The Boy in the Cemetery (6 page)

Again she tried to answer but could only yelp as her father gripped her tight behind the back of her neck.

“Let go of her, David.” There was pleading from what sounded like her mother’s voice but the grip made Carrie Anne’s ears ring and her eyes bloodshot.

“She has to learn to respect us; she has to learn.”

Carrie Anne was dragged into the house, crying, knocking into the kitchen wall, was pulled onto the stairs, hauled to the landing where Father kicked at the bathroom door, and Carrie Anne, bruised and sobbing, was dumped into the bath fully clothed. Before she could plead for reason, Father had the shower nozzle running hot water from the tap. It rained scorching water so hot it took her scream and she could only wheeze at what was happening. The pain was beyond belief and her skin felt like it was melting. If she died of shock it would be a mercy, anything to stop the pain.

“You see what I have to do?” her father yelled. He emptied a bottle of shampoo on her; it stung her eyes and blurred her vision.

“David, stop—” her mother pulled at him “—she’s learned her lesson; she’s learned.”

He stopped, turning off the shower and dropping the nozzle. His shoulders laboured up and down as the anger in him subsided.

Carrie Anne could only weep, too broken to speak.

“Get her dressed,” Father said. Then to Carrie Anne: “You are grounded, young lady.”

Afterwards Carrie Anne lay in her makeshift bed, staring at the wall. Between winces of pain her mother had helped her to change from soaking wet clothes to her nightgown. Her skin was red raw from the experience. There were tiny blisters forming along her shoulders where each scalding drop of water had hit her. Mother bathed them from a bowl of cold water.

“Your father only wants what’s best for the family. He looks after us; we have to respect him.”

“I know,” Carrie Anne replied automatically. The truth, however, was that the torment of her life, like consumption, was taking a toll on her sanity. Her very emotions were slipping away, draining as easily as life from a sliced wrist.

Her father came into the room.

“Leave her alone to think about her actions,” he said to his wife and then to Carrie Anne: “If you hadn’t acted so selfishly I would have told you my news. I have enrolled you in a school. Time for you to make new friends.”

“Thank you,” she said, lost and alone

She spent the day in her room, not moving. Every time she did so her skin stung, like it was made of bloodied sand paper. Mother entered the room and brought her lunch and later supper. The sun went and eventually Carrie Anne fellasleep but opened her eyes to the floorboards creaking in her room. The presence shocked her wide awake and she sat up with a pounding heart. It was her father in the dark and already he sat by her mattress. In the shadows his face was distorted and the moonlight from the window shone silver scars over his grim visage. He looked at her with dead black eyes that reflected the moon in dark orbs. He moved a hand to stoke her hair, except his hand was gone and replaced by a cold, pale tentacle lined with rows upon rows of barbed teeth. The thing had a mouth of its own and gave a tiny hiss against her forehead; the other snaked its way under the sheets to her thigh and as the cold thing touched her she screamed and screamed herself awake. Carrie Anne searched her room, wide-eyed, this way and that, refusing to believe she was alone as her imagination still had control; it made her again gasp for air. She felt overwhelmed with the urge to run; she had to be out somewhere, anywhere, but there was no safety for her and there would never be. She stood and held on to her windowsill, gasping before opening her blinds and window. The cold air instantly froze her skin but also soothed her by filling her lungs. Carrie Anne began to feel better at seeing the outside world; The claustrophobia, the feeling of being trapped, faded. And below she looked upon her cemetery to see eyes looking back at her. At first she mistook the figure for a gravestone as it stood motionless by one the rows of memorials. As the moonlight cleared the sky it reflected from the eyes staring at her; she caught its sight but as it realised the girl had spotted it, the shadow lurched as if broken and went deeper into the cemetery. It was gone; leaving Carrie Anne unsure what had just taken place. She rocked back on forth in her bed, alone in the dark and unable to sleep, questions spinning through her mind. Was she going mad? Was her observer created by a fractured imagination? Had she invented a distraction? She was now consumed by thoughts of the graveyard and the secrets the dead had hidden to be uncovered.

Over the course of the next couple of days Carrie Anne was ordered to stay in her room, except for toilet breaks. She obliged and kept a vigil by her window, searching for the figure she had seen staring back. Her mother came and went with meals and as the sun went down once again, she only moved when her mother silently tucked her into bed. She heard her parents talking in the evening from their room.

