For a small town, Greenfields Church had a large cemetery. Hundreds of graves spread out behind the building over several large fenced areas. Charlie never felt so insignificant as when she stared at old cemeteries like these, with not a living soul in sight. Each grave represented a person who’d lived an ordinary life, now mostly forgotten. Charlie had spent most of her life grinding away behind a desk. She had made lasting impacts through her work — she knew that. But no-one would remember them. Her cases weren’t exactly history-making. And no one would remember it had been her. It was both a gloomy and a freeing thought. Even the things in life that mattered could rarely be immortalised.
“It’s a bigger cemetery than I expected,” Charlie said as they stepped out of the car. She took off her cardigan, feeling the warm sun beating down from the cloudless sky.
“And would you believe they closed it to new interments in the eighties? Nowadays, most people get buried in the next town over.”
“Good thing I brought us lunch. We’ll be here all day!” Charlie felt instantly morbid for suggesting a picnic in a cemetery.
“Good thing I brought us wine!” Trent responded, instantly relieving her of her discomfort. Trent led them through an old metal gate into the first part of the cemetery. “These first few graves will be from the nineteenth century. I guess we’ll just split up and go for it.”
As Charlie wove through the graves, which did start in the 1850s, she read the names of all those who’d lived and died here so many years before. Most of the older tombstones were so worn she could barely make out the names. Others were leaning or completely worn and toppled. The feeling of insignificance pressed down even harder when she passed these graves.
It was almost twenty minutes before she found them. Her whole body tingled as she read the name “Evans” atop the first tombstone. She inhaled deeply, holding her breath as she took the last few steps to the stone, and bent to brush the lichen and dirt from the inscription: Jack William Evans, 11 February 1932–20 March 1934, Son of William and Emma. It was a simple inscription, but with a beautifully engraved lamb surrounded by flowers atop it. To the right were two slightly taller stones. Darker and smoother but equally as simple. The first read, Emma Bernadette Evans, 5 July 1902–12 October 1964, Wife, Sister, Mother, Grandmother. The second read, William David Evans, 12 August 1900–28 December 1980, Husband, Brother, Father, Grandfather, Great-Grandfather. These two were in better condition than Jack’s, though they were still starting to grow lichen.
Charlie knelt as she reached the final grave: Marie Patricia Evans, 23 March 1927–19 July 1936, Daughter of William and Emma. A dove was engraved above the words, just as ornate as Jack’s lamb. She was obviously much loved. “Marie,” Charlie whispered, placing one hand on the grave. In that moment, she felt such a connection to the history of her house, and to her new town, it was almost like it reverberated through her. To think little Marie’s body was laid to rest right here. Just six feet below the surface.
“Have you found them?” Trent called out. He’d obviously looked back and seen her kneeling there.
“Yes!” she yelled. “Yes, they’re all here!”
Trent was soon by her side, whistling through his teeth. “Ooh, they got the plots together. They mustn’t have been too bad off after all.”
“And don’t forget they had connections,” Charlie said, pulling some of the stray grass and weeds out of the plot. “One of Marie’s sisters married the pastor’s son. Or at least we think so.”
“Looks like Billy was one of the last people buried here too,” Trent said, gesturing to the name. “Though seeing how lovingly all these tombstones were carved, I doubt the family would have let them say no.” He helped Charlie to her feet, and she brushed the grass and dirt from her knees.
“I can’t believe it…” Charlie said. “I never would have found them without your help. I wouldn’t have even known their names. Thank you!”
“Somehow I think someone like you would’ve tracked those answers down one way or another.” Charlie gave him a gentle nudge, before taking another deep and calming breath, surveying the graves again. “Let’s go back to the car and get the rug and the voodoo.” Trent smiled; obviously he wasn’t so emotionally connected as Charlie.
“About that…” Charlie said sheepishly. “I was a little embarrassed to bring much… I just brought the tarot cards. I figured that wouldn’t look as odd as a giant pink crystal, metal rods, and candles.” She scanned the empty cemetery. “Though I don’t think it really would have mattered!”
“And tarot works for ghost hunting?” Trent asked sceptically and a little disappointedly.
“Apparently,” Charlie answered as they headed back to the car, feeling a bit affronted at the term “hunting,” though also too embarrassed to call him out. “I started reading the guidebook last night. It says tarot is for ‘uncovering the unseen’ and ‘revealing what’s hidden’. Apparently, the cards can answer questions about pretty much anything you can think to ask.”
“Sounds handy to me,” Trent said. “Maybe I’ll ask a few of my own questions! Honestly I’m just happy not to be gardening or cleaning the house.”
