On an Evening Walk Past Oakhurst Park

One of the chief pleasures of my life is to roam familiar city streets in the autumn air. The habit began as a product of necessity. In the early days of my career, I could not afford to hire a driver for the convenience of my commute. It was no matter, for I was full of the vigor of youth and a brisk walk to the office demanded only a small fraction of my energy, and a modest commitment of my time. After establishing myself in the relevant business circles, I gained an amount of freedom to choose my mode of transport on a regular basis.

A comfortable ride suits me best during the hottest and coldest seasons of the year, but during the months when the days are just warm or just cool enough, I most frequently go on foot. I find the crisp air of autumn invigorates me. The swirling of dried leaves across the pavement can bring a smile to my face even on the heaviest of days. I do not mind that the evenings fall quickly, for my route is of a modest length through lighted and frequently populated streets.

My walks frequently take me by Oakhurst Park. There are other, older cemeteries which see the likes of local historians and children engaging in tests of courage, but Oakhurst is easily the most-visited in the city. The facilities are modern, and the grounds well-maintained. The denizens of Oakhurst have family and friends still living who come often to pay their respects. Most days, I have an opportunity to give a "good morning" or a "good evening" to folks coming and going about the park. I may even stay to chat if I spy a friend or a neighbor.

I suppose it was due to my social nature that I did not think twice about approaching the old woman on that particular October day. Oakhurst Park was quiet. In the morning, I had noticed only a small graveside service as I passed. As evening fell, there was not a soul to be seen. I almost didn't see the old woman, either. She was standing alone near the front gate, which was at least a head taller than her. The muted tones of her clothing blended with the pavement and the low wall near where she stood. As I approached, a street lamp which illuminates the entrance sputtered out, causing me to turn my gaze in her direction.

"Hello!" I called out, half in surprise to suddenly see her there.

The woman slowly turned to face me, and made no immediate reply. She was bent and frail with selcouth features, and she seemed to sway somewhat as she moved.

I composed myself and spoke again. "How are you this evening, ma'am?" The woman's mouth moved for a moment, but no audible words reached me. I stepped closer and spoke a bit louder in case she was hard of hearing. "Are you here alone, ma'am?" She seemed to look around as if she didn't know the answer herself. I introduced myself next, and asked for her name, hoping that it would be an easier question for her.

"Adelaide," she said, absently. Without thinking, I glanced to the nearby intersection. The cross-street was Adelaide Avenue.

A chill wind whistled past us. With a shiver, it occurred to me that perhaps she had spent her energy in coming here, and was now finding it difficult to think or to make her way home as evening fell. It would be prudent to get her indoors and find something hot to drink. I resolved to escort her to the nearest police station for assistance.

"Will you walk with me, ma'am?" I offered her my arm, and she took it, nodding. We started off together.

We walked at a slow pace for about two blocks before she needed to rest. I assured her that I was in no hurry, and she could take all the time she needed. She was trembling. I asked if I could put my scarf on her, and she nodded through a shiver. As I draped my scarf around her neck, I noticed her skin felt like ice. I was becoming anxious to get her out of the weather.

As we continued on, I tried a few more questions. I didn't want to frustrate her, but at this point, anything she could tell me about herself would help to find where she belonged. What street does she live on? With whom does she live? Is there someone we could telephone? The only answer she could give, sounding tired and resigned, "I don't know."

About a quarter mile from the police station, the woman stopped again. She stood still and stared across the street, her gaze fixed upon a small apartment building. I watched her stare as if to burn a hole through the front door. Incredibly, it seemed as though some life had ignited behind her eyes.

A street lamp to my left flickered and died with a loud buzz, distracting me for a moment. When I turned back to the old woman, she was simply gone.

Before I had any time to wonder, there was a shrill scream from the apartments. I rushed inside as the residents began to gather in the hall to identify the source of the scream. One door was wide open. The small crowd cautiously peaked inside.

A middle-aged woman lay unbreathing on the floor. She was white, and a pool of blood was forming from a wound on the back of her head. Her face was frozen in a ghastly expression of terror. It was a sight that will stay with me the rest of my days.

The police were called. Having found no trace of the old woman after I saw her last, I made a report to one of the offices on the scene. In all the confusion of the sudden death in the apartment, and with so few details about the woman, there was not much that could be done to find her. I was also beginning to suspect she was not someone who could be found.

I attended the graveside service of the woman who died in the apartment. Something about the strangeness of that night gave me a feeling of obligation. Would the strange old woman have found her way to that block without my assistance? What connected the two? What sort of memory had that kind of staying power in the mind of a ghost who could not remember her own name?

As I turned to make my way out of Oakhurst Park, the autumn wind struck up again. I felt something brush against my leg as I braced myself against a cold gust. I knelt, picked up my scarf, and walked away.

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This piece was written for L.C. Schäfer's Spooktacular Dollar Challenge (October Edition 🎃 🕯).

Thank you, L.C. Schäfer, for the wonderful prompt! It did a lot to help coax me out of my writing hiatus. I hope you enjoyed!