“Dammit, I did it again.”

Those were the first words out of my incredibly dry mouth when I woke up. Once again I was not in my own bed. Once again, I find myself at the foot of a grave marker in the small cemetery in our town. For some reason, anytime I get loaded I wind up here at the foot of this same grave. Been going on for over two months now and I have no idea why.

Looking around, I see my Harley laying on its side next to me, just like last time. There is a flask between me and the bike, but I’m sure it’s empty as usual. Nobody else is in the cemetery at this hour.

Getting to my feet unsteadily, I brushed away the grass and insects that slept on me, as well as a few leaves that had nestled in my beard. There is a small amount of barf next to me that stinks to high heaven. I turn to look at the grave, but I know what it will say. I have no idea who this person was, and why I always wind up here for the night after a bender.

I check off the list. The tombstone, probably one of the oldest in this bone yard, dates back to 1864. The block is made of faded white granite. There is a recessed shield carved into the stone, but the inscriptions inside the shield are unreadable. The grave marker lists a Captain Charles Manwarring, 1832-1864 as buried here. Given the dates and the shield, I have come to the conclusion he must have been killed in the Civil War. Being buried here in Illinois would indicate he must have fought for the Union.

Deciding this was the day I would look up Captain Manwarring on the internet to see if there is any reason I keep going to this grave to sleep one off. I typed the Captains name into the browser on the phone, but the internet service is so damn spotty and I give up. I took a picture of the tombstone with my iPhone, having no faith whatsoever in my memory to hold me over so I could look Starr up when I get home.

I looked at the picture I had taken to make sure it was there. I studied it for quality but was shocked by what I saw. Quickly looking back at the tombstone, I saw nothing out of place. But when I looked at the picture, there was a figure in silhouette leaning against the tombstone, a figure I didn’t see when taking the shot.

“Who’s there!” I call out gruffly while pulling my gun out of my handlebar bag in one fluid motion, a snub nose .38 revolver I kept for situations like this, even if it is the first time I used it. I pointed the gun shakily at the tombstone

I yelled again. Still nobody answered. Looking around the cemetery I saw that nobody was here this early, including the grounds crew.  I looked at the photo again and there it still was, some sort of figure casting a dark shadow on the grave.

I cocked my revolver, a satisfying click.

“Come out of hiding before I shoot you,” I yelled.

Slowly a man appeared from behind the oak tree next to Manwarring’s grave. Or was it a man? The emaciated figure seemed more of an apparition than a real human. Tall and lanky, he was a bag of bones. I noticed he had only one arm. His hair was long and scraggly, large splotches missing in spots.

“Who are you!” I demanded gruffly. My head hurt from the exertion, or perhaps ‘cause I had the hangover from hell. The mouth dryness probably made my words unintelligible.  

The figure merely pointed down at the tombstone with a bony finger, evidently trying to make me believe he was Private Uriah Starr.

“Don’t bullshit me, dude. Who are you!” I roared. Pain rocked my temples.

The apparition ignored me and walked the few steps to what he was evidently claiming was his tombstone. Leaning on the stone he smiled at me, an eerie smile I could not comprehend. Who smiles when they have a gun pointed at them?

“What are you smiling about, dude?” I barked.

“You, sir,” the figure replied. “Sorry but ya’ll is doubtin’ my existence even tho I stand right before ya speakin’ to ya. Ya have pulled a gun, a fine lookin’ Colt .38, I believe, on me, merely a phantom. Or am I a figment of your worthless hung-over imagination? Ya should know, Bobby, that bullet will just pass right on clear through me so if ya feel ya need protection, which ya don’t, that gun is no answer. 

“How’d you know my name?” I demanded. I took a wobbly step forward as I said it.

“I knows everything ‘bout ya, Mr. Powell from Kank-a-kee Illinois,” Manwarring stated. “Born and raised right here in Kank-a-kee County. So was I, by the way,  over yonder in Momence. Ya currently are a long-haul trucker. Ya have a very angry ex-wife that hates your guts, and three children that she’s trying to turn against ya. Ya miss your kids and have had problems starting up a new relationship with a lady your age in this town. Ya’s avoidin’ gals that are bar flies, by lookin’ in da bars. Ya think that makes any sense?

