"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Johnathan lay motionless in a snow bank, his face buried in a cold blanket. He continued his pathetic sobbing, hoping that the spirits would just leave him alone.
Johnathan ignored the first few pokes to the back of his head, dismissing it as a curious bird or animal. However the final poke was one that made him spin upright, his face red with anger. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT!" His took deep breaths and continued to glare at a ragged old man with a large belly. His white beard was stained with dirt and pieces of garbage and his clothes weren't in any better shape. Torn in many places Johnathan was sure the only thing keeping him remotely warm was faded red beanie on his head. "Sorry....Spirit."
The man stared at him before turning around. He motioned Johnathan to follow him as he walked away. "Wait!" Johnathan shouted. But the old man either ignored it or couldn't hear as he kept on walking. Johnathan shook his head and ran to the old man's side. "Where are you taking me spirit?"
The old man said nothing, instead pointing at a large black gate. Johnathan squinted to see it and made out these words form the rusted metal.
"Why have you taken me here?" Johnathan asked in a grave tone. The old man said nothing but continued walking, right into the middle of the graveyard. Johnathan could barely see when the Spirit stopped. He gazed down at a grave and knelt in front of it. Johnathan knelt as well, wiping some snow to see the name of the deceased.
Dean James "DJ" Jackson 1990-2009-A brother, a friend.
"Spirit...what has happened to the boy?" Johnathan asked, a real sense of caring present in his voice.
The spirit turned to him and spoke, his voice sounded as it might once have been loud and cheerful, now low and hushed. "The boy died on New Year's Eve, shot by his own brother about an argument from Christmas Eve. The younger had stole to get money for their Christmas gifts. The older brother and mother found out but the mother took the fall. She was put into custody and her children separated into different homes. The older son blamed the younger son. The younger son was under the influence, and shot his brother. Now he lies in death row."
Johnathan gasped and opened his mouth to say something when the Spirit walked over to another grave.
Adam Warhol 1981-2010
"Adam Warhol comitted suicide. He was working three dead end jobs after he had been fired from his one job with health benefits. His mother and fatehr had died in an accident and he spent most of his money nursing his mother to a hopeful recovery. Insufficient fudns proved it futile however and she died a year later. This plus his numerous phobias could have him relocated to a mental hospital. He took the other way out."
Johnathan knelt by the grave, shaking his head. "No, no no! Spirit this can't be! I couldn't have done all this...could I?"
The Spirit didn't answer him, instead leading him towards a fairly simple looking grave. A couple and a man were standing over it, flowers in hand.
"Oh mom...why'd you have to go." Jennifer sobbed. An Asian man with spiky hair wrapped his hands around her in an attempt to comfort her a little bit.
"We're all said hon, but crying isn't going to bring her back." He said quietly. He planted a kiss on her forehead before letting go. "Come on mom can't take care of little Jacob for long."
Jennifer sniffed. "Alright Yoshi, let's go." The couple started walking before turning back to her brother. "Coming Jason?"
The man knelt beside his mother's grave shook his head. "In a minute sis. I got something I have to take care of." Jennifer nodded before walkign away with her husband. Johnathan and the Spirit moved closer to the grave, Johnathan breaking into a sobbing fit after seeing the name on the grave.
Nancy Bisping Jones- A loving Mother, Friend and Grandmother
"No..please Spirit say it isn't so!" Johnathan sobbed. His own son had crossed out his last name and replaced it with her maiden name. Did he hate him that much?
"I love you mom." Jason Jones said. He kissed the grave before standing up, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Merry Christmas." With that Johnathan's prodigy left, forever marking then end of the Bisping family name. Johanthan continued to cry before grabbing the Spirits ripped jeans.
"Please Spirit! I now know the error of my ways! I have been a greedy wretched soul, sparing no love for my family! Even for Chrsitmas! Please tell me these events are shadows that could be, not will be!" The proud Johnathan Bisping was reduced to a gibbering mess, tears staining his face, on his knees begging to a Spirit in the form of a homeless man.
The Spirit remained silent, walking over to the farthest grave in the graveyard. It was a crudely made one that stood on it's own. Johnathan ran to catch the Spirit but fell, landing face first in front of the grave.
Johnathan stared silently at the grave before turning to the Spirit. "Spirit...is it too late for this old fool to repent?"
The old man's face began to melt, to the horror of Johnathan. His clothes morphed into a large hood, covering his entire body. The Skeletal face stared at Johnathan, void of any expression. Johnathan's gaze moved from the Reaper's face to it's large scythe. Without thinking he grabbed the end of it and held on tight, "Please Spirit! There must be something can do to change this horrible future!" He looked up into the lifeless eyes of the Spirit as it raised it's free arm.
"GO!" It yelled. Johnathan felt himself be blown back by a supernatural force. He yelled in horror as the Spirit grew smaller and smaller, his vision going black.