Maplethorpe Cemetery in Cypress Grove, just outside of New Orleans, was one of the most beautiful cemeteries in all the South. In fact, a certain national publication had recently run a three-page spread about the cemetery in their September issue, leading up to a busy tourist month - October, of course - when people came from all over to tour the cemetery and its beautiful Fall foliage. The town council had been running ghost tours in the cemetery for the past few years and it had been a tremendous success. The tours brought much needed revenue to the tiny town and local businesses welcomed the seasonal visitors with open arms.
Maplethorpe was the final resting place for many of the town's most prominent citizens - past and present. There were many elaborate gravestones nestled between magnificent oaks draped with Spanish moss and southern sugar maple trees dotted throughout, giving the cemetery its beautiful Fall color. Huge magnolias stood sentry at the entrance of the cemetery and crepe myrtle lined the walkways. There were wrought iron benches placed here and there, and the entire cemetery was enclosed with an intricate, Gothic iron fence complete with archways and grand spires reaching into the sky.
Beauregard Simpson was the long-time caretaker of the cemetery. He was born and raised in Cypress Grove and was a much-loved citizen of the tiny town. Beau could be found caring for the grounds from sun up to sun down, and he knew the location of every occupant by heart. He lovingly cared for each grave site and treated the grounds with equal love and respect. The cemetery was his domain and Beau felt at home among the stones.
Beau loved every season in the cemetery, but Fall was his favorite. It was his job to keep the grounds clear, and he loved the smoky smell of burning leaves. Beau spent hours raking huge piles of brightly colored fallen leaves and all throughout the day he would burn them in a brick courtyard off to one side of the cemetery. The courtyard had a big round brick fountain that was drained during the Fall and Winter months, and Beau used this fountain for burning the leaves. It made the perfect fire pit. All during the months of September and October, the tiny town smelled of sweet smoke from the burning leaves.
It was Sunday morning and Beau had just arrived to make his rounds of the cemetery. He could hear the church bells ringing in town, which meant services had just begun. In a couple of hours, when Pastor Parsons' long-winded sermon came to an end, the townspeople would go their various ways and Beau knew that some of them would come down to the cemetery to pay their respects. Sundays were often a busy day at the cemetery.
Beau had his broom and rake in the belly of his wheelbarrow and was making his way from one end of the cemetery to the other, starting in the northeast corner at the grave of Miss Eleanor Musgrave, born 1887 and now living with her Lord and Savior since the year 1990. Miss Ellie, as Beau liked to call her, was a life-long resident of Cypress Grove and she had never married. She was a tiny little thing with sparkling blue eyes and a mischievous smile and Beau missed her dearly. Beau had known her his whole life and he always took extra special care of her site. She had a beautiful headstone with an angel draped over the top, looking down adoringly where Miss Ellie lay. 103 long years of life Miss Ellie had been blessed with and even though it had been nearly 30 years since her passing, Beau still felt like it was just yesterday when she lovingly patted his arm and discreetly deposited a cinnamon candy in the pocket of his striped bib overalls. Just as she'd done every time she had seen him since he was a little boy.
Next to Miss Ellie laid the Carmichael twins, who had tragically drowned while searching for crawdads in Lawson's Creek. They had a large granite stone with an etching of their favorite dog Shep, who had also drowned that fateful day, trying to save the two little boys from the depths of the creek. It was said that Shep had been buried along with the boys, as they were inseparable in life, so they would also be in death. Next to the Carmichael boys lay Allister Fitzgerald. He had one of the tallest stones in the cemetery, with its grand obelisk in the middle adorned with ivy and pillars on each side. Mr. Fitz ran the mercantile in town and always had a pipe sticking out of the corner of his mustached mouth. There were some days when Beau swept off his stone that he swore he could still smell that sweet smelling cherry pipe tobacco.
On and on, Beau worked his way across the stones, up and down the aisles of graves, pausing to reminisce about the occupant of each grave, whether he knew them or not. He liked to think they acknowledged him as he went, thanking him for keeping their resting places free of debris as he whisked his broom across their stones. He always whistled old gospel songs as he worked. One of his favorite tunes was one his Grandma used to sing when he was a little boy - Swing Low Sweet Chariot. He was on the third row of stones, whistling away, when he came across a disturbing scene. There on the flat marker of one of the founding fathers of Cypress Grove sat the most peculiar arrangement of items. Beau could see two flat stumps of waxed candles and an assortment of small bones scattered across the top of Thomas Maplethorpe's gravestone. There were clumps of brown fur and some black feathers, a string of black beads and what looked to be the clawed foot of a rooster laying across the grass. Never before had Beau ever come across something like this in his many years of caring for the cemetery. He was distraught to think anyone would be so disrespectful.
