Grave Girl Page 10

  Once the mayor has left, Sam starts the long job of shoveling the dirt back down into Mrs. Mayberry's grave. The first spadeful makes a dull thudding sound as it hits the wood of the coffin, sending a brief shiver down Sam's spine.

  "Not bad," she mutters to herself. Just as she's about to go over to the cottage, she spots a figure moving slowly between the gravestones, and she realizes it's the old lady from yesterday. Sam watches as she makes her way to the graveside.

  "Am I too late?" the old lady asks after a moment.

  "The service just finished," Sam says. "You can go to the cafe in town, though. I think they're having some kind of reception service."

  "Oh..." The old lady pauses, looking a little confused. "No. I suppose it'll be okay. I suppose, in a way, I was late on purpose. I didn't want to hear all the nasty things they said about her."

  "No-one said nasty things," Sam replies.

  "They didn't?" The old lady looks genuinely shocked. "I suppose they wanted to seem respectful," she continues after a moment, "but they were all thinking it. They all know she's going to hell."

  "I'm sure she's not."

  "Oh, she is," the old lady continues. "Trust me. When they say she killed her husband, they're right. She was sick of the old bastard, so she swapped his heart medication for some ordinary pain-killers. She did it on purpose, with the sole intention of driving him to an early grave, and it worked. He didn't deserve it, of course."

  "Wow," Sam says, a little stunned to hear that such dark things have been going on in this sleepy little town. She pauses for a moment, unsure of what to say next.

  "Where's the gravestone?" the old lady asks suddenly. "Is there going to be one?"

  "It's coming later."

  "I should hope so. It wouldn't do for the grave to remain unmarked. There's something unholy about a grave that doesn't have a marker, as if the body is to be hidden in some way. Of course, one could understand them deciding they just want to forget about her, but still..." He voice trails off, and she seems close to tears.

  "The gravestone's definitely coming," Sam says, trying to reassure her. "I think these things just take time."

  The old lady stares at the grave. "You did a good job," she says eventually. "You made it a nice shape. It's one of those simple things that one never thinks about, but I suppose it can't have been easy. The lines are all straight and the angles seem to be correct. I'm rather impressed, to tell you the truth."

  "It took a while," Sam replies. "I spent basically the whole of yesterday and most of this morning trying to make sure it was right. And now I have to fill it all in again."

  "Seems a shame to waste all your hard work."

  "It's not really a waste. I'll probably get a lot quicker after a while. This was just my first one. Maybe I'll see if we can get hold of one of those big machines for digging holes. I don't suppose the budget's big enough, though."

  "Well, you're doing a fine job as it is," the old lady says. "I think I'll just sit here and rest a little. The walk here was quite tough on my old bones, but one has to make the effort." She looks over at the next grave. "That's my husband," she says wistfully.

  "Right here?" Sam asks, looking down at the headstone. "Sorry, I didn't know."

  "Oh, don't worry about that. He's been gone for a while now. It was so horrible when the place was overgrown. It was like nobody cared. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you cleaned up the mess."

  "It was nothing," Sam replies.

  "It was something," the old lady says, making her way over to the bench.

  "I'm sure your friend isn't going to hell!" Sam calls after her, but the old lady doesn't reply. Sighing, Sam turns and heads back over to the cottage, figuring she might as well grab something to eat before she starts the rest of her work. Once she's in the kitchen, she starts cooking up yet another pot of beans, while reminding herself that she needs to start coming up with some better meals. As she butters some bread, she glances out the window and sees the old lady, sitting alone on the bench and staring forlornly at the grave. Reminding herself that she's glad she's not superstitious, Sam decides not to dwell too much on the funeral. It was just a body being put into the ground. Nobody's going to hell.

