Free The Magnificent Lizzie Brown and the Devil's Hound by Vicki Lockwood Page A

Once they dropped down onto the ground on the other side of the wall, there would be no easy way out. They’d be trapped in there with anything else that might be roaming around the graveyard.
    Lizzie took a deep breath, lowered herself down until she was hanging by her hands, then dropped the rest of the way. Dru and Malachy followed, not saying a word.
    Slowly, one cautious step at a time, they explored the cemetery. Instead of keeping to the paths where they might be seen, they moved between the burial plots. Lizzie had to fight the urge to apologize every time she stepped over one of the graves.
    â€œWhat are we looking for?” whispered Malachy.
    â€œWe’ll know when we find it,” Lizzie assured him.
    Warily Lizzie approached a huge tomb with marble wreaths on all four corners. It wasn’t the sort of tomb that only held one person. There would be a whole family in there, stacked on the shelves in their coffins.
    Lizzie’s breath caught in her throat as she saw a hooded form beyond the tomb, waiting silently in the moonlight. Then she relaxed again. It was only another carved angel, its hands covering its face.
    â€œHere’s a fresh one,” Malachy said, beckoning her over. It was a humble grave, nothing more than a mound of recently dug earth with a simple wooden cross as its marker. Somehow it didn’t seem as threatening as the rest of the cemetery. It felt peaceful, though sad.
    Lizzie read the painted letters on the cross. “Jacob Hayward, Farmer of this Parish.” She felt cold as she saw the date of his death. It was three days ago.
    This was Becky’s father’s grave.
    Lizzie touched the horse brass in her pocket, then quickly pulled her hand away. She had to do something before she left, but what?
    While the others searched, Lizzie picked a small flower from the bushes growing wildly nearby and laid it on top of the grave. “There you go, sir. Rest in peace. Becky sends her love.”
    As she walked away, Lizzie suddenly realized she was on her own. There was no sign of Dru and Malachy. She listened for the sound of Malachy’s stick, but the only noise was the rustling of leaves.
    â€œDru?” Lizzie called. She headed onto the path beside a tall black headstone. “Mal?”
    From somewhere nearby came a scratching sound, like long nails dragging across wood. It was the sound someone would make if they were trying to scrape their way out of a coffin.
    Lizzie felt her heart thumping painfully behind her ribcage. Had someone been buried alive? She approached a low tomb. There it was again — skritch-scratch . “H-hello?” she stammered.
    Something leaped up from behind the tomb, all pale face and grasping hands. Lizzie shrieked as it came for her.
    â€œBoo!” it said and burst out laughing.
    Lizzie clenched her fists, panting in shock. “Don’t do that, Dru! God, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”
    â€œYou should have seen the look on your face,” Dru said, still laughing. He fell over into a shrub as Lizzie gave him a shove from behind.
    Dru picked his way out, shaking leaves from his hair. “Okay, I deserved that.”
    â€œYes, you did, you idiot,” Lizzie snapped.
    They heard the tap-scrape, tap-scrape of Malachy coming closer. “Nothing over here,” he called softly to them. “Just graves, moths, and a bat or two.”
    â€œThen I guess we can leave,” Dru said, shrugging. “Have you seen enough now, Lizzie?”
    Lizzie froze. Malachy was standing still looking at her. So why could she still hear the scrape of his club foot on the gravel? “Listen!” she hissed.
    Moments passed. They could all hear it now. Scrape. Rattle. Scrape.
    Malachy listened carefully, then turned in a new direction. He motioned for them to follow. The noise grew louder as they came closer to whatever was making it.
    â€œSounds like digging,” Lizzie whispered.
    â€œExactly,”