R. I. P.

R. I. P.

Written by Helen Vader

Noah Gordon was always ready to overlook any of his numerous imperfections, but even he admitted having a memory like a sieve. Only a small amount of information managed to escape the black hole of his forgetfulness. Among the rare things he used to keep in mind was a piece of conversation in which he learned (though when it had happened and who the speaker was had escaped him) that the meaning of his first name was "rest". The reason why this bizarre knowledge didn't slip out of his mind together with loads of far more important things was that the word "rest" perfectly defined the old man's philosophy of life. Rest was what he liked above anything else, and he felt but hatred and loathing for any intruders who dared to disturb his precious peace, especially after a night he had spent drinking - as was the case right now. A minute ago, the sound of agitated voices interrupted his sleep... Bloody intruders... But they shall regret!

Steaming with fury, he was striding towards the source of the noise at a pace remarkable for a man of his age. He stopped at the place where the voices had come from, but there was nobody there. He was sure it was the right place, because, unlike his memory, his hearing was perfect. But where have they gone? Can't be too far away... His small, sharp eyes were burning with suspicion as they scanned the fog-veiled cemetery like a pair of searchlights. With no effect. He cast a brief glance at the headstone next to him. It was the one that had this impossible-to-remember foreign name on it. He spat in disgust. He hated foreigners, at least as much as he hated intruders, why, foreigners were the filthiest bunch of intruders ever to disturb the peace of England, and something should be made to prevent them from streaming into the country like a nauseating river of mud! As for most of his countrymen, he had no high opinion of them, either. In fact, apart from hating intruders and foreigners, he despised people in general, and that was why his job suited him down to the ground. Or even deeper. Noah Gordon was a sexton.

Suddenly his attention was shifted from bloody intruders to an object he had glimpsed glittering in the grass. He crouched to pick it up, and it turned out to be a beautiful silver bracelet. It was apparent from its size that it had belonged either to a child or a very thin person. An inscription was engraved on it in a very fine, almost illegible lettering. He strained his gaze to read it, but the letters seemed to rearrange themselves every time he thought he could make them out. 'I muss 'ave drunk too much,' he mused gloomily. But never mind, this find will more than compensate for any hangover symptoms, let alone his interrupted sleep. How much would he be able to get for it? The bracelet looked pretty valuable. He hardly ever spent time daydreaming, but the idea of unexpected wealth was able to stir even his feeble imagination.

Suddenly he realized he was being watched. Firmly closing his fist around the bracelet, he raised his sight, eager to send any intruder straight to hell at the top of his voice. But words failed him, for he found himself staring into the creepiest face he had ever set his eyes on. He didn't believe in ghosts, so he realized there was actually no such face and the flaming red eyes glaring at him intensely existed only in his mind. But despite enjoying the reputation of a not-easily-frightened person, he couldn't help shivering at that sight. 'God knows I've bin drinkin' too much lately... But I'm goin' to stop, 'onesly. No booze's worth 'aving such 'ell of a nightmair,' he told himself feverishly.

The face with flaming red eyes had a mouth, too, a thin, lipless one that twisted in a smirk and then opened to ask a question. "Where did you get it?"

Cruel and inhuman, the voice made him feel like he'd plunged into ice-cold water. Noah gulped and once more solemnly promised to himself to stop drinking once this hallucination was over. With every moment he found it increasingly exhausting to pretend that this was just a consequence of the yesterday night's dose of liquor. It seemed so real...

"I ask you, where did you get it?" the ghastly voice asked again.

He never intended to reply (there's no use talking to alcoholic visions, however scary they might be), but he heard himself stuttering in a hoarse whisper, "I-I j-just... was j-just sleepin' in... in m-me 'ouse over there and... and suddenly I 'eard s-some noise... angry v-voices... thought I w-would check... b-but when I c-come 'ere... n-nobody there... and then I s-saw t-this... thing..."

"So you haven't seen anybody?"

"N-no, sir, n-n-never," he blabbered beside himself and realized that tears had started rolling down his face. He desperately wished that the creature believed him, because he somehow knew that if it didn't, something terrible might happen to him. And some inner voice told him that terrible things might happen to him even if the creature believed him... A vivid vision of sharp pain piercing his body like a thousand red-hot knives raced through his mind...

But the creature chose to believe him. And it had no time to play with Muggles… not today. "Give me... the thing," it hissed softly.

Noah clutched the jewel even more tightly than before and shook his head, but some invisible force made him open his fist and the bracelet came shooting out of his palm straight to the outstretched hand of the spectre.

The spectre laughed, a cold, high, derisive laugh that would have made the sexton run for it if only his feet weren't nailed to the ground. And as the creature's slender, long white fingers clasped themselves around the jewel, Noah stared at them with unbelieving eyes, not knowing it was the last thing he was to see before a flash of green light would deprive him of something more vital than just a silver bracelet - and provide him with a more than substantial dose of rest.

.

 

PS: Originally gracing my endlessly stupid, never-to-be-finished novel-length, this fic is one of the monstrosity's parts I'm not ashamed of, so I decided to post it independently. I know it's unfair treatment of readers, but I love the story of Noah Gordon too much to leave it rot on my hard drive forever... and I hope it can work on its own.

PPS: I'm not a native speaker of English. This story has been beta-read (thank you, Connor and Mischka), but if you spot any grammar mistakes nonetheless, please tell me.