They were soon back at Marie’s grave, the blanket laid out on the path in front of it. Charlie had picked some of the wild yellow flowers growing by the church car park and placed them tenderly on Marie’s grave. Next time she’d bring flowers for all four of them from the grocer. She had no doubt there would be a next time; she wouldn’t forget them as long as she lived. She’d also taken photos of the tombstones, which she’d excitedly messaged to Tess with a “look what I found!”
Now sitting cross-legged on the rug, she removed the tarot deck from its case. “You gave me Australian education history 101. Now I get to share tarot 101 with you.”
“You sound like an expert already,” Trent said, awkwardly shuffling on the rug, trying to get comfortable. Charlie was glad she’d kept herself relatively limber with her regular hikes.
“Oh, I am. I spent an hour studying this guidebook last night. Then I shuffled those cards real good! I am so ready. There are five types of cards. Wands, which usually relate to our dreams and goals, and things that haven’t started yet. Cups, which are about our emotions and connections. Swords, which are about action, change, power, conflict, and destruction.”
“Sounds ominous,” Trent chimed in. Charlie raised her eyebrows in response. “Right, right. Sorry, I’m interrupting.”
“Pentacles are like the opposite of cups, if I’m getting this right. While cups are still just in the mind, pentacles are manifesting in the world around us. The last type of card is the major arcana. These are like getting a trump card or a wild card in Uno. The guidebook warned me these cards are ‘incredibly powerful’ and ‘not to be taken lightly.’”
“Okay, just talk me through it as we go. How does it work?”
“I need to get the intent and the question straight in my mind. I shuffle the cards until I feel compelled to stop. Then I split the deck into three piles and draw from the deck that calls to me.”
“Calls to you?”
“I just won’t think about it. I’ll go on automatic. The clarity spread is for beginners. You pick four cards — the first is the overall situation, and the next three provide additional information or contributing factors.” Charlie took a deep breath, then closed her eyes as she shuffled, trying to still her heart and clear her mind.
“Huummmmm,” Trent joked. Charlie opened her eyes with a scolding look. “Okay, okay, I’m serious. Do your thing.”
She closed her eyes again and formed a single thought in her head: revealing what’s hidden. She almost felt a tingle in her fingers when she felt it was time to stop shuffling. Opening her eyes, she let the cards fall into three piles and was immediately drawn to the middle one.
“Here we go!” she said. She placed one card face down on top of the rug and another three face down below it. “Our overarching answer is…” She flipped over the top card. “The ace of pentacles. Right…” She flicked open her guidebook, navigating to the correct page. “The ace of pentacles represents the power and possibilities of new growth. It is a seed that has taken root, setting your path for the future. You’re at the beginning of an important journey. And pentacles cards are about something manifesting in the real world.”
“Like a ghost?” Trent asked.
“Maybe? The next three cards will give us a more rounded-out answer. Ooh, it’s a major arcana. Judgment. Seeking truth. Let go of your fears and opinions. Open your heart, be ready to be reborn.” Charlie looked up at Trent with an arched eyebrow. “I feel like these cards are a little judgy. I’m working on letting go.”
Trent laughed. “I thought this reading was about Marie, not you.”
“I guess I didn’t really ask about Marie… I just wanted to know what I wasn’t seeing in all this.” Trent nodded, motioning towards the other two hidden cards. Charlie flipped over the second one. “Another major arcana! This is an important reading then. The Hierophant. A mentor or teacher will soon appear. Your hunger for knowledge is burning strong, but you’ve come as far as you can on your own. Be ready.”
“They’re kind of all making sense together…” Trent said, a lot more serious than he had been at the start of the reading. “What’s the last one?”
“Another major arcana…” Charlie said, her stomach tightening.
“What does that mean, getting so many major arcana?”
“I don’t know… It didn’t come up in the guidebook. The Emperor. He is the father, ever protective, decisive, and reassuring. Clarity of mind is coming. Look to the part of you that stands strong and knows what to do. With help from the sun, the Emperor can see in all directions… Well, that’s cryptic.”
“This reading does seem to be more about you than Marie,” Trent said thoughtfully. “What do you make of it?”
Charlie looked at the cards all together, took a deep breath, then said what made most sense to her. “I’m at the start of an important new journey. I need to let go of the past and become a new version of myself. I’ll need a mentor to help me do this, but in the end, the strength will need to come from within.”
“Deep,” Trent said.
“Ha-ha, yeah… I guess I didn’t know what to expect.”
“Me either… Not exactly how I thought ghost hunting would go today.” Trent ran a hand through his long brown hair. It instantly flopped back over his forehead. “Well, chuck me the keys, I’ll go get us that lunch.”
“Yeah…” Charlie said, suddenly feeling drained. “A glass of wine sounds perfect too…”