The Boy in the Cemetery (7 page)

The teacher pressed a button on the laptop on her desk and the interactive whiteboard lit up. There at front of the class were the words “Dark Wood Cemetery” and all of a sudden her panic subsided to a memory and the teacher began to speak.

“OK everybody, with the excitement of a new pupil over, let’s go back to the subject of local history. Here is everybody’s favourite abandoned cemetery: Dark Wood.” She smiled as she emphasised the last word, making it as spooky as possible.

“Dark Wood Cemetery is an abandoned Victorian cemetery in the three woods district of London, England, consecrated by the Archbishop of in 1859 and condemned in 1968. The ground on which the cemetery stands was originally purchased by John Lovesey in 1856, the Vicar of the nearby River Wood Church. This served as an overspill as disease and violence of the time was generating more corpses than the original grounds could cope with.

As she spoke, the teacher clicked the keyboard and the pictured changed. Carrie Anne was enthralled.

“The first burial at Dark Wood was of a one -year-old girl named Ester Marie Marsden in 1857. She is, in keeping with the tradition of the era, the ‘Angel of the Cemetery’. Can anyone tell me how she died?”

The class went silent. Carrie Anne spoke; she remembered the angel headstone.

“Consumption,” she said, her voice confident and hardly croaking.

The teacher smiled. “Well done, Carrie Annie, it was indeed consumption or as we know it nowadays: tuberculosis.

“Since its loss as a legal grounds of burial, London Council have done little to maintain the cemetery and it has fallen into neglect, save for the efforts of a conservation group the Friends of Dark Wood Cemetery, who campaign to have the cemertey declared a protected conservation area. “On the evening of 3 June 1862 the cemetery was the location of a destructive and vicious riot by angry London citizens.This was due to accusations that the Reverend John Lovesey and his aid Isaac Mathews were neglecting to bury corpses, and instead selling them to the city’s local hospital for use in dissection and medical experimentation. The rumours were proven false, although there were also talk of Satanism—and Lovesey and Mathews were instead fined by the city for reusing graves in order to save space.. However, the saga did not end there when seven days after the court decision the two men—Lovesey and Mathews—were found wandering the cemetery completely insane. Both men had lost all of their wits and in Mathew’s case his hair. They both died exactly one month later in the asylum.”

The class was silent.

“So any ideas what may have happened to unfortunate Lovesey and Mathews?”

The teacher waited expectantly. “Anyone?”

Carrie Anne knew she had seen it that night from her bedroom window, looking back at her. She was confused at first but now she understood those eyes. They were old, from something that had resided in the cemetery for a long, long, long time. They had kept watch and protected the dead from those who would exploit them. Carrie Anne wanted to know more and her want for knowledge overrode her feelings of panic.

“Could there be something living in the cemetery?” she asked.

There was a gasp that Carrie Anne didn’t hear; someone stifled a giggle.

“How do you mean, Carrie Anne? Like an animal?” the teacher asked.

Carrie Anne’s throat became dry and she realised she had accidently become the centre of attention.

“Like a person?”

The class burst into fits of laughter, making Carrie Anne jump with the sudden uproar. The teacher tried to restore order but the class were too far gone and they humiliated Carrie Anne with a barrage of laughter. “Can I go to the toilet, please,” she quietly asked and without waiting for a reply she stood up and nearly tripped over her desk, stumbled and was out the door. She ran down the unfamiliar corridor as the class continued to ridicule her in fits of uncontrolled laughter.

Chapter Six

Sarah Miller was fourteen years old and had lived a troubled life. Her father was a drunk and violent and her mother a drug addict who wasted any money they managed to scrape. Two years ago she had been taken into foster care when her dad went to prison and her mum into hospital. In that time Sarah enjoyed shoplifting, bullying, fighting and smoking weed. She was moved from foster home to foster home as each of the well-intentioned foster parents failed to cope with her behaviour. Her last foster home reported to social services that their beloved dog, a pug called Russ, had gone missing. They reported that Sarah never really liked the dog and they were worried she may have harmed the pet in some way. Sarah protested her innocence but as she left to go back into another care home, she did mention to her one-time foster family there was a strange smell coming from the drains. Sometime later Russ had been found in a pipe where he had been forced. After her latest bout of shoplifting and ASBO breaking, Sarah was told by the local authorities to stay in school and out of trouble or else she would be facing time in a young offenders’ institute. So she had begrudgingly made an effort to conform.

Sarah Miller’s only friend was Michael Miller, her cousin. He was also fourteen and although his life had not been as troubled; he was fast growing into a nasty piece of work. His father had walked out on him when he was two, leaving his mother to bring the boy up. His mother had a never-ending stream of boyfriends who did not have a positive effect on Michael. They mainly showed him how to take a beating and the value of hatred. He and Sarah would spend a lot of time together, each one daring the other into more and more elaborate acts of random violence.. Their reputation began to precede them and people soon learnt to avoid the Miller cousins. Today they had both come into school. Sarah was by far the larger of the two and held sway over her thinner, weaker cousin Michael. Sarah was heavyset from eating junk but also would be called big-boned. Her hand-me-down uniform stretched to contain her. Both cousins had long, jet black, grease-filled hair. Under her right eye Sarah had a home-made tattoo, which was supposed be a star but resembled a blue ink blob. Michael’s nose was disjointed from a past break, courtesy of his cousin in retaliation for his tattooing skills. The pair had made their way into the girl’s bathroom, safe in the knowledge that everyone was in class and they could smoke a joint or two without being disturbed. That was until Carrie Anne came in, crying. She was distraught and didn’t notice the cousins until she was washing her face and looking at herself, bleary-eyed, in the mirror. The cousins stared in disbelief, wide-eyed and with newly rolled drugs drooping from their mouths. But their disbelief only lasted for so long and Sarah Miller moved with a speed unexpected of someone her size. Before Carrie Anne realised what was happening, her face was being pushed up against the mirror and her hands held against her back.

“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.