotten patterns and she began to wake from her long, cold dream. Her fingers, intertwined with Jacob’s, began to tingle. Yet all was dark, all was quiet, all was still.
Except. The faintest of rumbles, from above. Movement. Slow. Unhurried. Why could she feel it?
She started to remember. How long had it been? Had the last, desperate ploy to stave off death’s cloying embrace actually worked? A potion, laced with sorcery, passed from lip to lip as their nemesis approached, sword held high.
Lovers. She smiled through lips which existed only in memory. She sensed Jacob beside her, cold, silent and immobile.
Something tugged deep within her and she felt herself pulled upwards, through the ground, through the stone, into the moon-bright night. With a rush came sensation. Light movement, feeling! And cold, so cold. But Jacob. Where was Jacob?
There was someone underneath her, his eyes wide and startled.
“What was that?” he said.
“Nothing,” she said, to not-Jacob. This man—this stranger—would have been perfect: young, with an unruly mop of dark hair framing pin sharp eyes and smooth features. But this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Jacob, her Jacob, lay elsewhere.
He was looking at her with suspicion in his eyes, as if he sensed something.
She knew what she had to do.
The kiss was long and passionate. At first he resisted, but her tongue danced round his lips and he gave in to the insistent intensity of her ardor. Above, the cloud, which had partially obscured the moon ever since Lizzy had risen, drifted away, bathing the grave and its occupants in silvery moonlight.
The tug was weak at first, but strengthened as the kiss went on. Lizzy could feel it, a vibration from deep below, tethering him to the spot. And then the kiss intensified, as he grew in confidence and poise.
They broke for air.
“Hello, Lizzy,” said Jacob.
They rose quickly, lest the spell that had saved them dragged them once more to their eternal rest, leaving behind only lingering traces of sweat and cheap perfume.
Hand in hand they walked towards the moon.
***
Dan emerged from the kiss in silent darkness. Yet he could feel something—someone—close by. Had he passed out? Was he asleep? He tried to suppress his rising panic. Angie, where was Angie?
The ground rumbled and their bones shifted. Dan’s clasp on Angie tightened and their bony skulls touched, just where their lips should be. As his consciousness faded, Dan remembered the graveyard inscription.
But by then Lizzy and Jacob were long gone, and the spell lay dormant, waiting for the next unsuspecting graveyard lovers.
Mark Bilsborough lives and writes in England, surrounded by castles, forests and film studios. Naturally, these all creep into his writing. Most of his published work is science fiction and fantasy and he can be found at markbilsborough.com