Grave Girl

by Amy Cross

  "Is he going to be okay?" Sam asks hesitantly, horrified at the thought of Sparky being alone up there with the creatures.

  "This is the kind of thing he was born to do," Faraday replies, turning to her as the whole roof seems to shake. "He'll be fine. He's not the one we need to be worried about." Looking down into the pit, he pauses for a moment. "The arrival of those things can only mean one thing. The Devil's waking up, and pretty soon he's going to want to stretch his legs. And these things, these Volks, are only the beginning. The whole town of Rippon is under siege."

  "So what are we supposed to do?" Anna asks, staring up at the roof. "Just wait here?"

  "The Volks would rip us to shreds," Faraday says. "At least down here, we're safe from them while Martello deals with the threat. Eventually, though, we're going to have to go back up, because there's nothing we can do down here."

  "But what's waking him up?" Sam asks, looking down into the pit.

  "Events in the cemetery," Faraday replies. "Someone's stirring things up."

  "Who would do that?" Anna asks.

  "Someone who thinks he's got something to gain," Faraday says. "Someone who thinks he can strike a bargain with the Devil." Pausing for a moment, he turns to Sam. "A mutual acquaintance of ours, perhaps?"

  "Fenroc wouldn't do that," Sam replies.

  "You don't know him. Do you seriously think he's a good man? He's the only gardener who ever deserted his post. Doesn't that tell you something about his character?"

  "Then what do we do?" Anna asks, with a hint of panic in her voice.

  "We need to come up with a plan," Faraday continues, turning first to her and then to Sam. "If we don't, the Devil itself will wake up and rise from this pit a -" Before he can finish, there's a deep rumbling sound from the pit. "And I think he might have started," Faraday adds, as the three of them stare down into the darkness. From somewhere far below, there's a long, dark growl.

  Epilogue

  Three months ago

  Walking through the dark streets of Leeds, Sam takes special care to avoid being seen. It's late, past 4am, so she's hoping that all the nightclubs will have finished kicking out by now, and most of the drunk revelers should have stumbled home. There's garbage strewn all over the place, and broken glass, and soon the street cleaners will be out in force to wipe away the evidence of the night's festivities. By Sam's calculations, therefore, this little period just after 4am should be the best time to get around without being noticed.

  And, boy, does she need to get around without being noticed tonight.

  Walking unsteadily, with dried blood around her ankles, she darts into the shadows whenever she hears a noise. On a couple of occasions, a police car cruises slowly past, looking for any remaining drunks. Sam manages to keep well out of view, however, and she waits until the police car is well out of sight before resuming her journey. She knows she can't afford to get caught. Not tonight. Tonight is all about dealing with the consequences of a mistake, putting other people first, and making sure she gets away. She already has a plan in her mind. She's going to head to somewhere completely new and start her life all over again. She's going to forget her grandmother, forget Nadia, forget Henry, forget everything and become someone completely new. It's not the best plan in the world, but it's a start.

  Eventually, she reaches the small square that's bordered on one side by St. Mary's, the church that Sam used to attend when she was a kid, before everything kind of went wrong. Those days seem so long ago now, and her chest feels a little tight when she thinks back her childhood. Her grandmother used to hold her hand and walk straight across this square and up the steps into the church. Sam can't help wondering what her grandmother, and the rest of her family, would think if they could see her now. Cold, scared and filled with regret, she loiters in the shadows for a moment, almost as if she's scared to get closer to the church. After all, she thinks to herself, isn't there a chance that her grandmother's ghost might appear?

  "What in God's name are you doing?" she imagines the old woman asking.

  "The right thing," she replies.

  "You call this the right thing? Are you serious? Did I raise you to be such a lowly, cowardly little idiot?"

  "I'm putting things right," Sam continues.

  "If your mother could see you now," her grandmother's voice continues, "she'd be shocked. Shocked! This is no way to behave, Samantha. It's not just your own life you're ruining, either. Think of all the damage you're doing to others. Damage that can't be repaired."

  "They can take care of themselves," Sam replies, "just like I'm gonna take care of myself. Apart from..." She pauses for a moment. "This is the best thing. It's not what I want to do, but it's necessary. In the long-run, after tonight's over, he's going to have a much better life without me. He doesn't even have to know that I ever existed."

  "This is a baby's life we're talking about, Samantha. A child, whose whole existence is unsullied and untarnished. He deserves a mother who can look after him, someone who can teach him right from wrong. Children need a strong moral compass, someone to point them in the right direction. You never had that, not while you were growing up, and neither will Henry at this rate. Is that what you want? Do you want your son to grow up and be as directionless and weak as you've been?"

  Sam shakes her head.

  "Then there's only one thing you can do. Show some backbone, girl, and put someone else's needs first for once."

  "I know," Sam says darkly. "That's what I'm doing."

  "He deserves someone who can protect him from the evils of the world instead of putting him in danger. Someone who can guide him and love him and support him."

  "I know."

  "You'd be a terrible mother. The worst."

  "I might not be that bad," Sam replies, close to tears.