“Where did we go wrong with her?” her father asked.

“I don’t know,” her mother replied.

Carrie Anne’s heart sank; she would have cried but she had no tears left. She did, however, have a cemetery.

Chapter Five

The next day at the breakfast table Mother served peppered scrambled eggs. Carrie Anne sat down slowly, still sore from the blisters on her skin. Father was already sitting there, tucking into his food. Pieces of eggs stuck to his beard as he forked white chunks into his mouth. Mother sat at the table between them.

“You will have a bed tonight; it’s being delivered today,” Mum said.

“Thank you,” Carrie Anne replied politely. She picked at her eggs; she never felt hungry nowadays. Every mouthful was a chore.

“School today,” her father added without looking up from his eggs.

Carrie Anne nearly choked on the meagre piece she had put in her mouth. She had expected and hoped for more warning. For Carrie Anne, school was a terrifying place. Her last school had been a day-to-day exercise in humiliation. Pamela Malone and Susan Daniels made her school life very uncomfortable. At one time they had been friends, the three of them together, that was until their lives changed and went in different directions. Pamela was considered beautiful with long blonde hair; Susan had dark hair and a smile that sparkled. They grew and formed an interest in boys and make-up and all things that come with early adolescence. However, Carrie Anne did not share their newfound, growing sense of wonderment. She became more deeply withdrawn and stopped interacting with friends and peers alike. One time on her way home, Pamela and Susan and a few others waited for Carrie Anne. It was Carrie Anne’s eleventh birthday; a teacher had mentioned this to the class, so unknown to that same teacher the class prepared a surprise, thanks to Pamela and Susan. As Carrie Anne turned the street corner to her home, a mob of school children had formed and she was pelted with flour and eggs. She fell to the ground sobbing as the barrage continued for what seemed like for ever. The children laughed and pointed, but none more so than Pamela and Susan. From then on Carrie Anne didn’t speak to teachers any more.

“So I want you to put in some effort to fit in; I want this to be a good experience for you. Do you understand?” her father asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Good, good; remember to make your mother proud,” he continued. Her mother smiled in agreement. However, in truth Carrie Anne had other distractions. The stranger in the cemetery, the bone chimes, the stone angel cleaned to pristine condition untouched by time. No matter how her father hurt her, she had the cemetery and its secrets to explore. She would not do anything that would lead her to be taken away from the cemetery. Even if that meant keeping her father’s secrets.

“Shall I get dressed now?” she asked.

“Yes, I’ve put your uniform in your room,” her mother said.

Carrie Anne looked at herself in the mirror and brushed her hair into a tight ponytail. A pale girl with dark eyes looked back at her. She looked disinterested and lifeless. Her new grey school uniform was oversized and loose-fitting. The blue stitched logo sat over the left breast pocket. It was a tree with a large river running underneath. Above was the school’s name: “River Wood”.

They are going to hate you. They are going to see you for what you are and then everyone will know.

Carrie Anne had mixed feelings about the day ahead. She had mostly struggled at school, not that she wasn’t intelligent; academically she was above average. However, she had been turned from an outgoing friendly child to a closed young woman, confused and lost by her father’s past indiscretions with his daughter. She thought there was no one in the world who felt the way she did, and did not have the luxury of finding another like her. For the sake of the family, as it had been drilled into her over and over again, she would not speak of it. She had left her previous school with no friends and no one to miss her. She doubted anyone would notice she was gone. There was one, however. Miss Sally Clouston, a younger school counsellor did question Carrie Anne’s behaviour and loneliness. She had short boy hair and an open and enthusiastic way about her. There was always a spring in her stride and a smile on her face. Carrie Anne had spoken with her a couple of times, the conversation kept light, however Carrie Anne began to trust her and just when there was a glimmer of hope that she may be released from her life, she had been made to start again, running with her parents so her father would not face prosecution.

