Party on Kiln Pit Hill

“Great party,” said Jane, swaying a little under the influence of cherry eyeball punch and trying to make out Ryan’s face in the ghoulish green light.

“Yes,” agreed Ryan, “I thought a graveyard on a windswept hill would be perfect for a Halloween rave; no neighbours to disturb and out of the way of the Covid-police. That building over there, whatever it is, is topped with finials, so it’s been perfect for draping the lights. Well done with your costume. I love your pale make-up and white dress. Very spooky.”

“Thanks. I’m local, and parties are rare events round these parts. I could dance all night with that crowd of wizards and warlocks over there. My husband’s not keen on dancing. Look at him over there, Humph by name and Humph by nature. I expect he’s moaning about how the place is so overgrown, with all these thistles and long grasses amongst the gravestones. Tomorrow, he’ll be telling the vicar to get the parishioners on the job.”

“Really? -er – I thought the church looked disused, but you must know if you’re local. “

“Does it?…I must admit it is a while since I’ve been in. Don’t worry, he’s probably moved on to brown-nosing about some scheme or other. Between you and me, he’s always flashed too much cash about on self-indulgent projects; says it’s about raising his profile, for posterity I suspect with the amount he’s spent!”

As the party came to a close, and the witches and oversized human pumpkins walked off down the hill, followed by Ryan and helpers struggling to carry the heavy music system, no one noticed that one couple did not leave. As they moved out from behind the long-decommissioned church, the man breathed a sigh of relief, but his wife’s wistful gaze followed the line of torches down the hill.

Blowing out a tealight that had been left inside one of the shell-shaped niches of their mausoleum, Jane and Humfrey Hopper stepped underneath the arched vault, and lay down on their two stone slabs for another 270 years.