Previously, I attended the funeral of a girl named Gertrude, who's unusual death baffled
investigators all across the nation. I tried to comfort a few people there, including
Gertrude's brother, Gerard, whom I am very familiar with.
I may have balked at the notion of burials and all that, but I stuck with it to support a
grieving friend. I saw Gerard off after the services, and had a moment to myself at the
cemetery just outside the funeral home.
Then I saw someone past the gates: a smaller framed, dark haired, kinda young girl.
I confronted her - she seemed disoriented and a little scared - and she said her name
was Gertrude...
Part 2: Square-dancing in the cemetery
I take a step back. There's no way this girl is the Gertrude we just spent the day burying,
there's just no possibility! I laugh nervously, hoping this was just a disturbing coincidence.
"That's funny. We just had a service for a girl named Gertrude... Funny right?..."
She sighs at my poor joke. "Well I don't get it," she says.
"Well, uh... what are you doing here anyway?" I ask. Somehow I almost forgot that we were
standing in a cemetery. My feet burned at that realization, like I was hairlengths away from
tripping some nonexistant alarm.
"Not sure. ...I just 'woke up' a minute ago," she answers, "I came out of that building back
there, and just kept walking... If this is a prank, or some guy's sick fantasy-"
"No! No I really don't think that's what happened."
She looks up slightly confused. "...I think I've seen you before," she mutters.
I don't know how to respond to that. "Uh... If you're who I think you are, I know I've seen
you before... ...Please call me Arch."
"Arch... I know that name..." The girl - who I still doubt is Gertrude - crosses her arms from
the cold. I lend her my coat to weather the October chill.
"We really shouldn't be here. Do you know where you were going?"
She turns away. "No... No I don't. I was just walking in a straight line." She tugs at her
loaned jacket. I can tell from looking at her she's completely lost; nowhere to go that she can
remember, and no one to talk to that she can trust.
"You're not staying out here. I'm staying at a hotel not too far from here, come with me and
spend the night."
She turned back to me with one eyebrow risen. "You mean in the same-"
"No! I-I meant in seperate rooms!" I exclaim, "and I insist on paying for yours."
'Gertrude' thinks of my offer for a moment, then nods.
We made our wordless way out of the cemetery. I stayed close, ready to catch her if she fell:
she still seemed a little unsteady from the gate to my Eclipse. I helped her into her seat then
headed to mine, and I wondered about her as I did. I just offered a night's stay to this girl,
who claims to be someone I knew - knew of anyway. Maybe she's just a toasted stranger
who would definitely forget my kind gesture, or she's conning me for a room's rent. And in the
off-chance she's who she says she is, what would I do, call a news agency? A scientist? The government?
Stake her heart before she starts biting necks?
Though I may be kept up tonight by these thoughts, I'll try to sleep on it.
We rode mostly in scilence through town. (One of those times the radio refused to turn on.) I
stayed alert watching the roadsigns, Gertrude seemed hypnotized by them. It was kinda like a
game between us: a staring contest versus the road.
"I guess you're not staying here for long," Gertrude emptily mutters. I face her briefly in
between turns. She looked away from the road. "You're staying at a hotel, right? You're not a
local here."
"Not exactly, but we'll get to me later. I'm more concerned with why you're square-dancing
in the cemetery at night."
"Yeah... Me too."
A stop sign comes into view, I obey its one-word command. "Since we're both interested in
finding out, what can you tell me about yourself?"
"Well..." she mutters. She leans her head against the headrest, trying to answer. "I already
told you my name, Gertrude. I have an apartment in town, but I can't remember where: I know
my phone should still be somewhere there. ...oh! And I have an older brother, Gerard!" She
straightens up in her seat, excited by her revelation.
I pass the stop sign, and a whirl of lights from the rest of the street. We're a quarter away
from the hotel, without much resistance from traffic. "Anything else?" I ask.
"Isn't that enough?" She squeeks, disappointed.