  For the rest of the day, she gets on with her various jobs, while occasionally glancing over at the old lady and wondering if she's okay. Eventually, as the sun starts to set, Sam finds herself starting to think about closing the gate for the night. She looks over at the old lady, only to find that she seems to have vanished. Slightly confused, and convinced that she would have noticed the old lady heading to the gate, Sam double-checks that she's nowhere around, but finally she accepts that she's gone. Checking her watch and seeing that it's almost 8pm, Sam heads over to lock the gate. Still, she can't help but glance over her shoulder and wonder if there's any chance that the old lady could still be around somewhere. Eventually, she turns and heads back toward the cottage.

  "Hey!" calls out a voice from the gate.

  Turning, Sam sees Anna standing on the other side.

  "Are you closed?" Anna asks.

  "Sorry," Sam replies. "Did you want something?"

  "I just came to give you this," Anna says, reaching through the gate and holding out a small paper bag, which appears to contain some kind of box.

  "What is it?" Sam asks, reaching out and taking the bag. Looking inside, she's surprised to find a box of chocolates. "Is this for me?"

  Anna nods. "It's a gift. Kind of to welcome you to Rippon."

  "You don't have to get me anything," Sam replies, somewhat taken aback by this random act of generosity. She hadn't pegged Anna as the kind of person who'd do something like this.

  "I know I didn't have to," Anna continues, looking a little awkward, "but I wanted to give you something. It must be so weird being stuck in this place all day, so I thought..." She pauses for a moment. "You like chocolate, don't you?"

  "Yeah," Sam replies. "Thanks."

  "I guess it's a little bit old-fashioned," Anna says, "and I'm sorry I couldn't think of something more imaginative. I just thought someone should do something to welcome you, and I know what people are like round here. Most of them won't say anything to you unless you fuck something up, and then they'll be all over you, complaining about everything."

  Sam pauses, not sure what to say. "I'd invite you in," she says eventually, "but I'm not really supposed to have visitors."

  "It's okay," Anna replies. "Anyway, I don't really have time. My parents are pretty strict about me being out late."

  "Apart from when you sneak out at midnight with your boyfriend."

  "He's not my boyfriend. He's just a guy I hang out with sometimes." Anna takes a deep breath and smiles. "Look, I really should get going, but if you ever have a day off and you want to hang out, just let me know. I live in the blue house next to the cafe. Just knock on the door sometime. If you want to, I mean."

  "I will," Sam says.

  "And -" Anna pauses. "Earlier, when I didn't want to come into your little house, I hope you didn't think I was being rude. It's just that..." She pauses again. "There are stories about that place. I know they're stupid, but it's so easy to let yourself get caught up in things."

  "What kind of stories?" Sam asks.

  "Nothing much. Just stupid stuff, really."

  "Come on, tell me."

  Anna sighs. "It'll sound dumb," she says after a moment, "but people say that... Well, some people say that the Devil lives there. Or he's buried there, or something like that."

  "He is, is he?" Sam asks, turning to look over at her little cottage. The place looks so innocent and sweet, it's hard to believe that anyone could ever believe anything bad about it.

  "Like I said," Anna continues, "it's dumb. I shouldn't have let it get to me."

  "Well, maybe you can come in some other time," Sam replies.

  "Cool." Turning, Anna runs off along the street, leaving Sam standing with the box of chocolates in her hand.

  Chapter Ten


  With the sun setting in the distance, Dr. Wellington sets out for an evening walk. He's always been the kind of man who likes to stretch his legs after dinner, and tonight he's feeling particularly restless. Whether it's the business about Mrs. Mayberry, or the sight of the youths conspiring with one another so brazenly in the street, the doctor feels that he can't possibly settle down for the evening until he's taken a good long constitutional. If nothing else, he aims to tire himself out by walking up some of Rippon's steepest streets.

  Lost in thought, he eventually reaches the town square, where the cafe is packed as usual. Spilling out onto the cobbles, various revelers are sipping from their pint glasses, while music blares from within. Although he's tempted to stop and seek the company of his fellow men, the doctor decides to keep going. He keeps to the far side of the square, moving through the shadows and making sure he can't be seen. Eventually he finds himself alone once again, walking slowly along one of the narrow streets that cling to the side of the hill upon which Rippon is built.

