A Vision of…

     

   “I don’t wanna go!” I said. My seven-year-old whine didn’t deter my two older sisters, however.

  “Oh, come on. Don’t be a baby. It’s really fun. There’s squirrels.” Pam and Mary Ann shot each other a sly smile at one another. Fun for them, maybe. Me? Probably not. Going into the thick woods across from our house in the late afternoon didn’t seem like fun to me. In the sunlight of full day it was alive with the sounds of animals and trees blowing in the wind. On this October day, as the sun began to sink below the horizon, it was full of mysterious noises and shadows. The wind was up and made the shadows dance.I was just a tad scared. My sisters had insisted that they had found something, and wanted me to see it, too. How could I resist? I was being included in an adventure. That’s a pretty big deal when you’re seven. So, I went.

  We trudged through the underbrush of twigs and fallen leaves, our sneakers getting wet in the damp foliage. They walked too fast for me, as always. We walked for what seemed to me to be a long time. I was about to ask them how much longer when I noticed that they had stopped in front of a fence. It wasn’t a regular fence. It was only about two feet high, made of very old wrought iron and shaped like a rectangle. Inside the rectangle was a single tombstone. They had led me to a grave. The marker was very old. It read: Kevin Kemp 1846-1865 and below it was an inscription that read “post tenebras spero lucem”. They pointed to the name.

  “Look, it’s your name! You’re dead.” They both thought that was funny. I was fairly freaked out by even being close to a grave with my given name on it, much less being in the dark woods with it. My sisters opened the gate at the foot of the enclosed burial site, and it creaked slightly, just like in spooky movies. They walked inside. Turning to me they waved me on. Uh oh.

  “Old Mister Kemp said this is his great uncle’s grave. He fought in the Civil War and was badly wounded in the face.” I walked inside with them, listening and looking at the writing on the stone, wondering what the words on the bottom meant.

“He said that an explosion blinded him at the battle of Spring Hill. He lived but couldn’t see. Mr. Kemp says that he was the meanest blind man you could imagine. He hated people because he couldn’t see. Then, one day, they found him out here in the woods. He’d hanged himself. He left a note that said, “Anyone who visits the site of my passing must pass me their sight”. Mr. Kemp said that the spot in front of the tombstone is the exact spot they found him, and that if you stood there, and closed your eyes, you could see out of Kevin Kemps eyes. No one does, because he was so mean, they just knew he’d went to Hell.” I was now officially terrified. The wind howled through the trees suddenly and a large branch above us broke off and fell. It landed right onto my head. I fell and my right eye grazed the corner of the stone on the way to the ground. I lay there for a second, dazed. My wide-eyed sisters pulled the heavy branch from my back and helped me up. My eye was full of blood. From below us came a blood-curdling sound like someone saying “Ahhhh!”, then a low, sad, crying sound. We forgot my injury and just ran for home. Behind us, a sound like a scream under a blanket shot through the woods. My sisters and I made it home in record time.

  When we caught our breath, I realized I couldn’t see out of my right eye. It wasn’t just the blood. I was taken to doctors who said there had been an infection in the nerves. The eye would have to be removed or it would infect both eyes. I’ve lived my life since then with a prosthetic (glass) eye.

  Our parents were sure we’d just made it all up to cover up the fact that we weren’t supposed to be in the woods at night. They never had to worry about us breaking that particular rule again. We moved away not long after that, but there were many times, when we were playing in the yard, that we were sure that we heard that same “Ahhhh” sound, followed by crying. I never went into those woods again. I figured I got off pretty easy. Having one eye is better than none. Or one that only sees the torments of the Underworld.

  We asked Old Man Kemp about the inscription on the stone. He said it was latin. It meant “After darkness, I hope for light”. It would seem that his mean old great uncle got at least half his sight back. I’m not sure he enjoyed it much; from the sounds we heard that October evening. Some things aren’t meant to be seen with the eyes of the living.