  "You're nothing but a common tramp," her grandmother spits back at her. "It pains me to say this about my own grand-daughter, but you're a slut."

  "I can change."

  "Not like this."

  "Go fuck yourself."

  Taking a deep breath, Sam banishes her grandmother's voice and takes a moment to enjoy the silence. It's been six months since her grandmother keeled over and died while out shopping, and Sam has been alone ever since. Once or twice, she's imagined the old woman's voice coming back to taunt her, but for the most part she's been glad to be left alone. As her condition got worse and worse, and despite the fact that she still wasn't fully acknowledging what was happening to her, Sam ended up avoiding everyone. She even kept away from Nadia. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to know the truth. Besides, when she realized what was happening to her, she stopped drinking. Once that decision had been made, she'd not really seen much point in leaving the apartment.

  Realizing that she's running out of time, Sam eventually emerges from the shadows and hurries over to the church. She glances over her shoulder, making doubly sure that there's no sign of anyone nearby, and then she makes her way up the daunting stone steps that leads to the church door. Again, she checks that there's no-one nearby, until finally she's at the top of the steps.

  This is it.

  No more delays.

  Slowly, she gets down onto her knees, and then she gently removes the satchel from around her shoulders and places it in front of her, and then she reaches inside and lifts him out. Her hands trembling, she holds him for a moment, trying to come to terms with the enormity of everything that has happened, and everything that's going to happen.

  "Hey," she says quietly, her voice sounding small and weak in the cold night air. "It's me."

  It's almost as if he knows.

  Barely a few hours old, the baby wriggles in the towels Sam has used to keep him warm. Opening his eyes, the child stares at his mother and reaches out a hand, as if he's trying to touch her.

  "No," Sam says, staring at his little hand. "Let's not get too close, okay? It's not a good idea for you to get used to me. I'm not gonna be around. I'm not your mother. I'm just the girl who ca
rried you and then gave birth to you and..." She pauses. "You're gonna meet your real mother soon. Some kind of social worker is gonna match you up to someone who wants to look after you, and you'll be so much better off. So..."

  She stops as a tear drops from her eye and lands on the baby's face.

  "Shit," she mutters, wiping the tear away. "Sorry."

  The baby continues to stare at her.

  "It's okay," Sam says. "Someone's gonna find you really soon, yeah? The cleaner comes every morning at 5am to open the church up, so she'll call someone for you, and..." Her voice trails off as she realizes she's close to tears. "It's going to be okay," she says again, even though the sentence sounds so weak and hopeless.

  Still staring at her, the child opens his mouth, almost as if he's going to say something. Instead, he simply continues to stare at Sam, as if she's the most wondrous and amazing thing he's ever seen.

  "You're gonna forget about me," Sam continues. "Okay? Deal? You're gonna forget about me, and I'll... Well, I'll never forget about you, but that's okay. That's just the way it's got to be. You're gonna be raised by someone who loves you. A proper family. People who've got time and money. People who can afford to give you a good life. People who can teach you good things and set a good example. Not like..." She pauses. "You need a good mother. Do you understand? You need a kind, caring mother. Not some kid who got pregnant at a nightclub. I don't even know who your father is. It could be any one of half a dozen guys, and probably even some I don't remember. Whatever. The odds are, your Daddy's some scummy guy who'll never know you even exist. You don't need him, and you don't need me."

  Hearing a noise nearby, she turns and watches as a car speeds past. Fortunately, whoever was driving, they didn't seem to notice Sam up on the church steps.

  "Your life with me would suck," she says, turning back to look at the baby. "Trust me, it'd be miserable. I don't have any money, I don't have a job, I don't have anything. I don't have anyone to help. It'd be just you and me, all alone, and that wouldn't be good enough. Not for my son, not for..." She pauses as the words catch in her throat for a moment. "Not for you," she continues eventually. "I know you'll probably hate me when you get older. You'll think I was some cold-hearted bitch for leaving you here, but the truth is, I'm doing you the biggest favor of your life. And I promise, I won't come looking for you. I'll leave you alone. You never even have to know that I existed, so..."

  Pausing, she realizes that time is running out. Setting the baby on a pile of towels, she takes some more towels from the satchel and places them over the child, leaving just the head free.

  "You warm enough?" she asks, carefully tucking the towels around the child's body. After a few minutes of fussing, however, she realizes there's no point delaying the inevitable.

  "Henry," she says finally. The name is written in thick black marker-pen letters on one of the towels. She doesn't know if the child's new carers will honor the name, but she figures she might as well at least try to name her own baby. "Goodbye, Henry," she continues, as her eyes fill with tears. "I swear to God, this is the best thing for you. I..." She stares at him for a moment, for the last time. It's barely been six hours since she gave birth in a toilet stall at the bus station, but already she feels as if she's got to know the child properly. Every second, their bond becomes tighter, but now she has to rip it apart.

  "Sorry," she says quietly.

  Before she can turn away, however, Henry makes a faint gurgling sound, and slowly he begins to cry.

  "Don't do that," Sam says, trying to steel herself.

  Within seconds, however, Henry's screaming with all his strength.

