"Genre: Thriller" story
“So you gonna do it or what?”
Paulie was the ringleader, the tallest of the boys, with white blonde hair that matched the long lashes fringing his eyes, giving him a permanent look of innocent surprise. His smile was anything but innocent though, the smile of a dog about to bite.
Reid stood facing the half-circle of boys, five of them, shadows lit by the flickering glow of the lanterns in the shed. Though the flames warmed the still air, his skin was goose-prickly with cold.
He tried to speak, couldn’t.
Paulie rolled his eyes, turned to smirk at the boys on either side. “He might be Reddy Reid but he sure isn’t ready.”
Guffaws, echoing from the tin walls of the shed.
Reid shrugged his shoulders, stood up straight. “Yeah I’ll do it.”
Silence now. Paulie fixed him with a glare, nose wrinkling like he smelled something horrible. “So the one in the middle. You gotta ring it. Right in the middle. It’s under the biggest angel in the graveyard, the one of the boy. Don’t ring the wrong one. We’ll be watching. We’ll know.”
He stepped forward, slung an arm around Reid’s thin shoulders. “They say they made the angel’s face exactly like the boy who’s buried there.” He leaned in close, whispering now. Reid pulled back from the warm breath that smelled of sausages. “They say if you step on his grave and you don’t ring the bell fast enough, he’ll reach up and grab you and pull you in with him.”
A chill ran down Reid’s spine.
Paulie’s eyes were filled with malevolent glee. “And even if you ring it in time, you gotta book it after, or Sparks will get you.”
Reid’s mouth was dry but he forced himself to talk. “Sparks? Is there a dog?”
Guffaws again. Reid’s cheeks flamed.
“The groundskeeper. He’ll skin you alive if he catches you. Skin you then eat you. He’s so thin because he’s always hungry.” Paulie stepped back, dropped his arm from Reid’s shoulders. “So tomorrow. At midnight. Remember, ring the bell. Then you can be one of us.” The other boys nodded, dark shapes in the shed. Pete, Samson, Terence, Dave. And maybe after tomorrow night, Reid would be one of them, nodding along.
Just one of the boys. The words tasted sweet though acid was rising in his throat.
Paulie leaned forward, his smile glittering bright in the light of the flames.
“So will you be ready, Reid?”
~~~
The graveyard was ringed with twisted, shadowy trees but he could make out the gang under the biggest one. They watched him silently as he approached, stepping carefully so as not to snap too many twigs under foot. The foggy air snaking between the trees left his arms cold and wet with dew.
In the shadows under the trees, even Paulie’s hair looked dark. He pointed silently towards the middle of the graveyard.
The largest angel was hard to miss, standing on the tallest gravestone with its wings folded against its back. Its face was hidden in shadow as it gazed down at the tiny golden bell held between its hands.
Reid realised that the entire graveyard was studded with bells. Tiny bells glinting on every moonlit tombstone, some ornate, some plain brass. All hung silently in the still, heavy air.
“They used to bury people alive. By accident.” His uncle Bill had told him the story. “They’d look dead, but they weren’t dead, ho!” Uncle Bill’s jowls shook as he’d laughed. “They’d hear screaming in the soil and dig them up but sometimes they were too late. They’d come up eyes bulging, faces black. So they buried them with strings in their hands. A bell on the other end so they could ring ‘em and signal the groundskeeper to dig ‘em up.”
Reid pictured the strings snaking down into the soil, into pitch black graves, ending up gripped in skeletal hands. He shuddered. He looked again at the angel, wished he could see its face. He imagined it smiling like Paulie in the dark, and wished he hadn’t.
Paulie wasn’t smiling now. He gripped Reid’s shoulder, faced him towards the tiny shack at the opposite end of the graveyard. A flickering light at the window told him that Sparks was in there. Reid’s heart began to hammer. What was that shadow next to the light? He squinted… it might be a coat hanging up, or it could be a man, a very tall, very thin man…
“If he catches you, he’ll skin you alive”, Paulie hissed in his ear, and shoved Reid out of the shadows and into the graveyard.
