The Missing Grave

The store bell chimed for the last time that day, as she pulled the door shut and locked it. It was 6 PM and already very dark outside. Her fingers, cold and stiff, fumbled with the keys, making it a struggle to turn the lock.

When Holly was sure that she left the corner store locked and safe, she turned around and went back home. A thin mist hung in the air, giving the streetlights a hazy yellow glow that made the evening feel like Christmas, even though autumn was still in full swing.

Her legs seemed to take her back home on autopilot, just like her head had been on autopilot for the entire day. Stock some more eggs, run the cash register. Sweep the floor, back to the register. Store the magazines, register again. The same stock, the same customers, everything just as it always had been.

“good evening John”, she heard herself greet John Miller, the owner of the ferry running to- and from the island. After he greeted her back and passed her on the street, she waved at Wendy Smith, the preschool teacher.

When you live on a small island in a town of about 1000 inhabitants, it didn’t take long for you to know everyone. And everything about everyone. She knew where the Millers lived, and that John would probably pick up a pack of cigarettes on his way home. She knew Wendy would either go home, or first swing by Daniël Jensen, a new town sheriff, with whom she’d recently started dating.

As Holly walked past the Parkers’ residence, she braced herself for the predictable bark of their large dog, Sandy. True to her prediction, Sandy started barking the moment she approached, wagging her tail eagerly behind the gate. “Come on, Sandy, you know me,” she said, watching the dog bounce excitedly before the fence blocked her path and ended her pursuit.

Havenstad had been Holly’s home for most of her life. The buildings, made of the same coastal rock, and the cobbled, winding streets created a distinctive charm. The cool, windy weather was a constant, with thick fog often creeping in and around the island, giving it a range of moods from gloomy to cozy – depending on who you asked.

Visitors were rare. Occasionally, adventurous nature lovers would come to explore the rugged coastline, only to discover that it was about 12 miles in circumference, and that the meandering path around it wasn’t much more interesting the second or third day around. Adding to this, the island held no other attraction for outsiders to enjoy. Or insiders, for that matter.

Holly stifled a yawn, as she tried remembering what was waiting for her in her fridge. Was it leftovers from yesterday? Or do I still have some spinach left from before that? She hiked up her satchel a little higher up on her shoulder and rounded the last corner to her street.

This street, like all the other streets, was made up of two rows of houses facing each other with a road separating them. The houses were slim but tall, with windows haphazardly speckling the front. There was no garden to speak of, as the rocky ground was not well suited for plants or grass. Instead, some of the houses had a short tiled path surrounded by a fence leading up to their front doors.

Holly, who’d warmed her hands somewhat in her thick brown coat, nimbly opened her front door and was happy to get out of the moist air outside.

She kicked off her boots and took off her coat, before quickly turning up the thermostat in the cramped hallway. She rounded the corner to the living area and turned on the tv

The contents of her fridge did nothing to elevate her mood, and as she threw some leftovers in her microwave, she leaned against her kitchen counter and numbly stared at the commercials running on her tv screen.

Her house was quaint, with smallish rooms and corridors, checkered windows and an old fashioned kitchen and bathroom. On days like these, it got really cold, and the poor insulation made it drafty around the windows and front door. She had tried to fix some of it by caulking up any crannies and gaps she found. Now, it was certainly a tad less drafty, but the white streaks around the woodwork looked unfinished and messy.

Loud beeping from the microwave shook her out of her tv-trance for a moment, and she plopped the insides of the container onto a plate, before sitting down in front of the tv. She curled up her legs and covered herself in a blanket, ready to spend her entire evening dozing off while watching a movie. But just then, a flash of light shone through her window as a car eased up slowly right next to her house.

She raised her head, trying to see outside. Who could that be? Not many people owned a car, except for a few. There was a single bus line covering most of Havenstad, and most people got around on foot, or by bicycle.

The car engine purred for a few seconds before being shut off, and she heard the slam of a car door. She got upright, wrapped the blanket around herself like a cape, and peeked outside. For the first time in forever, she was surprised at what she saw. A red pickup truck was now parked next to her house, and an unknown man got out.