  "Quiet," Sam says, stroking the side of his face in an attempt to get him to calm down. She glances over her shoulder, to make sure that there's no-one nearby, and then she leans down and kisses Henry on the forehead, hoping in vain that he'll be quiet again.

  Finally, with no other ideas, she starts singing to him. It's just some old, half-remembered nursery rhyme from when she was younger, but she figures it might work. After a couple of minutes, however, she realizes that the whole thing is hopeless.

  "I have to go," she blurts out eventually, getting to her feet and hurrying down the steps.

  She waits across the road, fighting to go back and comfort her crying son. After a while, the crying stops, and Sam remains resolutely in place, watching as the sun comes up. Finally, a van parks nearby just after 5am. This is what Sam has been waiting for. She just needs to be certain that someone's going to find Henry and get him to safety. A middle-aged guy climbs wearily out of the driver's seat and drags his cleaning kit from the back, before lugging everything up the stone steps. When he gets to the top, he stops dead and stares at the wriggling baby. Turning, he looks around for some sign of the mother, and that's when Sam turns and runs.

  Stopping when she gets to the end of the next street, she pauses and considers going back. It might not be too late, if she explains that she just left Henry on the steps for a few minutes. She can feel a strong, thumping sensation in her chest, as if her body is trying to make her go back. Taking a deep breath, she reminds herself that this isn't about what she wants; it's about what's best for Henry. Even if she want back for him, if she gave him all the love in the world, she knows she couldn't look after him properly. He'd suffer too much.

  "You'd be a terrible mother," she hears her grandmother's voice whisper.

  "I know," she says, forcing back the tears as she starts walking away.

  By 7am, having changed into some clean clothes, she's sitting at the bus station, waiting for the bus that's going to take her to the train station. Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out the piece of paper upon which she's jotted down the details of the jobs she's going to apply for. First, she's going to Honiton, where there are a couple of cleaning jobs, and then she's thinking of heading to a place called Rippon where there's some kind of live-in gardening job. She's already emailed the guy in Rippon, and she thinks she's got a good chance of landing that particular position. Although the idea of being a gardener feels strange, she figures she might as well start somewhere. Reaching down, she starts picking pieces of dried blood off her ankles. The birth was pretty difficult, especially given that she had to keep quiet in case someone heard her in the alley.

  When the bus pulls up, Sam takes a deep breath and glances over her shoulder. This is it. She knows she's never coming back to Leeds. There are too many ghosts and too many memories. She figures Henry is probably already being looked after by social workers, and they're hopefully already working on finding him a proper home. As she waits to board the bus, Sam realizes that maybe, just maybe, she could come back one day, but only if she can do something to make her son proud. She tries to imagine her triumphant return, almost like a kind of superhero, but after a moment she realizes that Henry would still hate her for the way she abandoned him. She reminds herself that it's best to just forget that Henry even exists.

  Ten minutes later, as the bus pulls out of the station, Sam stares out the window and watches as familiar places flash past one final time. She sees all the bars and nightclubs she's stumbled out of, all the street corners where she's sat while guys tried to pick her up, all the alleys where she's run to throw up. Eventually, the bus passes through the small square next to the church, and Sam sees that there's no activity outside the church. The cleaner has obviously taken Henry away, and by now the child is probably being looked after by a social worker.

  "Bye," Sam whispers, as tears start to stream down her face.

  Part Seven:

  Gardening at Night

  Prologue

  Three months ago

  "My God," Vanessa whispered, "that's just about the cutest baby I've ever seen."

  Smiling, Sandra reached down and ran a finger under the child's chin. After hours and hours of crying, the kid had finally fallen asleep, although his face was still a little red from all the exertion. The sound of his bawling had sent most of the other staff running from
the office as soon as the lunch break began. Only Sandra, the social worker assigned to the case, had stayed behind, along with Vanessa, who'd come down from another department to meet the new arrival.

  "How'd the check-up go?" Vanessa asked.

  "He's fine," Sandra replied. "The doctor said he couldn't remember the last time he saw such a healthy baby. It's like a miracle."

  "I'll never understand what's wrong with some people," Vanessa continued with a hint of sadness in her voice. "Abandoning a new-born on the steps, out in the cold. I swear, more and more these days, people treat children like their commodities. Don't like your new phone? Change it for a better one. Don't like the fact that you've got a child? Just dump it somewhere and hope someone finds it." She sighed as she stared at the baby's sleepy, scrunched-up face. "What kind of heartless person could take something so wonderful and just leave it on the street like it's a piece of trash?"

  "But -"

  "It's true! The bitch just chucked her son away. She probably thought he'd get in the way of her partying lifestyle. I swear to God, people haven't got their priorities straight these days."

  "Maybe she couldn't afford to raise him?"

  "You mean she wanted to spend her money on booze and clothes." Vanessa paused for a moment. "Probably drugs as well. There are people out there who just fuck anyone they can find, and when they get pregnant, they just view it as a minor inconvenience. The bitch is probably already back out on the party circuit. I bet she barely even remembers giving birth, and I'll bet you any money in the world that she doesn't know the name of the father."

  "Maybe she was assaulted," Sandra suggested.