Jillian Chantal

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt, meet. I am working in my story where the main character sees spirits. I am also using real historical figures buried in our cemeteries as characters in the book. This is part of a scene where the protagonist stumbles on a dead body as she’s walking her dog in the cemetery.

Check out the other tales here.

She sat back on her heels and let out a small moan of pity for the deceased.

Realizing she was surrounded by spirits, she glanced at them to try to identify someone she might have spoken to in the past.

Her eyes finally landed on Juan de La Rua, a one-time alderman and mayor of Pensacola back in the 1800s.

He stared at her with sad eyes. “Someone has disturbed our peace yet again, Señorita Haverstock. We are all upset about this invasion of our resting places.”

“Did any of you witness what happened?” Lu didn’t see the amount of blood that would be expected if the man was killed on site but she also wasn’t sure how a body would’ve been transported there when the gates were locked from dusk to dawn. Who could’ve gotten inside to dump this poor soul here?

Many of the spirits disappeared when she looked back up at them from where she knelt beside the body. Clearly they didn’t want to interact with her like the ones in the morgue didn’t.

La Rua was still there along with two or three others she hadn’t met before. Lu addressed him. “Did any of you here see how this poor man got here? The gates aren’t open at night to let anyone in.”

“We have seen live people come over the fence and inside through the gates somehow. I think they do something to the lock.” La Rua pointed to a man standing to one side. “This is Salvador Pons. He thought he saw someone when he was out taking the air around three a.m.”

Lu wasn’t familiar with this man and wondered how he’d been buried in St Michael’s. He was dressed as if it was the late 1800s or early 1900s and she’d thought this cemetery was segregated during that time period. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Pons.”

He bowed as if he was attending a formal ball. “It is my pleasure. I am not sure you would have heard of me, but I was the first man of my race to be mayor of this fine city. In the 1870s. A very long time ago for you but it does not seem so long to me.”

“You’re correct. I didn’t know about Pensacola having been so open as to have someone of your race as mayor back then. I’m happy to hear it.”

“Thank you kindly. I was born in Mexico to a Hispanic parent and a Black parent. So perhaps with the Spanish background of this place, it was acceptable even so close to the end of what is called the civil war.” He smiled a grim smile. “Although as we know, there is nothing civil about a war.”