09 – Ian

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“Interesting tale, Freya,” the Caretaker said, “but like I told young Helen here, I’ve got a feeling your troubles are over tonight. It’s Halloween after all, and you know what that means.”

Freya said nothing, and the nod she gave was noncommittal. Half the hall floor was clean now. Only the other half remained.

“If you don’t mind,” she said, “I’d like to take the mop next, just to get it over with.”

“And I’m sure the boy next in line won’t have any complaints.”

“Ian,” the boy said. “My name’s Ian.”

“Well then, Ian, if the theme of the night holds a pattern, tell us what happened to you.”

Ian’s Story

I’d been on detention. I always have detention. At this time of year, it means walking home in the dark. There are only a few lights on my route home, see? It goes through a cemetery.

I prefer to avoid the lights. When you’re alone in a graveyard, being seen causes trouble. The tenders think you’re messing with the stones, or at least like to blame you for any damage they find, so it’s best to stay out of their sight completely.

Your ears sharpen in the dark, though, which is how I heard the gates being locked early from halfway across. I stood under one of the lamps along the path and called out, hoping they’d notice they’d locked me in.

And someone did. An old man, judging by how slowly he walked. He trudged down the path from the entrance, only appearing when he passed under the next lamp. At first, he was just some guy, you know? Then he got closer.

He looked real bad. Limping, wearing tattered clothes. It wasn’t until I saw him in the nearest pool of lamplight that I ran. His face was nothing but skin and bone. Literally. The former hung off his skull like wet paper.

I dove into the dark and hid behind a large tombstone. The stench of the guy hit me like a sledgehammer. That’s when I noticed his friend, another shambling man. Smaller, but faster. He wore a dark suit, the kind you see at funerals.

Then more limping figures made it into the light.

I crawled through the grass, trying to stay quiet, but they fanned out. Were they looking for me?

Away from the lamps, I couldn’t see as well. Something snagged my foot and I cried out, tripping over a pile of metal, shovels and buckets or whatever they were. I made a ruckus.

That’s when the shadows started moving. The air got real stinky. Then another ruckus. The stiffly moving men had found me.

They pushed aside the buckets and shovels and lurched to where I’d been standing. I legged it, ran clear across the cemetery to the other side, and crouched again behind the largest gravestone I could find.

I think I wet myself.

Along the path cutting through the middle of the graves, I saw them. They only appeared in the lamplight, but I knew they were heading for me. Every single one was making its way toward my hiding spot. They were slow, shambling. I didn’t try to rationalize it. They were dead. I knew it. They were dead and coming after me.

From my hiding place, I could see their shadows stretch across the lit path. When I could hear their feet, I ran again, this time skirting the edges of the graveyard to the main gate.

I pounded on the wooden doors, but nobody came. When I stopped to catch my breath, I heard shuffling behind me. The dead men stepped into the light beneath the gate lamp.

I screamed and ran to the other gate. It normally took five minutes to walk across the graves. I think I made it in less than one.

There were twelve of them. All dead. All scuffling toward me. I watched them close in, circled wide when they got too near, and ran again to the opposite gate.

They turned and followed. Over and over. I don’t know how many times we repeated it. A hundred? Maybe a thousand. I kept running back and forth between the gates, always just out of reach.

There was no time to rest. No sleep. No food. No water. I couldn’t stop for more than a minute. I was alone, where nobody could hear me call for help. By the end of the night, I couldn’t even raise my voice.

By the time the sky lightened, I was shuffling my legs as slowly as they were. My shoes were wrecked. My feet were blistered. I didn’t even bother watching them anymore. I reached one gate, looped around the graves, and went back again. They stayed at my heels the whole time.

Then the sun rose, or at least I think it did behind the gray clouds. On one turn, I realized they were gone. Looking back, I saw one lifting a stone grave cover like it weighed nothing and slipping inside.

Then my ears caught the best sound I’d ever heard. The gates unlocking.

They swung open. The groundskeeper shouted at me as I limped past, but I ignored him and kept going, heading home to sleep, safety, and sanity.

I don’t remember the walk back. Just my parents, scared and relieved, and a policeman waiting in our living room. When I woke two days later, I was bandaged up in my bed.

Since that night, my folks have been picking me up from school.