~~~
The graveyard wasn’t large but on this night the distance to the centre might as well have been a journey to the moon. Reid ducked behind the nearest headstone, his eyes fixed on the pinpoint of light in the shack. The tall thin shadow hadn’t moved.
Maybe it’s a coat after all.
He risked a look behind him. The boys had sunk back into the shadows under the trees. And here he was, bathed in bright moonlight that lit everything in shades of grey and white, with him brightest of all. No clouds in the sky to hide him.
His feet felt like they were glued to the ground as he crouched behind the headstone. Should he run for it? Just run, hit that bell, keep running in case the shadow turned out to be Sparks after all, reaching for him with spindly, grasping fingers?
The nearest bell drew his attention. The attached string, frayed and old, led into a small pipe dug into the ground. He thought he heard a scratching sound echoing up the pipe. What if the skeleton had woken and was slowly digging towards him? He stared at the individual grains of soil until they seemed enormous. Did they just move?
The thought set his legs into motion.
Up to the next gravestone, step by careful step. Now safe in the shadow. He read the inscription. Eleanor Rose, beloved wife of Michael. Ancient flowers had dropped dried petals on the ground and a brass bell hung from the stone. Did the wind never blow here?
The next gravestone was just a few steps away. His gaze flicked to the tall shadow. Still unmoving.
Definitely a coat. That’s all it is.
Heart in his throat, he glided through the moonlight until he was safe behind the next gravestone. Arthur Dale, killed by a runaway horse. No flowers, but a dark little bell with a frayed and thinning string.
There was only one more stone between him and the angel.
Are you ready, Reid? Or do you always want to just be Reddy?
His heart was in his throat as he picked his way to the next stone on legs that felt like they were made of loose strings. Sally Timms, beloved daughter. Taken by sudden illness. A broken doll lay askew at the stone’s base. The bell was broken too.
One more trip through the moonlight. Just one more to go. He could feel his shirt sticking to his back, his fingers were made of ice. Just one more and then he’d be one of the boys, or dead.
Just hit the bell, hit it and run.
He crept to the angel, feeling the hairs on his neck rising as he got closer. Something was behind him. He just knew it but dared not look behind. If he didn’t look, it didn’t exist. Just ring the bell.
It was small and delicate and golden, the tiniest one he’d seen. Beneath it, the carving was intricate, neat. Lester O’Donnell, beloved son. May God rest his soul.
The angel’s fingers were graceful, long fingernails carved into the stone. He felt his gaze being dragged upwards, upwards towards that shadowy face.
He let out a sigh of relief. The face was nothing like Paulie’s. It was serene, the lips curved in a gentle smile. No teeth waiting to bite. Nothing to be afraid of. He glanced back over his shoulder. Only empty gravestones. No ghosts following him, no skeletons waiting to pounce. His imagination had run wild, that’s all. The shadow in the shack hadn’t moved. He was one of the boys now. Time to ring the bell.
He reached forward, almost casually now.
And then it rang.
His hand froze, inches from the bell. The little gold bell danced back and forth mockingly in front of his eyes, the string pulling taut into the black hole in the ground. He hadn’t touched it at all.
He took a step back, his guts turning into warm liquid.
And then it began. Bells ringing throughout the graveyard. Bells and bells and bells in the still night air.
~~
“Ye should’ve seen them running! Them and their sheet, they didn’t need it, pale as ghosts already they were! Pissin’ their pants they were!” Sparks was laughing, tears running down his sunken cheeks. The inside of the shack was warm, lit by deep red embers in the fireplace. He reached out, pulled the rope that hung down in one corner of the shack. Outside, all the bells rang merrily.
