The spooky part of the mini series ❀

So here is the previously announced zombie-graveyard-story.

A nightmare as it happens in real life. Written by a survivor (that’s me!).

It all began when my parents went on holiday. Or actually the week before, when my Dad gave me a brief on how to water the plants in the garden, on the graveyard* and in the garden of my brother’s restaurant.

[* I am not entirely sure how other countries handle this, but because I got rather confused comments when I told this story my Kiwi friends, I came to the conclusion that graveyards may be operated differently in other countries. So here is how we do it over here: usually, every person has his or her own grave, but usually wife and husband are buried together and some people have like family graves where there is enough space for four or five people… anyway, a sad matter, but once a person is buried, we plant flowers on top of the graves – and subsequently have to water them every day during summer – so that is why I had to go to the graveyard and water the plants on the grave Dad is usually looking after. That is Dad’s parents’ grave.]

All these jobs required a week’s practise – after all you can’t just let anybody water your plants, can you?
So every evening Dad and I would go around and water the flowers in the garden, on the graveyard and in the restaurant’s garden.

Once my parents were gone, it was all up to me to do the job.

They left on Sunday morning, so on Sunday evening I left for my first “plant-watering-mission”. Took me about three quarters of an hour, everything was fine.

Next morning, Grandma called. (I should have recognised this call as a first sign, a warning, but I ignored the fact that whenever Nana tries to find out the time and place I was going, a disaster is near…)

So Nana wanted to know when I was going to water the plants on the graveyard. And I made the mistake of telling her.

And then… I don’t know how it happened, but it went like this:
Nana: “So you’re not going this morning? Because I should go this morning, because it’s so hot.”
Me: “No, I am going tonight.”
Nana: “Hum. Maybe I should go tonight then. What time are you going?”
Me: “Not sure. Depends… Why?”
Nana: “Well, you know, it’s so hot and I think I need to go tonight as well. The plants need a lot of water…”

And at the end, I had agreed to take Grandma to the graveyard – a trip that ended up being the worst inquisition you can imagine (Grandma wants to know EVERYTHING, so that she can tell her friends about what I am doing and they gossip and because they can never listen porperly and only get half the story, at the end of the day, I have half the town discussing stuff about me that is not true…) .

So on Tuesday morning, I decided to avoid the questions and all that – and offered to water the plants on Granddad’s grave as well, so that Nana could stay at home.

Okay. By Tuesday night I had two graves to look after: Grandma and Granddad’s (Dad’s parents) and my other Granddad’s.

No problem. Just another five minutes, so that was allright.

But THEN… on Wednesday for some reason Grandma called and told me I had to look after “Lotte’s Grave” as well. Now Lotte was a close friend of Grandma and so I thought, well… you know… it’s just another five minutes…

So from one day to another, I had three graves to look after (the local gardener already threw evil looks at me because he was afraid I might be a real threat to his business!).

And that is not even the end of the story.

Because on Thursday – you may have guessed it already – Nana added another task to my list.

That was, because “the nice man next to Lotte’s grave” went on holiday.

So Friday came and I had four graves to look after and watering plants took me almost 1 1/2 hours a day.

I don’t even know the “nice man next to Lotte’s grave”‘s name (neither does Nana, by the way), but nevermind. At least we water the plants.

And then came Saturday.

A friend and I went for coffee and ice-cream. She insisted on helping me to water the plants on the graveyard before I would drive her home.

So we watered grave 1 to 4 – when a stranger walked up to me and said: “Do you come here regularly?”

Well, what do you say? I had a bad feeling and yet I couldn’t lie to this old lady.
“Yes, almost everyday, but that is only until tomorrow, as long as my family is on holiday.”
“Oh. So would you mind watering the flowers on this grave as well?”

And for some weird reason, even though my mind yelled “NO FOR HEAVEN’S SAKES, NO!!!”, my mouth kinda went: “Well… ahm… yeah… I suppose so.”

So there it was: Grave #5 added to my list.

The poor professional gardener almost got a heart attack!

{The zombie-part of the story was actually a misunderstanding between my Kiwi friend and myself. I told her the story and she thought I had spoken to dead people who asked me to look after their graves, but in fact I had been talking to relatives of the dead people who looked after their graves. So it was acutally no real zombie story. More like a flower-story. But you know: it’s always the gardener!}

One thought on “The spooky part of the mini series ❀

  1. Pingback: Cake troubles and Math mysteries | coffeerocketfairytale

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