Swallowing hard I speak up again. "Well there are a few gaps. Do you remember what you were
doing yesterday?"
"Easy, that was Friday so I was definitely home. If it concerns you, I was watching a movie
that evening with a friend: just check my Beat profile."
I roll my eyes hearing that site name again, the social media platform women her age tend to
use; Beat, also called BPM.
"I think you should check your Beat profile, that post was three weeks ago."
Her borrowed coat rolls off her shoulders. She perks up again. "What?.."
"The night you were talking about was October 2nd. Tomorrow will be the 24th." I pause to
focus on the next turn. "Your friend has explained that night roughly a thousand times
already to investigators."
"Investigators- Wait, three weeks- What's going on-"
"As for your phone, it's probably still in an evidence bag right now."
"How do you know all this!?"
"I watch a lot of news," I don't hesitate to say. She sits back with her eyes wide, she was
too baffled to quickly respond. I continue on. "And Gerard, he just came out of a funeral:
his sister's."
"But he only has one sister-"
"-named Gertrude, who croaked three weeks ago," I interrupt.
She sputters, trying but failing to argue with me. I start to wonder about her again,
about how it was such a great idea to bring this girl with me. Here I was, riding downtown
with a sob-story of a young girl who thinks she's a dead one, when I should have called
somebody to take a good look at her.
Then the radio loudly springs to life. We both flinch at the static bang emitted.
"-the funeral to Gertrude Richlan, who passed away under unknown circumstances on Friday,
October 2nd. Investigators are still baffled by the-"
"-No... That's not possible." she stutters, "I'm right here..."
"And I don't know what to tell you. You've probably just got her confused with yourself." I
shrug my shoulders.
"That isn't it, Archie," she argues.
Archie? hearing her say my first name raises the hairs on my back. I don't remember telling her
it. "You recognize me?"
She quickly nods. "Yeah... Yeah I do. You're Archie Poee, aren't you? I remember you sneering
all the time."
"Hey! I don't sneer," I almost laugh.
[Made it through? Grats. Stay tuned, for part 3 is on the way.]
investigators all across the nation. I tried to comfort a few people there, including
Gertrude's brother, Gerard, whom I am very familiar with.
I may have balked at the notion of burials and all that, but I stuck with it to support a
grieving friend. I saw Gerard off after the services, and had a moment to myself at the
cemetery just outside the funeral home.
Then I saw someone past the gates: a smaller framed, dark haired, kinda young girl.
I confronted her - she seemed disoriented and a little scared - and she said her name
was Gertrude...
Part 2: Square-dancing in the cemetery
I take a step back. There's no way this girl is the Gertrude we just spent the day burying,
there's just no possibility! I laugh nervously, hoping this was just a disturbing coincidence.
"That's funny. We just had a service for a girl named Gertrude... Funny right?..."
She sighs at my poor joke. "Well I don't get it," she says.
"Well, uh... what are you doing here anyway?" I ask. Somehow I almost forgot that we were
standing in a cemetery. My feet burned at that realization, like I was hairlengths away from
tripping some nonexistant alarm.
"Not sure. ...I just 'woke up' a minute ago," she answers, "I came out of that building back
there, and just kept walking... If this is a prank, or some guy's sick fantasy-"
"No! No I really don't think that's what happened."
She looks up slightly confused. "...I think I've seen you before," she mutters.
I don't know how to respond to that. "Uh... If you're who I think you are, I know I've seen
you before... ...Please call me Arch."
"Arch... I know that name..." The girl - who I still doubt is Gertrude - crosses her arms from
the cold. I lend her my coat to weather the October chill.
"We really shouldn't be here. Do you know where you were going?"
She turns away. "No... No I don't. I was just walking in a straight line." She tugs at her
loaned jacket. I can tell from looking at her she's completely lost; nowhere to go that she can
remember, and no one to talk to that she can trust.
"You're not staying out here. I'm staying at a hotel not too far from here, come with me and
spend the night."