  Eventually, and quite by chance, he finds himself approaching the cemetery. It's far too late to go into the grounds, of course; besides, he has no particular desire to go wandering between the gravestones at such a late hour. Instead, he merely stops when he reaches the gate, staring through at the rapidly darkening garden. He notes with satisfaction that the place has at least become tidier now that there's a new gardener, even if he finds it hard to believe that a young female gardener could possibly keep up with the demands placed upon her. As he watches the cottage, where a single light illuminates one of the windows, the doctor finds himself wondering what would possess someone to take up such a thankless job. Young people, in his experience, prefer to be out having fun, and they generally lack the necessary dedication and stamina to take on such a tough and physically demanding job.

  After a moment, he spots some movement over on the other side of the cemetery. To his surprise, he sees a figure sitting on a bench next to the far wall. Squinting, he struggles to make out the features on the figure's face, but he's fairly certain that it's an elderly lady. For a moment, he considers calling out to alert the gardener that there seems to be someone still in the cemetery, but finally he realizes that there's little point raising the alarm. He's quite certain that the gardener must be aware of the old lady's continued presence, even though it's well past the 8pm closing time by which all visitors are supposed to have left. As he continues to peer at the distant figure, the doctor tells himself that the entire matter is really none of his business, and that he would risk making himself seem foolish if he were to start hollering and trying to attract attention.

  As he turns to resume his walk, the doctor suddenly becomes aware of a faint trembling sensation coming from the ground. He looks down and realizes that the cobbles of the street are shaking every few seconds, almost as if something heavy is coming closer. It's the same unusual vibration he's felt a couple of times over the past few days, except this time it's stronger and more urgent. Sensing movement nearby, he looks up just in time to see a huge dark shape come lumbering straight at him, barely visible against the dark of the night sky. Before he has time to react, the doctor sees the dark shape step straight past him and over the high wall of the cemetery, making straight for the old lady on the bench.

  Not wanting to see any more of the night's arcane events, and wondering whether it's entirely safe to be out so late, the doctor turns and hurries away as fast as he can, heading for his house. Whatever's happening in the streets of Rippon tonight, he'd rather just lock his door and wait until morning.

  Chapter Eleven

  As the day draws to a close, Sam opens the box of chocolates and eats one. Despite a brief urge to have some wine, she manages to stick to chocolates water, and she ends up spending the evening sitting by the window, reading a magazine and occasionally glancing out to watch as the cemetery gets darker and darker. By 10pm, she can see nothing outside apart from some gravestones picked out by the moonlight, and she finds herself thinking back to her old life. This time a year ago, she'd probably have been out partying; now she's perfectly happy sitting in her own little cottage, in the middle of nowhere, staying completely sober and looking forward to an early night. All the grave-digging work of the past couple of days has left her arms, legs and back sore, but she doesn't mind the pain; it's a good kind of soreness.

  Just after 10pm, she feels the floor shake briefly. She looks around the room and realizes that there's a strange juddering sensation, almost as if heavy footsteps are passing close to the cottage. Just as she's about to get up and investigate, the sensation stops and everything is still once again.

  Glancing out the window, Sam suddenly notices a brief flash of light over by the wall. It only lasts a couple of seconds, but it looks like some kind of brief flame. Immediately getting up and going over to the door, Sam stares out into the darkness, waiting to see if it'll happen again. After a couple of minutes, she grabs a torch from the kitchen drawer, picks up her spade for self-defense, and steps outside. The beam from the torch picks out the tips of the gravestones, and Sam finds herself reflecting that this seems to be an almost nightly occurrence.

  "Kids," she mutters under her breath, annoyed that yet again she has to come out and chase some idiots away. "Okay," she calls out, "I know you're here, so let's just get it over with, yeah? Go home and we can all just relax. There's got to be somewhere better to hang out, right?"