Manwarring continued. “Ya drinkin’ more at Freddie’s, and I see of late you’ve mixin’ it with cocaine. Have I pretty much described ya properly, Bobby Powell?”

I shrugged. This…whatever it is, had me nailed, guilty of everything he said. I slid the gun back into the handlebar bag.

“OK, dude, you know all about me, but what about  you,” I began. “How do you know so much about me? Why aren’t you in your grave? Where is your left arm? And what is attracting me to your tombstone every time I hang one on?”

“Mr. Powell, or can I call ya Billy?”

I grunted in agreement.

“Billy,” Manwarring began, “I ain’t lying in my grave dis mornin’ ‘cause I wanted to talk to ya, that’s why. My left arm was blown completely off by a cannonball in da Battle of Cold Harbor on June the 3^rd, 1864.  I bled to death right there on that damn battlefield. Fought under Grant, I did.”

Manwarring continued, “Ya come here when you’re smashed ‘cause I’ve been helpin’ ya back here to a safe spot, then lettin’ you sober up on your own. Some of my friends here help me out with getting’ ya here in one piece.” He swung his right arm out to indicate others who might be buried here.

“Why are you doing that?” I demanded.

Surprisingly, the ghost fired back.

“Stop actin’ all bad-ass at me, boy,” Starr replied in a hoarse voice, as if it came from somewhere else. “Ya couldn’t hurt me if ya wanted to. I’m already dead!”

I blinked, not knowing what to say. I guess he had a point.

“Then how do you know so much about me?” I replied, this time with less thunder in my voice.

“’Cause I’m you’re great granddad,” Manwarring said, “from about nine generations back I reckon. Of all the generations of our family, we’re the only two from this here area – everyone else high-tailed it to other places. Well, ‘cept your kids but I reckon your ex will take dem elsewhere soon.”

I didn’t know how to reply to that statement. On some weird plain, what he was saying might make some sense.

Manwarring continued, “I’m from your mama’s side of the family. I had only been married a couple months whens I enlisted to fight with the General. Dolly, my wife, had my baby while I was gone – a daughter I never met, nor did I ever see my Dolly again. But I kept track of them, I did. Dolly married a guy from Indiana and they had a whole passel of kids. My daughter Miss Hannah, grew up in Indiana to be a fine church-goin’ woman, got married and had three little ones. She died giving birth to her last child and I don’t know what happened after that. I heard their father moved them to a farm Kentucky. So, I’d say all that gives me the right to watch over your sorry ass in your time of need.”

“Time of need!” I replied. “It’s only a little drinking and getting high.”

“Need I remind ya, boy,” Manwarring countered, “ya don’t even remember gettin’ here. And you’re coming more often. And look at that contraption ya’ll is drivin.’ Somethin’ tells me it ain’t supposed to be layin’ on its side.”

He was right about that, too. I’ve no recollection of getting here at any time during the night, just waking up the following day. Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement. ‘Good,’ I thought. ‘People are starting to come in. Now I can be over with this weirdness.’

Instantly, there were more apparitions standing around Manwarring. They seemed to come from nowhere, they were just there. I looked at the motley crowd standing before me, both men and women apparitions in various stages of decay, all watching me closely.

“Who are they?” I asked.

“These here souls are part of my help with ya’ll,” Manwarring replied. “A couple of ‘em fought with me for the Union, there are others from America’s wars in Mexico, Germany, Japan, Korea, and Viet Nam. There’s also a few battles in the Middle East. Every one of us is soldiers.”

“OK, so why did you call out the calvary to help me,” I asked. I thought I was being funny with that remark, but they all just continued to stare at me strangely.

