The Graveyard Gift Shop

I wrote this back in 2013 for another site, and figured, the world is on fire (and I have nowhere to be) so I may as well share it to here.

A pair of eyes peered out from underneath a mess of black hair and Martha had to repeat herself.

"You can't buy tarot cards," she said again. "Not unless you have a parent or guardian with you." The boy's obsidian eyes flickered and Martha wondered how old he was. Fourteen? Fifteen? Not stupid enough to try something untoward with a pack of cards, but, "it's company policy, I'm afraid."

"Okay," he said, and turned to look at the rest of the shop. It was more of a kiosk really, and Martha only worked there three days a week while her youngest daughter was in school and she finished her degree, but Martha was sure that this boy was the most 'graveyard' of all the teens who came to hang around Edinburgh's infamous actual graveyards. The kirkyard was another tourist attraction, hence the kiosk - a few famous Scots had been buried there, and of course there was the Greyfriars Bobby story for the kiddies - but mostly it attracted weirdoes who were into the occult.

This one felt different though. He seemed to blend into the shelves' shadows more than most visitors, and she'd hardly heard him come in. His hair didn't look Goth-black dyed either.

"Are you here on holiday?" she asked kindly, tucking a strand of red hair back into her bun. His accent wasn't local – but then where were his parents?

"Sort of," he replied, picking up a life-size silver skull and weighing it in his hand. "Needed a break." He smiled slightly, like he had an inside joke with himself.

"Well, would you like to take something back with you? Maybe for a girlfriend?"

"No, thank you." He secret-smiled again, putting the skull back on the shelf.

"A boyfriend?" He was quite young, but Martha had known about her Jamie since he borrowed her lipstick when he was two. Stereotypical, looking back, and her ex-husband hadn't liked it – but then that was one of the reasons why he was her ex-husband.

"No."

His voice seemed sadder this time.

"Ah," Martha said, "that young man got himself a girlfriend?" It had happened to Jamie loads of times. Those eyes blinked and Martha suspected she was right. "In that case, can I recommend this excellent notebook?"

"What?"

He met her gaze like he wasn't sure he'd heard her right. She leaned over a counter and dusted off a small black notebook. The shop had bought the product because of its colour – but it would fit in the pocket of the boy's aviator jacket and the kiosk even sold little pens.

"For your thoughts," she explained. "My Jamie used to say that he felt much better after writing everything down, because then the thoughts weren't crammed in his head but weren't out in public either. We have a discount at the moment."

It was only later that Martha realised that the cash the boy had given her wasn't exactly pounds sterling. She was almost sure the coins were pure gold, but the boss hadn't been convinced when she'd shown him.

As she walked home through the kirkyard that afternoon, the air seemed... clearer. The chill she sometimes thought she felt when she passed certain tombstones was gone. Taking the path for the main road, Martha noticed the boy, a good three hours after he'd been in the shop, huddled on a bench next to the church. He was writing furiously in his notebook but she thought she saw him look up a couple of times, mutter something and wave his hand – almost as if he were talking to the spirits the occult kids tried to invoke every visit. A McDonald's Happy Meal sat on the bench next to him and Martha could have sworn she saw a screech owl looking down from the church roof.

Screech owls were representative of the Underworld, weren't they? She must remember to ask her professor before she handed in her essay on mythological symbolism.

Can't believe 2013 me thought tarot cards might need ID. 2013 me would be seriously impressed that I can now read the tarot though, ha. According to my end notes on the *other site*, this was inspired by a vague memory of a gift shop in either Greyfriars Kirkyard or Old Calton Cemetery in Edinburgh, and also by a piece of Viria fan art. Ugh, 2013.

Thank you for reading! Any comments are appreciated.