The Boy in the Cemetery

by Sebastian Gregory

  “What the frick are you doing in here, bitch?” Sarah whispered in Carrie Anne’s ear.

  “Careful, Sar, she may not be alone,” Michael added and leant against the stalls.

  Carrie Anne could not reply; her mouth was pushed up against the mirror with such force that she felt blood swelling in her mouth. She was utterly helpless and could only make disoriented moans as pleas for help. However, it was then that both her teacher and headmaster followed Carrie Anne into the bathroom. Immediately Sarah let go and Carrie Anne slid down the mirror to the bathroom sink. Her legs gave way as she rested on the verge of fainting.

  “ Oh crap.” Said Sarah.

  Once the school nurse had checked Carrie Anne for trauma, she found herself once again sitting outside the headmaster’s office. Her legs twitched and she couldn’t seem to make them stop. Her face was sore but the nurse assured her that it was not bruised. Mr Henderson sat next to her offering words of comfort. Without thinking he put his hand on her leg and she instantly recoiled, knocking his hand away.

  “I’m sorry,” he spluttered, “I didn’t mean to make you jump.”

  Carrie Anne didn’t reply.

  “Some first day, eh?” he tried to lighten the situation. Carrie Anne did not look away from her twitching leg.

  “The Miller cousins have already been suspended, pending a thorough investigation. I understand that a first day in a new school is difficult, but please give us a second chance.”

  He smiled when Carrie Anne looked at him. It was a friendly smile that promised maybe something she hadn’t felt before. Hope. Maybe he sensed it too, because he asked, “Carrie Anne, is there something you wish to tell me?”

  Was there anything she wished to tell him? Would he believe her? Was there any point? She opened her lips to speak at the same time as the school bell rang a ding signalling lunch. The children poured into the school, free from the confines of learning. The sudden calamity of activity distracted the headmaster.

  “Let’s see if we have any had luck contacting your parents. You wait here; I’ll be right back.” Again he gave her a comforting smile before standing from his red chair and disappearing into his office.

  The corridor where the main school office was situated was mainly a series of large windows looking out to the rest of the school. This way the students on the ground could be easily observed. At lunchtime the school was packed with grey uniforms and by this time the story of Carrie Anne’s ordeal had spread through her school year and beyond. There was a mass of amused of faces, glancing and staring and laughing at the new girl. All of a sudden her crippling self-doubt returned as the noise of the school rose and to Carrie Anne became unbearable. Her thoughts were confused and the mixture of voices made it difficult to concentrate. She fought to stop her twitching leg from moving but it twitched worse than ever. The only clear voice in her head was her own. “Run,” it said. And she stood defiantly, gripped her schoolbag around her shoulder for comfort and fast-walked herself from the headmaster’s corridor and out into the schoolyard. She could feel the other students watching and judging. “Freak,” they said. “Oh my God, what is she doing?” Some just stood in her way, willing her to react. She ignored them, keeping her eyes to her feet and walked through the open gate of the school and into the grey streets under the grey sky.

  After wandering, a little lost, she came across the black river that ran through the streets. It was a huge dark thing with banks a mile apart. A green metal fence ran the length of the river. And a dirt path allowed hikers to walk by. There were still indications of the river’s history. The riverbank was a concrete dock with rusted metal posts. This was broken by defiant patches of grass, shrubs and weeds bursting through. Carrie Anne stood on the edge and stared into that black swirling abyss. Reeds in the water swayed as if beckoning her to join them. To take one step and let the cold running water soothe her, take her breath and her troubles away. She took a step forwards and closed her eyes. The smell of rotting vegetation filled her senses.

  “Do it then, bitch, jump,” said the voice of Sarah Miller.

  Before Carrie Anne could react, the Miller cousins were already face to face with her, Sarah Miller’s foul smoky breath choking her. Michael Miller stood behind Carrie Anne, making escape impossible. She was too aware of his body pushed into hers. He slowly and deliberately stripped her schoolbag from her shoulder and with a grunt launched it into the river. As it disappeared Michael held his arms in the air in triumph. “What a frickin’ throw.”

  Carrie didn’t give a second thought to its loss. She was relieved that his body was not pressed against hers. She was, however, absolutely terrified at what was happening. She had no idea, maybe naively, that they would be waiting for her. The other burdens in her life had distracted her.

  “Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you?” Carrie Anne asked, her voice carrying no conviction at all.

  “I could make up a reason if you like,” Sarah Miller replied. “ I could say it because of you I’ve been suspended and now I’m going to have to do a couple of months in an offenders’ institute. Or I could say it’s because you walked in to the right place at the right time. But the truth is I don’t really care about either of those things.”

  Sarah Miller gripped Carrie Anne’s hair and pulled it so hard that a few stands snappend in clumps and otherscame loose Carrie Anne on held on to Sarah’s hands through pain and fear she would be scalped. She gritted her teeth against the white hot pain in her skull.

  “The real reason is this: I like it. It makes me feel good to hurt others. I like it.”

  But before Sarah could carry on, an old man with a small dog walked by.