“I wasn’t allowed in the army because of my heart, you know. I tried to enlist twice, as a matter of fact.” I didn’t know why I was trying to rationalize my enlistment issues with a bunch of ghosts, but there I was, just a killing it.

“Knows that too, boy,” Manwarring replied softly. “I admired that in ya and was one of da reasons I’ve been watchin’ over ya.”

“You watch over and talk to all your descendants?” I asked.  

“Just da ones I admired for their time in da service or some other things they might a done,” Manwarring replied. “I had a nephew died in the Cherokee Wars in 1879. Damn fool was only 15 at the time. He’s buried in an unmarked grave down in Oklahoma.”

“Wow,” I remarked. He had my attention. “Any others?”

“Well let’s sees,” Manwarring replied, scratching at the few hairs on his chin, in stark contrast to my full black beard. “A grandson that was shot and killed in da Battle of Manilla all da way over in the Philippines. Two great-great grandsons in World War I, and a granddaughter who was a nurse in Korea.”

“Where are they now,” I asked.

“Ya damn drunken fool, dey ain’t allowed too far from their graves, Manwarring replied, his deep hoarse voice back.

I smiled at his reply. “Than how’d you help them out?” I replied. I thought I had him now.

“’Cause I’m allowed to travel to help my kin, but not those that came before me. And if you’re a wonderin,’ none of my family came ta help me ‘cause I wasn’t a damn fool in my time of livin.’ Didn’t need da help,” the Captain bellowed.

My head was starting to feel a little better, but now my stomach was growling at me. I thought I might get sick again. “So, what do all of you want?” I asked.

“We want ya to grow up, boy,” Manwarring replied. “We’re done savin’ your ass night after night.”

With that, the rest of the apparitions around him all nodded their heads in agreement. I noticed one of the apparitions had to hold his head with both hands when he nodded, as if he was afraid it would roll off.

Manwarring thundered on, “In fact, we’re done watcha ya, boy. We talked it over and decided we ain’t comin’ to save yur ass no more. Dis was da last time. And I can tell ya that if ya don’t stop drinkin’ immediately, ya will end up in a grave yourself, much sooner than ya would want.”

Manwarring pointed a bony finger to his left, just on the other side of the small gravel road that served as an access around the boneyard. I took a few steps that way and looked to where he was pointing, doing a doubletake. There was a small, unassuming gray tombstone on the other side of the road. Weeds were growing up around the base and there were no flowers or items people put on the graves of lost loved ones these days. I read my name on the tombstone, the date of death being just two weeks from this day. I hurried over to the marker to read it again, to make sure I was reading it right. Sure enough, according to this tombstone I died two weeks from today. I looked back at the crew of ghosts to ask what happened, but they had all disappeared.

I dropped to my knees and started bawling. I felt so alone and small. I laid right there at my own grave before finally falling asleep. When I awoke, around noon, the day was hot and I had been sweating profusely. The boneyard was empty except for a guy mowing the lawn on the other side of the cemetery. I got to my feet to look around. My apparitions were all gone, as was the tombstone with my name on it. I was confused. Had I dreamed all this?

I walked back across the gravel to where my bike laid, still on its side, picking it up to set on its kickstand, nearly tipping over in the process. I picked up my flask, empty from the night before, putting it in my travel bag. I walked a few short steps to check on Starr’s wind worn grave, still sitting under the shade of the oak tree, completely undisturbed by time over 150 years. There was no evidence of any of this morning’s proceedings and I wondered if it really happened or had I dreamt it.

I sat on my bike for a while, contemplating Captain Manwarring and all that had happened. If it was a dream it seemed so real. And I still hadn’t answered the question as to why I ended up here after benders nor what I was supposed to learn from whatever it was I had gone through. I was confused.

I monkeyed around trying to start the bike. The battery was dead from being left on all night. I tried to start it manually by using the kick start, multiple times, hard work in this hot sun. Finally, mercifully the bike turned over and roared to life.

I contemplated what to do next before deciding I could use a drink. I let the clutch out and headed back to Freddie’s.