The morning weather had settled back to cloudy and dim. Carrie Anne’s mother wore a blue coat and matching headscarf that made her look a lot older than she was. She insisted on holding Carrie Anne’s hand. In turn Carrie Anne allowed herself to be led. Mother walked briskly in the cold morning. She had never learnt to drive and preferred to walk where she could. As they left the house for the first day of school, Carrie Anne felt her father’s eyes piercing the back her neck, watching from the bedroom window as they left. There were other children making their way to school in the morning exodus. Some caught sight of Carrie Anne holding her mother’s hand. They whispered to one another or laughed or resorted to knowing glances. Carrie Anne would have been embarrassed except she was side-tracked when nearing the school that was only a few streets away; she spotted the entrance gates to the cemetery. They walked past on the other side of the road by the hilly woods that the houses surrounded. The trees cast dark shadows over the pavement as they walked along. The familiar black railings of the cemetery held back overgrown bushes that reached through with barbed and spindly arms. The gates themselves were chained together and a sign was bolted to the metal: “Condemned. Keep out.” And on the yellow sign there was smaller writing, legal threats and warnings no doubt. Beyond the gates a gravel pathway overgrown with nettles led into the forest of grass and graves. But it was the iron name cut into the archway—“Dark Wood”—that excited her, for now she had a name, rusted but still visible, for the place she longed to explore.

They arrived at the school, a lego like square of brown brick buildings. Through the school and the chaos-filled corridors of students. Laughing, fighting, yawning. Carrie Anne watched for a moment and envied them, living their normal lives with mundane worries. Their only problems would be getting to class before a teacher spotted them, or who fancied who this week. Her mother had left her finally at the school gate and she had made her own way through the daunting school entrance.

“I’ll be here at three-thirty,” she had said, “to take you home. Remember: try and fit in.”

Carrie Anne sat on a red plastic chair outside the headmaster’s office. River Wood secondary school was identical to every school she had ever been in. Corridors of wooden floors and inspirational posters about learning and after school activitys.She would have thought about it more but a secretary came from her office and announced the headmaster would see her now. The headmaster was younger than most headmasters, and had a ginger bear and curly hair to match. He wore a black T-shirt and grey suit. The headmaster introduced himself as Mr Henderson but said she could call him Martin. He sat behind a cluttered desk covered in papers and pens and files. Around the walls were various framed certificates, and a large window lit the room and looked out onto a playground. A cup of “best teacher in the world” coffee made the room smell stale. Martin leant back in his black leather chair as he spoke. His feet were very nearly on the desk.

“So, Carrie Anne, welcome to the River Wood high school, part of the three woods communities, made up of River Wood, Dark Wood and Hillside Wood. I see from your file you live on the Dark Wood estate. Have you explored much yet?”

Carrie Anne shook her head in response; she felt her cheeks flush from the attention. The headmaster waited a moment for more information. When none was forthcoming he carried on.

“Well, I am sure there is time for that. Our town has a rich history. The river used to be a trade route some two hundred years ago; you can still see what remains of the docks. And of course we have the old cemetery; that was closed years ago, too full you see. The council are still arguing about what to do with those still buried there; some say it’s haunted.”

There was a flicker of interest from Carrie Anne, but she hid it. The cemetery was hers and hers alone.

“OK,” Martin concluded. “I’m sure you are eager to get to class. Let’s get learning, shall we?”

Classes had already begun when the headmaster took Carrie Anne for a tour of the school. There was the odd student who quickly moved to where they were supposed to be when they saw the headmaster. He was obviously very proud of the school and pointed to achievements displayed on the walls and also areas he thought might interest her. Carrie Anne heard none of it; anxiety was rising within. There were thoughts in her head that didn’t belong there.

They will not like you,

They will not accept you,

They will know what your father did and they will blame you.

Carrie Anne felt hot and her heart pounded against her ribs. At that moment she wanted nothing more than to be dead and be done with it. If she was showing outward signs of her desperate unease the headmaster didn’t mention it. He concluded the tour at her new classroom and led her inside. The faces of the others turned to her as the headmaster introduced Carrie Anne to the class. Her head felt like she had just jumped off a roundabout and was still spinning from the experience. The teacher smiled and showed her to a seat and small desk. The old lady teacher had an old wrinkled and to Carrie Anne exaggerated. Her eyes were dark pins and her teeth yellow and sharp. She wore tweed or possibly the skin of children. When the door closed as the headmaster left, it was like a prison door slamming and locking her in. This made the window the only means of escape from the judging thoughts of the rest of the class. She considered jumping through it and letting the fall and the glass shards soothe her. The old teacher asked everyone to be nice. She then followed by having the class take out their notebooks. Carrie Anne was struggling to concentrate and her ears were ringing with a high-pitched sound. Through the tempest she wondered why no one was trying to help her as the panic attack carried on.