The Boy in the Cemetery (8 page)

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 at 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.

“I don’t remember what happened; I don’t know anything.”

“Good girl,” he said.

Over the next few days, Carrie Anne was supervised by nurses and Doctor Beechwood, as she slowly regained the energy in her muscles. Her feeding tube had been removed and she was able to wear her own clothes instead of the hospital gown. She was given a wooden walking stick to lean on. There was nothing actually wrong with her legs, but the stick helped with the strain on her ribs and fought the dizziness that the stitches in the back of her head caused. She found her movements to be slower and the simplest tasks, such as using cutlery, became a chore. Her hand shook as she tried to put a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

“Take your time,” Doctor Beechwood said. “Ice cream should be savoured; there’s no need to hurry.” He smiled.

Carrie Anne’s mother and father were there every step of the way, encouraging their daughter under the guise of normality.

Carrie Anne wandered the hospital hallway. Leaning on her stick for support, every step jarred her ribs, making her wince. There was a mural of flowers bathing in a bright summer’s day on the wall. It had been painted in bright colours and the flowers were made from different handprints. Nurses smiled as she walked by. She passed open rooms where other children lay in bed, some with crying parents with them, others not. As Carrie Anne wandered she came to the television room; it was empty save a wall tv playing to empty brown leather chairs and a picture of a happy clown on the wall. On the television was a police conference. Officers sat next to a man and a woman; the woman was crying as she spoke and the man held his arm around her. Along the bottom of the screen, it read in scrolling letters: “Cousins still missing as police search continues.”

“If there is anyone out there who knows where my Sarah and her cousin Michael are, please let us know. I have not been the best mother. I’ve made mistakes and I’ve let her down. Please help bring her back to me, so I can have a second chance.”

The scene cut to a female newsreader. “That was Tracey Miller at the recent conference at Three Woods Estate in London. Police are still searching for Sarah Miller and Michael Miller, both fourteen, who both went missing on Wednesday afternoon. Police have yet to comment on reports another teenager was attacked around about the same time the Millers went missing.”

For the moment panic returned like an unwanted friend. And she began to feel queasy and suddenly her walking stick felt like rubber. Instead, for support she held the hospital wall that swayed around her. She breathed deeply to calm herself and while she began to feel in control there was the shadow of uncertainty standing behind her. She made her way back to her room, ignoring the twisting of the hospital. Her parents were there waiting for her.

“There you are,” her mother said with nervousness in her voice. She stepped up from her chair to hold her daughter.

“It’s good news,” Dad added. “You can come home today.”

Chapter Eight

The drive was as wet and as miserable as when they first arrived, with the sky crying to a grey and depressed world. They arrived and fought the downpour. Mum held an umbrella and helped Carrie Anne inside. Dad brought the bags from the boot of the car.

“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice called through the storm.

The family paused in the doorway. A lady with bobbed red hair and a beige overcoat came running through the rain to meet them. She held out her ID badge for a moment.

“Detective Inspector Barbara Howe. I was wondering if I could speak to you all?” she asked without asking.

Carrie Anne’s father stepped between the detective and his family.

“Now is not a good time,” he replied. The detective inspector sighed.

“It won’t take long—” she smiled “—I’m sure it would be better than asking you all to come to the station, don’t you think?” She stared at Carrie Anne’s father. He dropped his chin to his chest.

“OK then. Come in.”

Mum made sweet tea that took the chill from their rain-soaked bones. The heat was warm and pleasant in the house. For Carrie Anne it was good to be home; she could see the cemetery f from the lounge window, despite the running water from the windowpane. The detective had taken off her wet coat and folded it over her knee. She wore a blue suit and white blouse. Her shoes were sensible leather, practical. Mum and Dad sat at each side of Carrie Anne. The detective spoke and they all listened.

“How are you feeling, Carrie Anne?”

She looked at her father who nodded the OK to reply.

“OK. A little sore.”

“The doctor tells me you will make a full recovery. Do you remember anything about who attacked you?”

“No, I don’t remember anything. I’ve hurt my head.”

As they talked, the detective made notes in her black book.

“I understand. We are eager to catch this person. We think they may have harmed two other people. Do you know who they may be?”

“No.”

The detective produced two pictures from an envelope by her side. Each picture showed one of the Miller cousins.