Rays from the morning sun kiss the tallest gravestones first. The warmth of the sun’s rays slowly fills the cemetery. Marble slabs reveal the names of those who lay beneath.
The town below stirs. Some head to work at the sawmill, while other head to the schools and shops.
For more than a century, the souls of them on the hill guarded the living from the unseen forces. While those below busied themselves with providing food and shelter for their families. The town’s residence is unaware of the countless attacks defeated by the guardians on the hill.
These men and women help build the town when they were alive. Now dead, they have become guardians, protecting the town from unseen forces.
At mid-morning, one guardian spots a 56 Chevy Impala on County Road 23, heading toward the town. It has no driver. He sounds the alarm. Two more rise from their graves.
Like a well oil Army unit, all three plant themselves in front of the incoming vehicle. Back at the cemetery, others hover above, observing the confrontation. Six feet from the guardians, the car comes to a complete stop. A bolt of fire shoots from the car’s grill. One guardian catches it. It disappears.
The attacking car metamorphoses into its’ true self. Now standing before them, a hideous creature, all wrinkled and old.
The center guardian demands, “What is your name?”
The creature hisses. “My name is Suspicion. I breed fake news and make people doubt what is true.”
Suspicion extends his hands, sending out two bolts of fire. One speed between two of the guardians. A ghostly white streak flies up and intercepts the bolt of fire.
The second bolt flies on into the town. It winds through the streets of the town until it comes to a duplex not far from city hall. Magically, it goes through the closed front door. Leaving scorch marks left on the door. It heads to the bedroom where a couple slept in that morning.
The alarm clock rings. The man’s hand reaches over to turn it off. Both lay quiet in the transition from dreamland to the reality of the physical realm. The alarm clock sounds a second time. Blankets get pushed back. Feet touch the throw rugs on each side of the bed. Each ponders what action they will take that day.
Six months have passed since that eventful day. Workers at the sawmill marched for higher wages. Parents disapproved of lessons their children were being taught. Shopkeepers felt like they weren’t making a profit.
The guardians on the hill looked for ways to clear the town of Suspicion’s influence. They even argued among themselves.
The one who first took up residency in the cemetery rose above all the rest. He said, “I know done our best to expel Suspicion’s influence on the town.”
“Face it we have failed those living below.” Shouted a voice from the grave markers.
“For the town to regain what has been lost, those down below must join in our fight.”
“How are they to do that?” Shouted another voice.
“They must learn to check everything they hear with what is real.”
“How are they to do that?”
“We have the ability to whisper into their ears. They will think it is thoughts they are thinking. Every time we hear of a lie or a false rumor being spread. We must encourage them to go to the source and verify what they are hearing.”
“Do you really think that will work?” Sounds a cranky old voice from the far end of the cemetery.
“Let’s do it and see what happens.”