  “What’s happening here? What are you doing?”

  Sarah Miller loosened her grip.

  “Frick off, old man,” Michael Miller warned.

  The three stood by the bank of the river. And Carrie Anne did not waste the distraction. Through sheer self-preservation and terror she pushed at Sarah Miller as hard as she could. There was no force in her arms, but it did catch Sarah off guard. Sarah slipped back and almost went tripping into the river. Almost. It was only her leg that disappeared, just off the bank, before Michael came to his cousin’s rescue.

  Carrie Anne ran. She was not graceful or athletic despite her thin frame. Instead she ran, fuelled by fear. She panted and her eyes bulged as she ran, not certain of any direction. Her school shoes were heavy and they felt like they were made from lead. She ran along the riverbank, stumbling, tripping, falling, her arms flailing wildly to keep going. There was no one to help; it was afternoon and walkers on the bank were scarce; no one could save her. Where could she go? There was only one place she could feel safe and she headed for it as fast as her aching muscles would allow. As she came from the river, she saw the hill and the woods at the back of the houses. She reached the estate, gasping for air in her parched lungs, pausing against the pathway wall.

  A stone bounced past her eyes, missing her face by centimetres. Carrie Anne looked to see the Millers not ten feet behind her at the end of the passage, smiling and waving. Tears ran from her stinging eyes. Carrie Anne moved again with the energy of an overweight corpse. She was almost at a crawl and she winced at the high-pitch ringing in her ears. She was done…until she saw it, her cemetery. It was as if it had drawn her here and she had been led like a toddler holding its mother’s hand. As she arrived at the gates her relief was replaced by terror. A thick rusted chain, as thick as a fist, held the gate closed. Yet there was hope as the gates gave a little. Carrie Anne pushed her way through, screaming as the gate scraped the skin from her back. Finally she fell into the grass of the cemetery and glanced backwards for the pursuing Millers, who were not in sight.

  She crawled across the gravel and weed, amongst the gravestones, cutting her knees and the palms of her hands against the stones. Before she could stand as exhaustion kept her down, Sarah Miller came charging from the grass and delivered a kick to Carrie Anne, taking the air from
her lungs, snapping ribs and sending her sprawling into the dirt. She had no time to comprehend what had happened as Michael joined in, laughing he pulled Carrie Anne to her feet and delivered a back-handed slap, knocking Carrie Anne backwards. She fell; landing sprawled down against a grave, hitting her head against the stone. Her vision sparked purple and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

  “Now,” Sarah spat, “I’m going to let my cousin have as much fun as he likes with you, and then I’m going to bash your head in. You’re going to be my first person, no dogs and cats; you are going to be my first.”

  “But where will we leave her?” Michael Miller asked.

  “We are in a fricking graveyard; we will bury her, you idiot.”

  The words were sluggish and sounded at the wrong speed as if time was moving too slow. Carrie Anne tried to speak but her words were drooling from her bloodied mouth. She saw through her darkening vision Michael Miller moving towards her, undoing his belt. And as he stepped closer the ground opened up below him. How to comprehend the rotting set of hands that gripped at his legs and hooked his flesh? Through a scream so high-pitched that it sounded like air escaping from a hissing pipe, he was pulled into the ground. Except the hole was not big enough to fit the boy. His legs were pulled upwards as he was literally folded with a horrible, terrible snapping sound. He was still screaming as he disappeared into the dirt. Carrie Anne fought to stay conscious; however, unknown to her, the head wound she had received was bleeding considerably, soaking her in blood. All her body wanted to do was sleep. Before her, Sarah Miller stood, roaring at the fate that had befallen her cousin. Too preoccupied was Sarah Miller to notice the small figure scaling a large stone crucifix. To Carrie Anne the figure was a shadow against the grey sky. It launched itself into the air, landing on Sarah Miller and knocking her into the ground. The creature resembled a child, no older than thirteen or so, yet it was as far from human as anything could be. Sarah Miller tried in vain to fight the child thing, but its strength, disguised by its size, held her down. Its jaws moved with the speed of a gnawing rat tearing the girl’s neck to shreds at the same time its claw hands moved, a blur digging her body to a hollow. The creature finally stopped its attack when the Miller girl lay still; gurgling wet red bubbles from her wounds.

  It crawled towards Carrie Anne, its head tilted and regarding her with curiosity. Carrie Anne could see it now; it was indeed a child, or at one time would have been. Somewhere in that face, that mass of green rotting flesh and exposed skull, were scraps of blond hair and a single blue eye paired with an empty dried socket. It almost smiled, a torn mouth exposing a dirty bone jaw and rotten teeth. The dead block clicked mouth together as if trying to speak. The only sound was a “gak, gak, gak.” Carrie Anne held her hand out and brushed her fingers against its dry face, before finally the world went black and Carrie Anne closed her eyes.