“And there ye stood as yer mates ran like rats,” Sparks looked at him proudly, then turned serious. “But boy, what y’ be doing in my yard. ‘Tis too late of a night for ye to be out visiting graves.”
Reid wished he could explain. Why it had seemed so important to pass this test. Why he’d dreamed of joining Paulie’s gang. But now he couldn’t think of a reason. They really had looked like rats as they’d scurried away.
The gravekeeper sat back and scratched his chin, his bald head reflecting the glow of the flickering candle. “Aye, they wanted to test ye, didn’t they.” His eyes were solemn. “Y’know they’re a bad lot. Best not to be runnin’ with them. They’ll get y’ in trouble more as not.”
Reid found his voice. “You’re right sir. Thank you sir, for saving me.”
Sparks looked surprised. “Savin’ ye? I saved nothing! I saw that white-haired one sneakin’ up on ye and thought I’d give’m a scare. Extra ratty he was.” He started chuckling again and gave the rope another tug. It was fair turning into Christmas in the graveyard.
Reid massaged his smarting knuckles. The bells had rung, he’d frozen, taken a breath, and when his heart had started beating again, he’d turned. Only to see a white shape also frozen behind him. He’d punched it without thinking, only realising later that you couldn’t punch a ghost…
“Well thank you sir anyway.”
“Sir, pah! No sirs here. Call me Sparks.” The gravekeeper grinned a gap-toothed grin and rubbed his shiny head. “Though there ain’t many sparks up here anymore. They should call me Balds instead.” He threw his head back and laughed, then winked conspiratorially before his gaze flicked up to regard Reid’s hair. “You an’ me, we lucky ones have to stick together eh? And what’s your name boy?”
“It’s Reid. Re-” The nickname had almost come out automatically. “Just Reid.”
“Well just Reid. Yer welcome anytime here, just make it durin’ the day.” He slapped his hands on his knees with a resounding thwack, and stood. He really was very tall. “Now come, let’s see you home. Are ye’ ready?”
Reid smiled at his new friend. “I’m ready.”
Paulie was the ringleader, the tallest of the boys, with white blonde hair that matched the long lashes fringing his eyes, giving him a permanent look of innocent surprise. His smile was anything but innocent though, the smile of a dog about to bite.
Reid stood facing the half-circle of boys, five of them, shadows lit by the flickering glow of the lanterns in the shed. Though the flames warmed the still air, his skin was goose-prickly with cold.
He tried to speak, couldn’t.
Paulie rolled his eyes, turned to smirk at the boys on either side. “He might be Reddy Reid but he sure isn’t ready.”
Guffaws, echoing from the tin walls of the shed.
Reid shrugged his shoulders, stood up straight. “Yeah I’ll do it.”
Silence now. Paulie fixed him with a glare, nose wrinkling like he smelled something horrible. “So the one in the middle. You gotta ring it. Right in the middle. It’s under the biggest angel in the graveyard, the one of the boy. Don’t ring the wrong one. We’ll be watching. We’ll know.”
He stepped forward, slung an arm around Reid’s thin shoulders. “They say they made the angel’s face exactly like the boy who’s buried there.” He leaned in close, whispering now. Reid pulled back from the warm breath that smelled of sausages. “They say if you step on his grave and you don’t ring the bell fast enough, he’ll reach up and grab you and pull you in with him.”
A chill ran down Reid’s spine.
Paulie’s eyes were filled with malevolent glee. “And even if you ring it in time, you gotta book it after, or Sparks will get you.”
Reid’s mouth was dry but he forced himself to talk. “Sparks? Is there a dog?”
Guffaws again. Reid’s cheeks flamed.
“The groundskeeper. He’ll skin you alive if he catches you. Skin you then eat you. He’s so thin because he’s always hungry.” Paulie stepped back, dropped his arm from Reid’s shoulders. “So tomorrow. At midnight. Remember, ring the bell. Then you can be one of us.” The other boys nodded, dark shapes in the shed. Pete, Samson, Terence, Dave. And maybe after tomorrow night, Reid would be one of them, nodding along.
