Free Dead Statues by Tim O'Rourke Page B

if I were ever to win her trust I had to be honest. I’d had enough of lies and bullshit to last me a lifetime.
    “How come?” she asked me.
    “Because of what happened to Isidor,” I said, my nose almost touching the windowpane now. “But not just that. I feel bad for hurting you and Kiera. I never meant to. I promise.”
    Slowly, Kayla reached out and opened the window. “You’ve got five minutes,” she whispered and let me in.

Chapter Thirteen
    Kiera
     
    “Help me!” the voice called. It was little more than a whisper, but it was there all the same.
    “Help me!” the voice came again. It was the sound of a child. Boy or girl, I couldn’t be sure.
    I opened my eyes to find myself standing before a sea of statues. They stretched out before me for as far as the eye could see. Some looked away from me, as if scared – or out of some kind of misplaced reverence. The statues were grey or white in colour. Some looked more weather-stained than others – as if they had been here longer than the rest. I looked back to get my bearings and could see the church behind me, its spire reaching up into the gunmetal grey sky. I was right, it was going to snow, and the first flakes swept lazily down from above. The graveyard was still – quiet. Not even the barren black branches of the nearby trees stirred in the breeze. I looked back at the statues and flinched backwards. All of them now were looking away from me. How had they moved? The statues either covered their eyes with their arms or their hands.
    “Help me!” the voice came again.
    I tilted my head to the side as I tried to pinpoint the location of the soft, childlike voice.
    “Help me!” it whispered again.
    I looked front and knew that the voice was coming deep from within the maze of statues which had crammed themselves into the graveyard.
    “Where are you?” I called out, my voice sounding thin and weak as it echoed back off the statues.
    “Help me!” the voice came again.
    I looked between the gaps the statues had made. There were so many of them, I wondered if I would barely be able to squeeze between them in search of the voice. Then I jumped. The sudden sound of the church bells ringing filled the air behind me. I looked back over my shoulder at the spire. One side of it was now covered white with snow. The bells stopped. With my mouth feeling dry, I looked back at the statues and gasped, a small cloud of breath escaping from my mouth.
    The statues had moved again. It was like they had stepped aside, making a path for me to walk between them. This time their faces were tilted skywards, flakes of snow settling over their blank eyes and faces. Their arms were out stretched and their fingers were entwined. All of them were holding hands. In a perverse way, they looked beautiful, tranquil, and I suddenly felt at peace.
    “Help me!” the voice called again. But this time it added another word to that sentence and it made me shiver. “Please!”
    Slowly putting one foot in front of the other, I stepped between the statues in search of the voice. I looked left and right at the statues.
    They weren’t dressed in long, flowing gowns like so many statues you see in graveyards. They didn’t look like angels either. They looked like everyday people who had somehow been turned to stone. There were children, some as young as four or five, teenagers, and adults. Men and women; boys and girls. Some of the women wore dresses, others denims, blouses, and coats. The men wore trousers, boots, and hats. Their style of clothing seemed to span several different time periods.
    The snow fell heavier now, and I looked back to see how far I had come. I could no longer see the gap that the statues had seemed to open for me. It was as if they had gathered around the opening, their hands locked together preventing my exit. I could see my footprints in the snow, trailing away into the distance. I looked up and could see the church, faint in the distance, its spire white