Beau hurriedly gathered the mess together into a bag and threw it into the wheelbarrow. He swept the grave and walked around the site twice to make sure he hadn't missed anything. He continued on with his duties, but his mind couldn't rest for thinking of what he had found. He couldn't wait to be rid of the bag and its vile contents. When he had reached the last graves, it was nearly 2:00 and his wheelbarrow was full of leaves and small branches. There were a few people in the cemetery now, visiting their loved ones and setting out Fall flowers. Beau made his way to the old fountain and emptied his wheelbarrow in the center of the pit. He used his rake to push the debris into a pile and a fork caught on the bag, scattering the bones and debris among the leaves. Beau couldn't light the fire fast enough, so intent he was on getting rid of that awful bag and its contents. The flames crackled and hissed and the bag caught fire. A deep purple flame rose high and a mournful moaning sound seemed to come from it with the most putrid smell. Then almost immediately, the flame died back down and the odor disappeared and all you could smell was the sweet smoke of the leaves. Beau stared into the flames and thought about the person who might be responsible for bringing such disrespect to his peaceful cemetery. He certainly couldn't imagine anyone in town doing such a thing.
Once the last of the leaves had been burned, Beau made sure the embers were completely out and the ashes had been swept into a pile before he locked up the cemetery for the night. He wheeled his tools through the entrance and wound the thick chain through the iron bars and padlocked the gate. It was just turning dark once he got his truck loaded, and as he backed out of the lot, his headlights slowly scanned the cemetery.
That evening as Beau sat down to his dinner, he could hardly eat for worrying about what he had found on Mr. Maplethorpe's grave. It made him sick to his stomach to think that anyone would do something like this, especially in Cypress Grove. Try as he might, he just couldn't stop thinking of it and even as he laid down to sleep, he found himself tossing and turning well past midnight, so distressed he was with worry.
It was nearly 3:00 a.m. and he'd not been able to sleep a wink. Beau decided to get up and make his way back down to the cemetery. Maybe a walk through the grounds to make sure everything was in its place would give him some reassurance and he'd be able to put his mind to rest. He donned a clean pair of overalls and his brown leather hat, put on his work boots and made his way back to Maplethorpe Cemetery. As his truck pulled into the lot, the beams from his headlights were swirling with a slow moving fog. The air was thick with it as it wisped about the truck. Beau got out, unlocked the gate and shined his flashlight down the path as he made his way around the rows of the cemetery. He slowly checked each grave site, moving this way and that, shining his light across the grass, up toward the stones and even into the low hanging branches of the trees.
When he got to the row where Mr. Maplethorpe's grave was, the fog seemed to clear and it was eerily quiet. Beau shined his light side to side and the beam came to rest on Thomas' stone. Much to Beau's relief, the grave seemed to be free of debris and as clean as he had left it earlier in the day. He stepped up to the grave and seeing it was clear, made him start to relax. He continued on down the row, checking the rest of the graves. As he neared the end of the row, he heard a deep rumbling behind him and the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He turned around and shined his light down the row and the sight caught in the beam of his light turned his blood cold. There, standing in the middle of the walkway was the largest hound Beau had ever seen in his life. It had dark matted fur, huge clawed feet at the end of long, thick legs. It's back was arched and its snout was long. The rumbling sound was the hound growling, so deep and loud that it felt as though the ground was shaking underfoot. The hound's long, jagged teeth were bared and its eyes were glowing a golden yellow. Beau was so startled to see such a beast that he was frozen on the spot. It wasn't until the hound started to slowly advance toward him that Beau got his wits about him and turned to run. And run he did, as fast as his legs would carry him!
He knew the cemetery well, so even in the dark fog he was able to navigate his way through the aisles and down the pathways. He knew when he'd found the courtyard, even though he'd dropped his flashlight a ways back. His boots clomped across the brick and he tripped and stumbled when his toe hit the raised lip of the fountain. He landed with a thud in the center of the pit and the ashes were still warm in the pile he had made earlier in the day. He sat there stunned, trying to gain his composure and listening for the hound. All he could hear was his own ragged breath and his heart pounding in his chest. He listened intently for any sound of the hound, but it seemed to have vanished. Beau got to his feet and was brushing himself off when out of the darkness leapt the hound, teeth gnashing and snarling. The last thing Beau saw were the glowing yellow eyes and the flash of long, white teeth.
The next day, as the town came to life and people started going through their daily routines, all seemed to be well in Cypress Grove. The first group of visitors had arrived at the cemetery and no one gave it a second thought when they saw Beau's truck parked at the gate. They knew he was always here. The gates were unlocked and the cemetery was well manicured. While Mary Sinclair visited the grave of her late husband, Patrick, her son Mikey wandered around the cemetery picking up brightly colored leaves. He came to the courtyard and there in the middle of the fountain lay a brown leather hat. He looked all around and when he saw no one, he picked up the hat and plopped it down on his head. Mikey ran off to find his mother and she didn't think twice about the old leather hat he had on his head. They made their way back through the gates and got in their car and left the cemetery lot. As they drove back into town, Mikey started whistling a tune his mother hadn't realized he'd even known. "Swing low sweet cheriot, coming for to carry me home. . ."
Beauregard Simpson was never seen again and the town of Cypress Grove erected a special marker in memory of the caretaker at the entrance of the cemetery. He was fondly remembered by all who passed through its gates.
