a place to die

Hills with roads.  Access to the dead.  All the vehicles travel here because the townspeople want to say their farewells.  Some come back to take care of their own plot.  Others are caring for the plot of a loved one.  All gather here.  Candles burn and flowers are heaped upon the wet grass.  Look upon the open graves.  There are no bones there.  But we can see the feet beneath us.  How far do they have to plant us to hold us down?  I saw the dead man quickly pass a crypt and move out of sight.  He was tall and pale.  He had long black hair and empty sockets and he moved so fast that it took my breath away that I saw that much of him.  I followed him.  He moved so fast, though.  I didn't realize the dead could walk.  I saw him enter the church basement.  There was a long hallway down there with windows open to other rooms with caskets.  The dead man stopped at each one and gave a strange low growl.  The caskets opened and they followed him.  They left the basement, all four of them.   They were a band of bedraggled corpses and yet walked like anyone else, except more quickly.  I dare say they had some kind of extra sense that gave their movements a crispness.  It was all so surreal.  But I followed them anyway.  They went away, into the forest and they walked along the flowing water of the small creek.  Stones and roots did not get in their way.  They stopped at a spot where a cave seemed to open in the side of the earth on the slant toward the waterway.  This was where they would dwell.  They had instruments and wine.  They played a tune of strange sounds.  Each would flail or kick as they played.  They looked as if they were marionettes on a string.  The singer was the tall one.  He was the leader and he smiled sardonically at the others.  "The worst," he uttered.  Although his voice was deep, it was still flat.  There was no humanity to it.  It sounded dead.  But the smile was all too real and I shuddered with the realization that the dead could smile like that, even though they couldn't really feel.  I listened to the strange concert through the night, dozing by a large rock down river.  When I awoke the music was over, but the ruckus continued.  I heard splashing and laughing and glass breaking.  A large number of people had gathered here to listen to the skeletal zombies.  Suddenly, they began again.  The living threw the cemetery flowers at their feet and used the candles to light the scene.  It was strange to me that the people didn't seem to care that the players were dead.  The guitarist was a woman with brilliant red hair.  She had leaves and sticks clinging to her scarlet locks.  The crowd was under some sort of spell.  The songs were slow and hypnotic and sounded much better than their rehearsal.  The drummer was a short blond man.  He seemed to be much more serious than the rest but his drums were made of some sort of animal skin.  And the band played on.  The moon was full.  The night filled with an exotic sound.  The songs played long into the night and each person grew tired and slept.  Something pulled them to edge of woods to this spot.  The sight should have been horrific.  Instead, they partied until the morning.