  As she gets over to the spot where she saw the flash of light, she shines the torch at the wall and realizes she's standing close to the fresh grave. A few meters away, she sees the bench, but this time there seems to be something a little unusual about the wood. Walking closer, Sam realizes that there's a large burned patch, extending across the seat and up the back of the bench, with smoke rising slowly into the night air, as if there was some kind of flash-fire. Reaching out, Sam finds that the wood is still too hot to touch.

  "Huh," she says, starting to wonder whether this is really the kind of thing that kids would do. Standing back, she realizes that the burned pattern is in a particular shape: it's almost as if someone was sitting on the bench and burst into flames, leaving behind a charred shadow. There's also an unusual smell in the air, like a kind of sweet sulfur. Taking a deep breath, Sam turns and makes her way back toward the cottage, figuring she might as well wait until morning before she checks out what really happened. It seems for all the world as if someone spontaneously combusted while they were sitting on the bench but, as Sam gets back inside the cottage and shuts the door, she reminds herself that something like that would be impossible. She glances one more time out the window, to make sure that there's nothing strange outside, and then she draws the curtains. Pausing, she gets the feeling that something's changed, almost as if she's not alone in the cottage. She goes through and double-checks that the door's locked, and then she glances quickly into every room. Finally satisfied that her mind is just playing tricks on her, she heads through to bed.

  Epilogue

  One year ago

  "You alright there, love?" asks a voice, emerging from the darkness that surrounds Sam as she sits slumped in the shop doorway. "Hello? Can you hear me?"

  Looking up slowly, Sam opens her eyes and finds to her shock that the night has passed and the first rays of dawn are lighting up the street. She blinks a couple of times, before wiping dried mascara from her eyes and focusing on the guy who's standing next to her, wearing a bright yellow fluorescent jacket. It takes a few seconds before Sam realizes that the guy's a street cleaner, with a rusty old cart next to him.

  "This yours, is it?" the guy continues, looking down at the puddle of vomit that runs from the door of the shop, over Sam's legs and down onto her feet. "Made quite a mess, haven't you? Maybe it's time to go home and sleep it off, yeah?"

  Sam takes a deep breath before slowly trying to haul herself up. As soon as she moves, her head starts to pound with a sharp throbbing pain and her stomach seems to flip upside down.

 
; "You should get a cab," the guy says as he turns his cart around, ready to clean up the evidence of Sam's sticky night out.

  "Nadia?" Sam says suddenly, turning to look for her friend. At that moment, the street cleaning cart starts up, creating a huge swirling sound as it starts removing the vomit. With her head hurting and her feet feeling sore and cold, Sam starts stumbling home, swaying slightly as she realizes that she might still be a little drunk.

  Part Three:

  The Vigil

  Chapter One

  Standing in the doorway of the cottage, Sam stares out at the cemetery and feels a curious sensation in her belly. At first, she wonders whether it might be something she ate, but finally she realizes that it's an entirely unfamiliar emotion, something she's heard others talk about over the years but which she's rarelky experienced herself: pride.

  It's been a week since she arrived in Rippon. In that time, she's worked non-stop twelve-hour days and now the lawns are all mowed, the ivy has been trimmed back to a respectable level, and the piles of dead leaves have been swept away. All in all, she's managed to transform the place from an overgrown jungle to a respectable-looking garden of remembrance, and she can't help but feel slightly impressed by herself. This is the first proper thing she's ever actually achieved, or at least it's the first thing that has any kind of permanence. It feels good, even if she's aching all over. As she raises her cup of tea and takes a sip, she realizes that there's nothing wrong with pride, not if it's rooted in a solid day's work.

  She hasn't felt this good since the night she managed to drink a yard of ale and was carried out of the pub on her friends' shoulders, while everyone cheered and clapped and... Feeling a cold chill run through her body, she decides that it's probably best not to think back to those days. That other life of parties and clubs and cheap shots seems so far away, and so strange, now that she's standing alone in a little cottage in the middle of a cemetery.