The stone marks the ending.
The story begins before it.
Gravestones is a collection of short stories inspired by epitaphs—imagined lives behind the few words left behind.
Stories by Evangeline Bell
Story Number One:
Story Number Two:
Story Number Three:
Sadly Missed
Sheila.
He thought of the twinkle in Sheila’s dark eyes and her wide generous smile.
He saw Sheila dancing in that green silk dress at the university New Year Ball during his final undergraduate year. That’s where Sidney had met her.
She had looked so tall, so elegant: so beautiful. She had swayed to the music like a willow tree in a breeze.
He saw Sidney and Sheila holding hands as they walked barefoot through the shallows. He saw the waves rolling in, breaking and then little fingers of water scuttling up the beach before vanishing into the sand.
Sheila had laughed as she has watched the terns diving for fish. It was an infectious giggle which frequently turned into a snort.
She had been so happy.
And Sidney had been happy.
Then Sheila had told Sidney that she was pregnant.
Sidney had insisted that she have an abortion. They had only just graduated. They had student loans. They had careers to establish. He didn’t want a baby.
Sheila did.
They had argued. Sidney had been adamant and eventually Sheila had acquiesced.
And Dr Jackson, newly qualified and eager to help his friend, had arranged it.
Fell Asleep
Naomi looked down.
She wondered why she was not falling. Instead, she seemed to be hovering high above a scene which reminded her of a hospital drama. The figures moving below her were like small dots in a distant landscape.
She felt weightless.
Was she in space?
She recalled seeing astronauts on board the ISS doing somersaults and she tried to do the same. No: she couldn’t physically move.
Why couldn’t she move?
She tried to look at her own body, only to find that she seemed to have lost it.
No. There it was—far below on the operating table. It looked very frail.
How did it get there? Or, maybe, how had she got here?
She wondered if she would ever find herself inside it again.
Did she even want to go back?
It was nice up here.
Naomi had carried a burden for a very long time. She had grown tired of carrying it and, now, it seemed that the weak body lying on the surgical table was carrying it for her.
Perhaps this was a good time to leave it behind.
Also
The present day
Joanna frowned. It was a funny little motion, more indicative of disappointment than annoyance. She was with her father and they were staring at a lichen-covered headstone which had, until five minutes ago, been covered with ivy. They’d cut away the vegetation, only to find that most of the inscription was unreadable. A good third of the stone had clearly sunk and any names carved thereon were lost to posterity. At the top of the stone there had been some sort of elaborate pattern but it was mostly eroded away, as were the names of the first generation to be interred in this ancient family plot. The only decipherable name was ‘Matilda’ and that was under a part of the stone which was flaking away but on which the single word ‘Also’ could just about be made out. That was it.
‘Also, Matilda’
Joanna and her father were researching their family tree. They’d been told by the cemetery record office that plot no 57 had belonged to the Selsdon family and that they could have a look at it. It had taken some searching to find it, all overgrown with ivy and hidden in an area of long grass, nettles and tangled columbine which ran over everything. Once they were sure they’d found the correct stone, they’d cleared away the ivy, hoping to find a list of names and dates which would provide new leads. It was disappointing.
‘After all that work’, said Joanna, ‘all we’ve got is an “Also”.’
They sat on a broken old park bench, which had a small brass plaque commemorating the memory of an Arthur Davis half screwed to the top of the back of the bench, and looked at their newly cleared headstone.
‘Fancy being an “Also”, said Joanna’s father. “Would you like to be an “Also”, Joanna?’
‘I would not.’
‘Your whole life - and all you got was four letters … “Also.” It doesn’t tell you much, does it?’
‘No.’
The thought nagged at Joanna. Who was Matilda? What kind of life had she led? Why had she ended up being an “Also” on a Selsdon family gravestone? She decided that she would do her utmost to find out.