  Chapter Seven

  There was darkness, a cool soothing darkness. A blanket of comfort with no fear of oppression. There was no sound, no sight, no taste, no smell. no touch; there was only the calm of absolute nothing and to Carrie Anne it was pure bliss. But like all things they have to die and Carrie Anne became begrudgingly aware of voices in the distance. They were muffled and confusing and none of the words clear but they were disturbing her desire to be left alone nonetheless. As they grew louder, a light appeared swaying and piercing the darkness. It shone into her vision, blinding her with nothing but painful white. She winced and when she opened her eyes again she was no longer in the shelter of darkness. Carrie Anne had a number of sensations find her all at once. She recognised that she was in a hospital bed in a hospital room. The sterile smell of disinfectant gave it away, as did the sounds of activity from the inevitable corridors There were the standard white walls and sink in the corner of the room, coupled with a blue curtain that a nurse could pull over the bed she lay in. There were the silver metal railings around her bed, keeping her from falling to a white tiled floor. Carrie Anne lifted her arm; it ached from the needle and tube taped in place and feeding into her vein. Her chest felt as if it was gripped in a vice, her mouth felt dry and her head swam dizzyingly and spots danced in front of her eyes. She tried to speak but only managed a dry cough. A familiar sight appeared from a chair in the corner; she almost tripped over the plastic seat in an effort to get to her daughter. She lavished kisses over Carrie Anne’s face, while at the same time laughing and crying and thanking any god who would listen for saving her daughter.

  “I thought I’d lost you,” she wailed.

  “Mum,” Carrie Anne managed to say, “You are crushing me.”

  “Sorry, sorry.” Her mother laughed and stoked her daughter’s head.

  They were both happy for a moment until Carrie Anne noticed her father standing at the end of her bed. Even now Carrie Anne could see in his eyes the disappointment and anger of the attention this would bring others so much closer to his secret. What her father didn’t know was now Carrie Anne had a bigger secret and this would be one she would literally take to her grave.

  “I’ll get the doctor,” he said, irritated, before leaving the room.

  “Do not mind him,” Mother whispered. “He was worried too.” Tears ran down her wrinkled cheeks, her gaunt face seemed even more sunken than ever.

  “We thought you were going to die; it has been four days.”

  “Four days? I have been here for four days?” Carrie Anne could scarcely believe it. Was it even possible?

  Her mother nodded.

  “You were gone for eight hours; we looked everywhere. Then we found you bleeding and hurt, in our own backyard. You weren’t there before; I swear you hadn’t been there. You wouldn’t wake up. The police have been looking for you and…”

  “And?”

  “There are other children missing. The Millers I think they are called. There is a policewoman; she wants to speak with you. What happened to you? Where did you go?”

  “I don’t remember,” Carrie Anne lied. She remembered the boy as she lay there bleeding. She saw him clearly. How he moved like a broken moth, how he smelt like a feast for flies, how his skin felt like paper “Can I have water?” Carrie Anne asked her mother, partly from thirst but mostly to change the subject.

  “Yes, of course.” She obliged, filling a plastic cup from the sink. Her mother tipped it slowly into Carrie Anne’s mouth. It was cold and most ran down her chin, but if she never drank water again, ever, this would be enough.

  Her father returned with the doctor, who introduced himself as Doctor Beechwood. He was a kind, gentle man who smelt vaguely of mint. His hair was short and grey, swept over to hide a bald patch. His skin was wrinkled and interesting, like a map of his life. He shone a light in her eyes and asked her to follow his finger. He checked her pulse against his watch.

  “You’ve been through quite an ordeal, young lady; how are you feeling?” His voice was trustworthy and genuine.

  “Sore,” Carrie Anne replied. “Tired.”

  “I’m not surprised. What do you remember?”

  “I remember being at school, then I’m here.”

  The doctor made a couple of notes on the clipboard at the end of her bed.

  “That is normal, considering. You are very lucky, my dear. You have three broken ribs and quite a severe head wound; you’ve had no less than fifty stitches. Not to mention any number of bruises.”

  It was worth it, she thought, it was worth it to see the cemetery boy.

  “I do not remember anything,” she repeated.

  “Do you remember how you got those scars on your arm?”

  “ I had a hard time at school, I was bullied,” Carrie Anne explained. Her father nodded by the wall.

  “Well, the police want to speak to you. But I’ll keep them away a little longer.” The doctor smiled.

  The doctor left the room, promising to return shortly.

  “How about you get a coffee,” Dad said to Mum. She looked at him a moment before realising he wasn’t asking a
t all.

  “I don’t think I…” she protested and glanced at Carrie Anne; however, he held her arm and squeezed under the guise of being gentle.

  “Coffee. Now. Please.” Carrie Anne’s mother smiled a fretful smile before she left room..

  Carrie Anne’s father stepped to the end of the bed. When he spoke it was through barely controlled anger.

  “Dad, I…” she said to try and calm him. He held his palm up to silence her before gripping the rails of the bed. His knuckles turned white.

  “Listen to me, I don’t what you have been doing, but if this is an attempt to have attention, police attention, you are making a big mistake. If you try to destroy this family, I will have nothing to lose and I swear to God I will hurt your mother. Do you understand me?” He said venomously, and waited for the reply.