The full moon poured a river on the bypass. I felt my heart beat and I wished it to stop. Bryan had made a CD to put us in the right mood. He eyed me for permission.
'Can I put this in?'� he asked. A silver disc threw moonlight across my vision.
In the backseat Jay didn't need any mood-setting; the fearful eyes I caught in my rearview scanned the flattened cornfields.
Can't they tell? I wondered. Can't they tell something's wrong? In my speech? The way I'm sitting?
It had grown worse as the night drew on. It started with an itch. I scratched my chest red, and when the itch went away, my pores opened up like a million screaming souls. I threw on a loose blue shirt. Better leave that alone, I thought. As I drove I curled before the wheel to keep the blood from showing. Not too much though'I didn't want my heart to fall out.
We drove through the long flat country, sine wave electronica pulsing blue through the air. I could sense the old excitement crawling in my friends' blood. They didn't know what to expect; every time was different. But when I pulled into the Garland-Bough Cemetery and killed the Honda, I wondered if this time would be my last.
I was dying to know what was going on under my shirt. The itch was gone, but the black breezes chilled my ribs. It's funny; all covered up like that, even with the odd sensations, I could still believe that everything was going to be all right. If I could just think positively, on our way back we could laugh together, even stop somewhere to eat, talk about the night and what we should do next time. Just like all the old times.
Bryan spread his arms as he walked between gravestones. He was getting in tune, probably feeling that rush of touching a plane so few have truly known. He was a little overdramatic, but he enjoyed life.
I followed Bryan to the tree'the great and gnarled oak'Jay just behind. Jay kept to himself, and I think he ran on fear; still, he was in the zone. He's a believer and that's better than what you get most anywhere else. The three of us sat together beneath the hangman limbs. We waited for the show to begin.
The first to come out'as always'were the children. They ran in figure-8's, chasing one another, disregarding stones. They had no stories, only optimistic energy. I always loved the way they'd smile: so bright and big. I'd like to believe that as a child, I smiled just as freely, laughing and playing games on into the night.
At one side of the yard a shadow interrupted the moonlight. I don't know the boy's name, but to me he's always been a Matthew. Most of the time he just stands there, staring at us. I don't know if they can see us or not, the ghosts (sometimes they do not see each other), but Matthew always made my skin crawl. I tried to ignore him; I didn't think my chest could take the crawling. I would simply fall apart.
I was happy to finally see the mother come through. Although headless, she had a way of comforting me. With her infant son swaddled in her arms, she passed through the tombstones and children. Though she didn't seem to notice the children, I always thought she could sense Randy. Many nights she would glide away from him as soon as she appeared.
'Look!'� said Bryan. 'By the willow!'�
I refrained from exciting myself. I knew what was there. Under the eaves of the willow tree, The Murderer stalked like black jelly. The baby started to cry and I felt uneasy.
I had grown used to our monthly visits. Instead of losing interest in the ghosts, I became familiar with them. I have figured once before that this was their constant existence, regardless of the full moon. On other nights they may be less visible, but once a month we are invited to watch.
I have seen old couples dance, veterans joke, flappers giggle. I have seen the lonely souls and ached too much for my headless protector to comfort.
My heart pumped aloud with no flesh for cover. I felt my body emptying its blood. For the moment I was hidden by the shadows of the great oak, but in time the moon would catch me. Eventually I would have to confess to everything.
If I should die and return some day as a form of monthly entertainment, there's no telling what I could see. Could I dance with the lovers? Run with the children? Or would my only company be Matthew? Or, worse, the lurking murderer?
For now I could sit. Enjoy the show and watch all my old friends. It could very well be my last night to share in all the adoration of this death and living.

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