She turned back to me with one eyebrow risen. "You mean in the same-"
"No! I-I meant in seperate rooms!" I exclaim, "and I insist on paying for yours."
'Gertrude' thinks of my offer for a moment, then nods.
We made our wordless way out of the cemetery. I stayed close, ready to catch her if she fell:
she still seemed a little unsteady from the gate to my Eclipse. I helped her into her seat then
headed to mine, and I wondered about her as I did. I just offered a night's stay to this girl,
who claims to be someone I knew - knew of anyway. Maybe she's just a toasted stranger
who would definitely forget my kind gesture, or she's conning me for a room's rent. And in the
off-chance she's who she says she is, what would I do, call a news agency? A scientist? The government?
Stake her heart before she starts biting necks?
Though I may be kept up tonight by these thoughts, I'll try to sleep on it.
We rode mostly in scilence through town. (One of those times the radio refused to turn on.) I
stayed alert watching the roadsigns, Gertrude seemed hypnotized by them. It was kinda like a
game between us: a staring contest versus the road.
"I guess you're not staying here for long," Gertrude emptily mutters. I face her briefly in
between turns. She looked away from the road. "You're staying at a hotel, right? You're not a
local here."
"Not exactly, but we'll get to me later. I'm more concerned with why you're square-dancing
in the cemetery at night."
"Yeah... Me too."
A stop sign comes into view, I obey its one-word command. "Since we're both interested in
finding out, what can you tell me about yourself?"
"Well..." she mutters. She leans her head against the headrest, trying to answer. "I already
told you my name, Gertrude. I have an apartment in town, but I can't remember where: I know
my phone should still be somewhere there. ...oh! And I have an older brother, Gerard!" She
straightens up in her seat, excited by her revelation.
I pass the stop sign, and a whirl of lights from the rest of the street. We're a quarter away
from the hotel, without much resistance from traffic. "Anything else?" I ask.
"Isn't that enough?" She squeeks, disappointed.
Swallowing hard I speak up again. "Well there are a few gaps. Do you remember what you were
doing yesterday?"
"Easy, that was Friday so I was definitely home. If it concerns you, I was watching a movie
that evening with a friend: just check my Beat profile."
I roll my eyes hearing that site name again, the social media platform women her age tend to
use; Beat, also called BPM.
"I think you should check your Beat profile, that post was three weeks ago."
Her borrowed coat rolls off her shoulders. She perks up again. "What?.."
"The night you were talking about was October 2nd. Tomorrow will be the 24th." I pause to
focus on the next turn. "Your friend has explained that night roughly a thousand times
already to investigators."
"Investigators- Wait, three weeks- What's going on-"
"As for your phone, it's probably still in an evidence bag right now."
"How do you know all this!?"
"I watch a lot of news," I don't hesitate to say. She sits back with her eyes wide, she was
too baffled to quickly respond. I continue on. "And Gerard, he just came out of a funeral:
his sister's."
"But he only has one sister-"
"-named Gertrude, who croaked three weeks ago," I interrupt.
She sputters, trying but failing to argue with me. I start to wonder about her again,
about how it was such a great idea to bring this girl with me. Here I was, riding downtown
with a sob-story of a young girl who thinks she's a dead one, when I should have called
somebody to take a good look at her.
Then the radio loudly springs to life. We both flinch at the static bang emitted.
"-the funeral to Gertrude Richlan, who passed away under unknown circumstances on Friday,
October 2nd. Investigators are still baffled by the-"
"-No... That's not possible." she stutters, "I'm right here..."
"And I don't know what to tell you. You've probably just got her confused with yourself." I
shrug my shoulders.
"That isn't it, Archie," she argues.
Archie? hearing her say my first name raises the hairs on my back. I don't remember telling her
it. "You recognize me?"
She quickly nods. "Yeah... Yeah I do. You're Archie Poee, aren't you? I remember you sneering
all the time."
"Hey! I don't sneer," I almost laugh.
[Made it through? Grats. Stay tuned, for part 3 is on the way.]