09 – Scott

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“Interesting tale, Freya,” the Caretaker said, “but like I told young Helen here, I 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 uncommitted. Half the hall’s floor was clean now and 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.”

“Scott,” the boy said. “My name’s Scott.”

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

Scott’s Story

I’d been on detention. I always have detention. At this time of year it means walking home in the dark. There’s only a few lights on my route home, see? It’s 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 avoid their sights completely.

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

And someone did. An old man, judging from how slow 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 closest 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! It 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 in the grass and I cried out, tripping over a large 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 exactly where I was standing. I legged it, ran clear across the cemetery to the other side and crouched down again, behind the largest gravestone I could find.

I think I wet myself.

Then along the path that cut 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 to my hiding spot. They were slow, shambling. I didn’t even try to rationalize it. They were dead. I knew it. They were dead and coming after me.

From my hiding spot, I could see their shadows against the illuminated path. When I could make out the sounds of their feet, I ran again, this time around the edges of the graveyard to the main gate.

I pounded on the wooden doors but nobody came, and it was only luck that when I stopped to catch my breath, I caught the sound of shuffling feet behind me. The dead men stepped into the light of the gate’s own lamp!

I screamed and ran down the path to the other gate. It normally took five minutes to walk through the graves. I think I reached the other side in less than one. From here, I could see them all.

There were twelve of them, all dead, all scuffling between each other towards me. I watched them get closer, then circled around when they were too close again, and ran once more to the other gate.

They turned, followed me and repeated the performance. I don’t know how many times we did that. A hundred? Maybe even a thousand or more, but I kept running away, back and forth between the gates of the cemetery, always just out of arm’s reach.

There was no chance to rest, not to sleep or eat or drink or stop for more than a couple of minutes. I was alone where nobody could hear me call for help. By the the end of the night, I couldn’t even raise my voice to do that.

By the time the sky lightened, I was shuffling my legs as slowly as they were. My shoes were busted and my feet were blistered. By now, I didn’t even have time to watch them walk my way. I reached one gate, walked around some graves on the side and walked back. They were at my heels the whole time.

Then the sun rose, or at least I assumed it did above those grey clouds. On one turn around the graves, I realized they were gone. Looking back, I caught one lifting a stone grave covering as if it weighed nothing, and slip inside. The sky was light now.

Then my ears pricked again with the most welcome sound I’d ever heard. The gates were unlocked and swung open. The groundskeeper on the other side yelled at me as I approached but I ignored him and limped through, heading home to sleep and safety and sanity.

I don’t remember the journey back, just a relieved mum and dad, and a concerned policeman waiting in my lounge. When I woke two days later, I was bandaged up and in my bed, and since that night, my folks have been picking me up from school.