“Christine!”


It was her again; the face identical to mine. Her long brown hair, floating around her shoulders, blowing in the wind. She whispered the same simple message, “It’s the night, the night of graves’ delight”. Then as suddenly as she came, she was gone.
“Christine!” I screamed, “Christine!”.

I awoke in cold sweat. It was 6:03 am, the sky was still dark and the neighbors still asleep. I pushed out of bed and into the bathroom. It wasn’t the first time I’d had that dream. Ever since the accident, almost a year ago, January 27, 2012, I’d dreamt of my dead twin sister. Christine and I were 12; we’d been driving home from a party at a friend’s house. She sat in the passenger seat, and I in the back. That was why I had survived and not her; the drunk had slammed his truck into the right side of our Jeep, killing her on impact.

Christine was my best friend, my look-alike, and my other half. It took a long time to move on with my life, and it still hurt like hell, thinking of her.
Nevertheless, that recurring dream meant something to me. The night of graves’ delight. It obviously meant Halloween, what else? But why would Christine tell me something about Halloween? She hated Halloween, the whole idea of dressing up in silly costumes to snag free candy from elderly neighbors.
I flicked the light on and groggily splashed icy water onto my face. Dripping, I looked into the mirror. My face haunted me, it only reminded me of her. I ran a brush through my messy hair and hurriedly brushed my teeth.
That was one visible difference between Christine and I. She wore her naturally wavy hair either up, her curls bouncing as she walked. I, on the other hand, straightened mine every day and kept it down, framed around my face. That was fine, I liked it like that. Christine was also more of the bubbly, sporty, everyone’s best friend type. However, I stayed in my high social position, with my cool, popular friends, unwilling to socialize with anyone else.

I gave myself one last, satisfying look in the mirror and left the bathroom. I would think about the dream later, I had other things to worry about at the moment. Getting dressed was always hard for me. Christine, on the other hand, would always just jump up out of bed and know what she wanted to wear. It took me forever to decide.

After thirty minutes of trying on and off clothes, I finally emerged from my bedroom in dark wash skinny jeans, and a flowered, collared shirt.
“G’morning, mom”, I mumbled as I sat down at the breakfast table.
“Oh Scarlett, good morning”
“Where’s dad?”
“Meeting”.
“Oh”.

The conversation ended there. We spooned our Cheerios in silence, as usual and tried not to make eye contact. Ever since Christine had left, there wasn’t much conversation in the house. Christine was always the one to start a conversation and bring the rest of us in. I finished my cereal and rinsed my bowl and spoon off.
“Bye mom”, I called over my shoulder as I heaved my backpack and cheerleading bag onto my shoulder and sauntered out the front door.

I lived less than two blocks away from the school, and it usually took me five minutes to get there on foot. I plugged in my earbuds and blared Coldplay into my ears.

“Scarlett!” It was my friend Kylie.

“Hey”. I yanked one earbud out. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, you?”

“I had the dream again, if that’s a surprise.”
Kylie was the only one I had told about my dream.

“Oh gosh, again? I don’t know, Scar, what do you think it means?”
Kylie was always one for over exaggeration.

“Beats me. The night of graves’ delight isn’t exactly crystal clear.”
I tried not to roll my eyes.

“Well, it means Halloween, you know that; and Halloween is tomorrow, so…”

“So what? You think Christine’s just going to show up, alive again?” I snapped.

“Well, of course not. But maybe her spirit or something is trying to tell you something about Halloween, like something’s going to happen, and she’s telling you through the dream” she bubbled, clearly excited.

“Yeah, well I don’t believe in that stuff; and neither did Christine” I coldly responded, plugging my earbud back in.
Her face fell.
“I’m just saying, you never know”.
We entered the gate of Kempton Intermediate School, home of the Huskies. The thing that sucks about Kempton is everyone, and everything reminds me of Christine. For one, she knew everybody, and she was friends with everybody. Christine was also in two different clubs: JSA (Junior Statesmen of America), and Art Club. She was on the volleyball team, student council, and marching band; while still supporting a perfect 4.0 GPA. In shorter terms, Christine was perfect. Sometimes, her perfectness made me hate her. But Christine was the type of person who you couldn’t stay mad at. Teachers adored her and her peers looked up to her. She was funny, sweet, and beautiful, and gone.

Every time I walked into that school with Christine, I would feel like the “other twin”; the one who nobody was allowed to talk to except for her friends, the one who wasn’t in any clubs, the pretty little cheerleader that was too cool for almost anyone. Cheer was probably the one group I “belonged” to. I only tried out because of Christine. She told me I had natural talent and that I should try to be part of a group of people that shared a common interest with me. After a week of her persuading, I gave in.

The school day was long, and I was happy to finally go home. It was Tuesday, so I didn’t have drill practice after school. I hurried home and plopped down on my bed, grabbing for my laptop.
I logged in and stared at my screensaver. It was one of Christine and I, not long before she died. She was smiling that million-dollar smile of hers, with her big, bright eyes shining. God, I missed her. I would’ve done anything to see her again, even for just a few seconds.

“It’s the night, the night of graves’ delight” Graves’ delight? I still didn’t know what that meant. Thoughtfully, I opened a new webpage and Googled “the night of graves’ delight” and found a page of useless results.



I kept scrolling until I found a poem by this guy named Arthur Cleveland Coxe.


‘Tis the night- the night
Of grave’s delight,
And the warlocks are at their play
Ye think that without
The wild winds shout,
But no, it is they – it is they

That was a start, now I just needed to find out who “they” was. I did some research on Coxe but found nothing.
“The wild winds shout, But no, it is they – it is they”, I wondered aloud to myself, “Who’s ‘they’?”
Could “they” include my sister? I was overthinking. But there was a part of me that clung to the idea of that. It was eating at me; I missed her so much. I closed my laptop and lay on my back. I had too much on my mind at the time.

PART TWO.
“The night of graves’ delight. Six o’clock, gravesite. I’ll be waiting”, and then she was gone again.
“Christine!” I woke again. Six o’clock, gravesite. I’ll be waiting. Christine had given me more than just the poem now. She said to meet at 6:00 at the gravesite, (assuming she meant her gravesite). Her gravesite was 15 minutes from my house, I could walk there in half an hour.
Was I crazy? It was just a dream. But it was my sister. There was a possibility, even if it was the slightest, that I could see her again.


The day couldn’t pass fast enough. I had Christine on my mind all day. I got out first during drilldowns, which I usually won.
Finally, at 4:30, they let me go. I ran home, and into the shower. It was 5 pm when I was all ready, my hair in pigtails and dressed in my last minute nerd costume. I had told Kylie about my dream and my plan to meet my sister. She tried to stop me at first, but gave in. Kylie would cover for me, because my parents thought I’d be trick-or-treating with her.
I left the house at 5:15, and headed for the cemetary. I was worried,what if Christine didn’t show? I had my phone with me, along with a can of pepper spray, because Kylie kept worrying I’d get kidnapped. I arrived at the gate. “Kempton Cemetary” was written in Christmas lights above it.
I took a deep breath and walked in. It was getting dark, and being at a cemetary on Halloween night was more than frightening. I found her gravestone.
It read :“Christine Joy Huerta. Beloved daughter, sister, and friend. Rest in Peace.”
I paced by the grave. It was 5:57. Where was she?
Suddenly, a gust of wind blew and the leaves shook off the trees, blinding me for a moment.
And then, there she was, standing less than a yard from me.
“Christine!” I yelled, “Christine!”