Just one of the boys. The words tasted sweet though acid was rising in his throat.
Paulie leaned forward, his smile glittering bright in the light of the flames.
“So will you be ready, Reid?”
~~~
The graveyard was ringed with twisted, shadowy trees but he could make out the gang under the biggest one. They watched him silently as he approached, stepping carefully so as not to snap too many twigs under foot. The foggy air snaking between the trees left his arms cold and wet with dew.
In the shadows under the trees, even Paulie’s hair looked dark. He pointed silently towards the middle of the graveyard.
The largest angel was hard to miss, standing on the tallest gravestone with its wings folded against its back. Its face was hidden in shadow as it gazed down at the tiny golden bell held between its hands.
Reid realised that the entire graveyard was studded with bells. Tiny bells glinting on every moonlit tombstone, some ornate, some plain brass. All hung silently in the still, heavy air.
“They used to bury people alive. By accident.” His uncle Bill had told him the story. “They’d look dead, but they weren’t dead, ho!” Uncle Bill’s jowls shook as he’d laughed. “They’d hear screaming in the soil and dig them up but sometimes they were too late. They’d come up eyes bulging, faces black. So they buried them with strings in their hands. A bell on the other end so they could ring ‘em and signal the groundskeeper to dig ‘em up.”
Reid pictured the strings snaking down into the soil, into pitch black graves, ending up gripped in skeletal hands. He shuddered. He looked again at the angel, wished he could see its face. He imagined it smiling like Paulie in the dark, and wished he hadn’t.
Paulie wasn’t smiling now. He gripped Reid’s shoulder, faced him towards the tiny shack at the opposite end of the graveyard. A flickering light at the window told him that Sparks was in there. Reid’s heart began to hammer. What was that shadow next to the light? He squinted… it might be a coat hanging up, or it could be a man, a very tall, very thin man…
“If he catches you, he’ll skin you alive”, Paulie hissed in his ear, and shoved Reid out of the shadows and into the graveyard.
~~~
The graveyard wasn’t large but on this night the distance to the centre might as well have been a journey to the moon. Reid ducked behind the nearest headstone, his eyes fixed on the pinpoint of light in the shack. The tall thin shadow hadn’t moved.
Maybe it’s a coat after all.
He risked a look behind him. The boys had sunk back into the shadows under the trees. And here he was, bathed in bright moonlight that lit everything in shades of grey and white, with him brightest of all. No clouds in the sky to hide him.
His feet felt like they were glued to the ground as he crouched behind the headstone. Should he run for it? Just run, hit that bell, keep running in case the shadow turned out to be Sparks after all, reaching for him with spindly, grasping fingers?
The nearest bell drew his attention. The attached string, frayed and old, led into a small pipe dug into the ground. He thought he heard a scratching sound echoing up the pipe. What if the skeleton had woken and was slowly digging towards him? He stared at the individual grains of soil until they seemed enormous. Did they just move?
The thought set his legs into motion.
Up to the next gravestone, step by careful step. Now safe in the shadow. He read the inscription. Eleanor Rose, beloved wife of Michael. Ancient flowers had dropped dried petals on the ground and a brass bell hung from the stone. Did the wind never blow here?
The next gravestone was just a few steps away. His gaze flicked to the tall shadow. Still unmoving.
Definitely a coat. That’s all it is.
Heart in his throat, he glided through the moonlight until he was safe behind the next gravestone. Arthur Dale, killed by a runaway horse. No flowers, but a dark little bell with a frayed and thinning string.
There was only one more stone between him and the angel.
Are you ready, Reid? Or do you always want to just be Reddy?
His heart was in his throat as he picked his way to the next stone on legs that felt like they were made of loose strings. Sally Timms, beloved daughter. Taken by sudden illness. A broken doll lay askew at the stone’s base. The bell was broken too.
