Chapter Text
“This one’s new, Mum.” Nobody Owens observed. He splayed his hand along the side of the black granite, feeling how cool and smooth it felt under his fingers.
“Aye, it is. But something’s wrong here.” Mrs. Owens murmured. She was a plump, animated woman, and held the boy close. Even if she wasn’t his real mother, she was still quite protective.
“Sherlock Holmes,” her husband, as well as Bod’s father and caretaker, read. “It’s fresh, of course, but there’s not a spirit attached. No being has shown his face as yet. And it has been a week. Never seen this before in all my days.”
The site was lovely, as gravesites go, situated right under a large oak and backed up near a broken fence covered in ivy which gave it a medieval appearance. The grounds were extremely well maintained. The black granite which made up the tombstone was imposing and very expensive. Several wreaths graced the grave site. Sherlock Holmes must have been important when he was alive, Bod mused. Indeed, there had been several visitors since the burial, including a mysterious looking man with an umbrella, who had several men hovering around the cemetery, causing Bod to hide until they left. Also, another, kinder-looking man, who seemed very sad with deep blue eyes. He had visited several times already.
Silas watched the Owens’ discussion from his perch on top of the hill, near the obelisk which was dedicated to Josiah Worthington. Worthington, a local politician, brewer, and baronet, had donated the cemetery and its land almost 300 years ago to the city. It was a beautiful cemetery: serene, quiet, peaceful, but not really the sort of place you would want to raise a child. Silas may be a vampire, but he had strong values and prided himself on being Bod's watcher.
Since Bod had wandered into the graveyard so many years ago, he had grown into a strong, healthy boy, if a bit quiet. There were certain gaps in his learning, but Silas endeavored to visit the library as often as possible, bringing new books and information back. It still wasn’t safe for Bod to leave the cemetery with the man Jack and his minions hanging around.
Still, it pained Silas that Bod couldn’t receive the social interaction that he needed from other children. When he did see children they were usually grieving, which are odd circumstances for making friends. Bod often avoided adults to keep them from asking too many questions. If the same people saw him more than once, for instance, it would send up red flags. Questions like ‘Why aren’t you in school?’ and ‘Where is your family?’ were difficult ones for Bod to answer.
Silas sighed and made his way down to the new gravesite.
“What have we found out, then?” Silas said to the group.
“Nothing yet, Silas.” Mr. Owens responded. “‘Tis very strange. What do you make of it?”
“Well, if a ghost has a particular purpose, they may briefly visit another family member elsewhere, before returning to their home graveyard, but they are usually only gone a few minutes. Well, you remember…” Silas trailed off as he gestured with significance to Mr. and Mrs. Owens behind Bod’s head so he wouldn’t see.
“Oh yes, of course,” they both answered in chorus.
Silas was referring to the night Bod’s family was murdered, when Bod’s mother’s ghost had followed Bod to the graveyard where he had fled from Jack, the murderer. She had pleaded with the Owens’ to take custody of Bod, then only a toddler, before she faded, returning to her own family’s graveyard. Soon after, the man Jack had shown up to finish his hit and kill Bod, but Silas had glamoured him into leaving the cemetery and looking elsewhere.
“What, what is it?” Bod insisted, his 10-year-old eyes wide.
“Nothing, son,” Mr. Owens said, patting him on the head. They had recently told Bod about his family. After all, he was a smart child, very smart. Smart enough to know children aren’t normally raised in graveyards, and that he ought to have a family somewhere. A family not made up of ghosts. So Silas had sat him down and explained about that night, and about the man Jack, and why it was so important for Bod not to leave the graveyard until Jack wasn’t a threat anymore.
Bod had nodded, taking everything in, his eyes solemn and his countenance serious.
Even though Bod knew about his parents, they tried not to speak about it in front of him.
“Someone’s coming,” Mrs. Owens said. Even though the ghosts did not have to move, they did so out of respect, moving away from the fresh grave. A car had pulled into the gravel path nearby and it was likely Mr. Holmes was in for another visitor.
“Bod, go play, okay?” Mr. Owens said.
“Okay Father,” Bod said sweetly, running off quickly before the visitor saw him.