All Stories, Fantasy, Horror

Bosco by Hugh Cron

Everyone has played watching games. I’d taken it a step further. I played dead games. I visited cemeteries and I gave five of the dead my thoughts on their life.

I don’t know when my game changed. I wasn’t making up the stories anymore. I’m not exactly sure when the visions changed from imagination.

…They had no input from me.

Only once did I have five positive stories, there was always at least one bad one.

And only once did I have five very bad reactions to the graves I stood over.

I never wanted those visions.

The first grave was inscribed:

Jeremy Ireland – 1950 – 1997

Beloved husband of Jane.

Loving father of Luke and Peter.

Foster father to many.

Laid to rest after an industrial accident.

Will always be loved and sorely missed.

I touched the headstone and saw him being carried into a forest. Trees were cut down all around. He was laughing and singing and very drunk.

I knew the two young men who leaned him against a tree were Luke and Peter.

Luke nicked a branch above head height with a chainsaw. Peter held his father upright. Luke brought the chain saw down and cut into the inside of Jeremy’s thigh.

They left him with his gin.

I touched the stone again and could taste the gin.

I moved on.

Yvonne Vance – 1927 – 1962

I could only think of secret people. Dark people. Dozens of them, but there was still a loneliness, a blackness, nothing.

I looked at the headstone once again, to see if I had missed an inscription, I half expected one to appear but nothing.

I shivered.

They toasted her. Some wept, some laughed and they sang. No-one witnessed them. They all touched her headstone.

I didn’t.

I wiped the sweat out my eyes as I walked to the other side of the graveyard.

David Graham – 1907 – 1994

Husband to Hayleigh

Father of six.

Grandfather and Great Grandfather of seventeen.

Was taken into the love of his mother and father. We’ll all be together one day.

He was in his early twenties, I saw them. I saw the bodies. He had no fear, they’d never be found, not in those days. So many. All together, intertwined.

I saw him in his death bed. He’s smiling, not for thoughts of his mother and father, he smiles recollecting the bodies.

I hate it that there is no darkness for him.

I move on.

Martin Boyce – 1968 – 2014

Loving husband of Gayle.

Missed and never forgotten.

He was down by a river. He’d found a suitcase lying in the mud. He opened it and there was a young child in it. The kid was mottled. I could smell her.

Martin touched the child very gently.

I thought he was going to go for help. But he didn’t, he shut the suitcase and threw it into the river.

I studied him for a second and felt nothing. He had no conscience.

He whistled ‘The Lord’s My Shepherd’ as he watched the case sink.

My unease escalated and I decided to give this one more go. I walked around for a minute or so and was drawn to a plaque on the grass.

Baby George Hill 1993

Born silent.

Much loved by Gran Lilley.

I felt he was still alive.

I saw his father.

I backed off and ran to the cemetery gates. I turned and looked back. I wish I hadn’t. I saw them at their gravesides. Yvonne rocked the baby.

Martin terrified me.


Hugh Cron

14 thoughts on “Bosco by Hugh Cron”

    1. Hi James,
      I try not to touch strange headstones. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever visited a headstone (You know what I mean) and I’ve never really worked out what that means!
      Thanks as always, it’s always a pleasure to see you around the site.
      All the very best my friend.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Jenny,
      That is high praise indeed especially when I think on your first two stories for us.
      Thanks so much for your time and kind comments.


  1. A great The Dead Zone thing going on. Instead of seeing the future for the living sees the past of the dead; yet only darkness. A terrible curse. This also reminds me–but in an utterly different way–of your fine story The Swans.
    100 nears.


    1. Hi Leila,
      I enjoyed Martin Sheen in ‘The Dead Zone’ and also ‘The Believers’.
      Funny you should mention ‘The Swans’ as the header image is the same graveyard that both these stories were based around.
      And yep, I’m on the Jack at the end of the month!
      Thanks so much Leila, I am always delighted to read your comments!


    1. Hi Mitch,
      Coincidentally my lawn is shocking. Unfortunately it’s not sparse. Bastard grass keeps growing!
      I’ve cut it once already this year but that’s not enough for it.
      I’m sure my neighbours hate me!
      Thanks as always my friend – Mucho appreciated!!!

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Dave,
      I really do wish I had a steady flow of ideas in this genre but inspiration is like hens teeth in Brigadoon.
      Thanks as always for your continual interest in my work.
      All the very best my friend.


    1. Hi Doug,
      October the 31st would work as would most Sunday mornings!
      It’s great to see you on the site!!
      All the very best my friend.


  2. Interesting concept of touching the graves and absorbing the stories. Those were a rum lot of dead people. What goes to the grave, usually stays in the grave, except when the forensic exorcist comes round……..


    1. Hi Harrison,
      A rum lot? Well they are spirits!
      (Sorry – I really do hate myself at times.)
      Thanks as always, I enjoy your take on my stories.
      All the very best my friend.


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