One more trip through the moonlight. Just one more to go. He could feel his shirt sticking to his back, his fingers were made of ice. Just one more and then he’d be one of the boys, or dead.
Just hit the bell, hit it and run.
He crept to the angel, feeling the hairs on his neck rising as he got closer. Something was behind him. He just knew it but dared not look behind. If he didn’t look, it didn’t exist. Just ring the bell.
It was small and delicate and golden, the tiniest one he’d seen. Beneath it, the carving was intricate, neat. Lester O’Donnell, beloved son. May God rest his soul.
The angel’s fingers were graceful, long fingernails carved into the stone. He felt his gaze being dragged upwards, upwards towards that shadowy face.
He let out a sigh of relief. The face was nothing like Paulie’s. It was serene, the lips curved in a gentle smile. No teeth waiting to bite. Nothing to be afraid of. He glanced back over his shoulder. Only empty gravestones. No ghosts following him, no skeletons waiting to pounce. His imagination had run wild, that’s all. The shadow in the shack hadn’t moved. He was one of the boys now. Time to ring the bell.
He reached forward, almost casually now.
And then it rang.
His hand froze, inches from the bell. The little gold bell danced back and forth mockingly in front of his eyes, the string pulling taut into the black hole in the ground. He hadn’t touched it at all.
He took a step back, his guts turning into warm liquid.
And then it began. Bells ringing throughout the graveyard. Bells and bells and bells in the still night air.
~~
“Ye should’ve seen them running! Them and their sheet, they didn’t need it, pale as ghosts already they were! Pissin’ their pants they were!” Sparks was laughing, tears running down his sunken cheeks. The inside of the shack was warm, lit by deep red embers in the fireplace. He reached out, pulled the rope that hung down in one corner of the shack. Outside, all the bells rang merrily.
“And there ye stood as yer mates ran like rats,” Sparks looked at him proudly, then turned serious. “But boy, what y’ be doing in my yard. ‘Tis too late of a night for ye to be out visiting graves.”
Reid wished he could explain. Why it had seemed so important to pass this test. Why he’d dreamed of joining Paulie’s gang. But now he couldn’t think of a reason. They really had looked like rats as they’d scurried away.
The gravekeeper sat back and scratched his chin, his bald head reflecting the glow of the flickering candle. “Aye, they wanted to test ye, didn’t they.” His eyes were solemn. “Y’know they’re a bad lot. Best not to be runnin’ with them. They’ll get y’ in trouble more as not.”
Reid found his voice. “You’re right sir. Thank you sir, for saving me.”
Sparks looked surprised. “Savin’ ye? I saved nothing! I saw that white-haired one sneakin’ up on ye and thought I’d give’m a scare. Extra ratty he was.” He started chuckling again and gave the rope another tug. It was fair turning into Christmas in the graveyard.
Reid massaged his smarting knuckles. The bells had rung, he’d frozen, taken a breath, and when his heart had started beating again, he’d turned. Only to see a white shape also frozen behind him. He’d punched it without thinking, only realising later that you couldn’t punch a ghost…
“Well thank you sir anyway.”
“Sir, pah! No sirs here. Call me Sparks.” The gravekeeper grinned a gap-toothed grin and rubbed his shiny head. “Though there ain’t many sparks up here anymore. They should call me Balds instead.” He threw his head back and laughed, then winked conspiratorially before his gaze flicked up to regard Reid’s hair. “You an’ me, we lucky ones have to stick together eh? And what’s your name boy?”
“It’s Reid. Re-” The nickname had almost come out automatically. “Just Reid.”
“Well just Reid. Yer welcome anytime here, just make it durin’ the day.” He slapped his hands on his knees with a resounding thwack, and stood. He really was very tall. “Now come, let’s see you home. Are ye’ ready?”
Reid smiled at his new friend. “I’m ready.”
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