“When she appears, what does she do?”
“Old people in the area say that she searches for her ring and that her spirit won’t rest until she finds it.”
“Does she ever come back here to the house?”
“My wife and I have often felt her presence in her bedroom. An aunt of mine slept in that room while I was growing up. One day, when she was looking in the mirror and brushing her hair, she suddenly saw a lovely girl in a white dress reflected in the mirror beside her. She turned, and no one was there. Aunt Emma screamed all the way down the stairs,” he said, chuckling.
“Then there are some who claim to have conjured up her ghost in the cemetery.” Mr. Willcox stared thoughtfully out over the salt marshes. “Some nights I think she is out there or even under the trees on the lawn, searching for the ring, never giving up her quest. I’ve looked for it myself, but if I ever found it, I wouldn’t know what to do with it. How could I get it back to her?”
“Where is Alice’s grave located in the cemetery?” I asked.
“Beyond the church on the right. You’re going out there, aren’t you?”
“I probably will.” The sun had set by now, and it was getting chilly on the porch. We both stood up, and I thanked Mr. Willcox for his kindness.
It was time for dinner, and I looked forward to eating at Oliver’s or one of the other seafood restaurants on Highway 17. I thought it would be best for me to go out to the cemetery in the morning. The meal was delicious, but as I ate I became more and more tempted to find Alice’s grave that night. If the moon was out, it might be possible; if not, there was no hope at all in the darkness.
The sky was clouded over, and there was no sign of the moon or even a star. I drove south on Highway 17, and somehow, seemingly without even being able to help it, my car turned right and took the road to All Saints Waccamaw Cemetery. I had a powerful flashlight in the trunk that I could shine on some of the stones, but trying to find her slab that night was risky.
By the time I pulled up and stopped beside the old cemetery, I was beginning to feel foolish. If anyone passed and saw my light bobbing about out there, would they think I was a vandal, perhaps even a grave robber? Ahead were the gates. Would they be locked? They opened easily, I found; as I went in, I closed and latched them carefully. Where had Mr. Willcox said her grave was? Somewhere beyond the church . . . past the front steps and then to the right? Was that where he had meant?
I shone my light on one of the stones, but it was not a member of the Flagg family. Off in the distance, a dog howled mournfully. Wasn’t that considered an omen of death? I didn’t know whether I was nervous or just felt foolish being here on such a mission. Sometimes I bumped into markers, and that gave me a real start. At other times I would step on a sunken grave and feel my feet sink still further into the soft, sandy soil.
For more than thirty minutes I must have wandered about the cemetery, with no success. It is not easy to find a flat stone at night. And then I stepped on it. When I did, I jumped to one side, for the act of standing on someone’s gravestone seemed sacrilegious. I shone the light down squarely on the white marble, and there, engraved in large letters, was the name ALICE. My excitement was so great that I dropped the light, and as it hit the stone, it went out. It didn’t really matter, though, because I had found her grave. With my index finger I traced the letters. It was the stone I had been looking for!
Someone had said that teenagers often come out here at night and walk around the grave thirteen times, hoping to commune with Alice’s spirit. At least there was none of that foolishness going on tonight, for I seemed to be the only one in the cemetery. I had taken a picture of The Hermitage and wanted to take a picture of the stone—just as a curiosity, of course. But I could come back here in the morning before I left and do that. It was getting quite misty, and even a flash shot might not turn out well.
“What are you doing down there on the ground?” asked a feminine voice.
I turned around. Behind me stood a girl who must have come up without my hearing her. It was probably one of the teenagers who often visited the gravesite.
“I was looking for the grave of a girl named Alice.”
“You have found it,” she replied.
“Do you come here often?”
“Oh, I’m out here quite a lot, most often when some of my friends are out at night, too.”
“Isn’t it pretty foolish for you and your friends to come out here in this old cemetery to see the grave of a girl who has been dead more than a hundred years?”
“You make that sound like a very long time.”
“Isn’t it?”
“It doesn’t seem long to me at all.”
As she talked, I thought her dress appeared almost luminous. The moonlight must have been shining on it. I looked up at the sky, and the moon was out for the first time that night.
“Why did you come out here?” asked the girl.
“I suppose I wanted to know if all the stories I had heard were true and if there really was such a thing as the spirit of a beautiful girl named Alice.”
“What a ridiculous question.”
My heart began
