The Ghost and The Wolf: Book I of The Broken Series

Chapter III: Find the Grave

As twilight faded over the cemetery, Lex performed his equipment check. The zipper on the ripped backpack resisted his pull for a moment, so he had to give it a swift tug. It contained only five items, but Lex planned on checking all of them. First, the flashlight. On, off, on, off. To the normal observer, it resembled a typical flashlight. But Lex had strict requirements, and this beauty met all of them, including a lifetime warranty.

He slid the flashlight in its protective case and pulled out the next item, a digital EMF and temperature meter. The device resembled a 1990s cell phone due to its clunky buttons and blocky shape. Despite its appearance, the meter was unique. It combined two functions into one, which meant he could keep one of his hands free.

First, it measured temperature and alerted him to any drastic shifts. It also recorded EMF, or electromagnetic fields. EMF could be emitted by TV antennas, electrical sockets, and even thunderstorms.

Those weren't the types of EMF readings he wanted, though.

Before putting it back, he ran his check. On, off, on, off. No problems.

The last electronic device was an EVP recorder wristband. From a distance, it resembled one of those expensive fitness trackers. The recorder could be left on all night, and he could dump the audio files into his laptop at home for analysis.

He dreaded that part of the work. Listening to hours of his own shuffling footsteps and breathing could be dull. It was like hunting for the proverbial needle in the haystack.

However, he had found a few needles. And what fascinating and mesmerizing needles they were. They made it all worth it.

After securing the recorder to his wrist, he pulled out a long, skinny item wrapped in a dish towel. Setting the towel in his lap, he uncovered an object that resembled a giant wishbone. Lex knew better. He didn't use it often, but the dowsing rod had helped him out of a few rough spots. With care, he returned the rod to the backpack.

The last item was the most precious. It was a creased, leather-bound journal. Letters had been pounded into the cover reading "Julian James Sterling." Inside, half of the pages were filled with his father's looping handwriting, while the other half were covered in Lex's indecipherable chicken scratch. After returning the journal, he zipped the backpack and stood up from the wooden bench.

Lights from a golf cart came bouncing in his direction. He shielded his eyes from the glare by turning his head away.

As typical, most of his facial features were obscured in the deep shadows of his hoodie. His outfits rarely varied beyond his black hoodies, jeans, black skater shoes, and ripped backpack. And, of course, he was an African-American male teenager wandering around by himself at night. That made some morons nervous.

People. Ugh.

The golf cart stopped, and the driver turned off the headlights and the engine. Before his eyes could adjust, a voice called out. "Hey, there, Lex."

He sighed and smiled. "Hey, Gladys."

An elderly woman with wispy white hair and thick eyeglasses stepped out. Around her neck, she wore a badge that read "Bellefontaine Cemetery Volunteer." She sat on the bench and patted the spot next to her. "Have a seat, young man. The night is young."

"Yes, ma'am." He shrugged the backpack off and joined her.

For a moment, they were quiet. He relaxed his shoulders and his breathing. He had been in scary cemeteries. This wasn't one of them. This one radiated peace and belonging. The headstones, mausoleums, and tombs seemed as naturally placed in the environment as the tall, ancient trees.