DAMIEN stood at the top of an old wooden bridge that overlooked abandoned cane fields of a former Dutch colony deep in the countryside, scanning the surroundings of the site he and a team of volunteers were assigned to begin restoration work. It was an old Dutch cemetery, long forgotten after the colony’s independence, overgrown with untamed trees and wild shrubs. In the shadows, glimpses of the century-old tombs, forlorn and lost with the ages. Damien smiled a little, an exciting feeling in his heart as they made their way through the tall brushes and razor-sharp grasses to pitch the tent. These ventures were of great interest to him because of his deep fascination with history. The explorations, expeditions, and discoveries he followed with passion and every summer break since he was a young boy, he had volunteered to work on historical sites with his father on the small islands. Now at seventeen, he was ready to venture further into the world of mystery and adventure.

It was an immense task in this jungle-like area to clear and restore the forgotten cemetery to its former state and the team members from different countries worked with zeal and dedication. By the time the shadows of the afternoon hours approached, they had cut two clear paths and cleared much of the intruding shrubs that had hidden the surprisingly good-looking tombs, except for a few that were broken by tomb raiders over the decades.
The unique, intricate, century-old designs were amazing, but the one tomb that caught Damien’s interest, that was deeper in the shrubs, was the one shaped like a small church, with an angel standing at the open doorway. He could not discern the name on the open bible in the angel’s hand of who laid there, for the inscription had gotten worn with time and weather. He would try to retrieve it the next day, he thought, as the team had halted work for the day.

That night, as Damien slept, he dreamt about the cemetery, the tomb that had captured his interest and the name he could not have seen, then, that now appeared clear, ‘Madeline Van Rompage, Sixteen.’ He couldn’t help wondering about the dream and later that day as he continued cleaning the tomb, the name and words were exactly what he had seen in his dream. It was something strange he couldn’t understand and as he looked at the girl’s resting place, he wondered. “How did you die so young?”

A slight gust of wind from nowhere brushed his face and he stepped back, a little startled, then shook his head, thinking, “This couldn’t be happening, not after a hundred years, no-one can be here so long.”
He let the thought go and continued working on other tombs, but his eyes were drawn, time and time again to the church-like tomb and as he left that afternoon, he turned for a last look and thought he saw something white move between the tombs, then it was gone. “It’s just your imagination, Damien,” he said to himself. But it was not, as a silent figure in white, her long golden tresses falling down her shoulders, watched them leave and walking to the water’s edge she sat down watching the crimson sunset as she had done for so long. How many decades had passed, she knew not, for her, a departed soul, time is endless.

That night in his dreams, he saw a girl in a long, white colonial dress, and in her hand, she held a chain with a golden cross she was offering to him. Damien wasn’t sure what to make of the dream and wondered if his passion for his work was making his mind replay sequences of history. He did not relate anything to anyone, lest they thought he was weird and as he neared the tomb the next day, he stopped dead in his tracks at what he saw. The golden cross was lying in the open bible in the angel’s hands. Damien couldn’t believe it, he looked around, thinking those nearby might have also seen it but no one did. It was meant only for his eyes. But, why?

Why was the ghost of a girl who died over a hundred years ago still here? He said softly to the unseen presence, “I don’t know what this is all about, but at least tell me why you’re here.” She came into his dreams again that night, a beautiful vision from the past whose life had been interrupted, as she told him, the golden cross had been in her generation for centuries. Its magical powers, a blessing from the church that was like a veil of protection from any evil across any seas; a power that can enhance and enrich their lives. But when she died so young after a deadly illness had spanned the seas, her father, was heartbroken for his only child whose life the magical cross could not have saved. He built a small church in the cemetery with a door that he locked with a golden key and laid her body there with the cross hoping its powers could bring her back to life.

Servants were placed day and night by the tomb to respond when she called but she didn’t because the magical cross had not the power to restore life. Her father, a sad and broken man had sealed the door and returned home to the Netherlands, ending the dynasty of the cross. But he had forgotten in his grief that the cross, though a family heirloom, belonged to the church and could not stay locked away for eternity in a tomb in a strange land. It had to be returned and until it did her spirit could not leave.

So, she had waited as the decades passed for that one in whose heart lived a genuine love, passion, and belief for the life, culture, and history of her people to take back home the golden cross. That day he came to the cemetery, she knew her wait was over – he had arrived.

Damien woke and could not sleep again. The girl’s story had touched him so much that he felt a compelling desire to return to the cemetery alone. She was sitting on her tomb waiting, knowing he was coming; the beautiful vision in his dream, the moonlight glinting in her golden hair, that vision somehow transfixed him for it was something in his young life he had never seen, an entity not of this world anymore that words were not enough to describe. She walked up to him, not a whisper nor a word, and clasped the chain around his neck, her cold lips brushing his cheek and she moved back slowly, step after step, a warm smile on her face until she was gone.

Damien stood there for a long time, his heart so overwhelmed it brought tears to his eyes. He took a deep breath and then smiled, touching the golden cross on his chest – the first memorable encounter in his life – a beautiful ghost, a warm smile, and a magical century-old cross entrusted to him to return –as he continued his walk into the fascinating world of history and myths.