Free The Boy in the Cemetery by Sebastian Gregory

was no force in her arms, but it did catch Sarah off guard. Sarah slipped back and almost went tripping into the river. Almost. It was only her leg that disappeared, just off the bank, before Michael came to his cousin’s rescue.
    Carrie Anne ran. She was not graceful or athletic despite her thin frame. Instead she ran, fuelled by fear. She panted and her eyes bulged as she ran, not certain of any direction. Her school shoes were heavy and they felt like they were made from lead. She ran along the riverbank, stumbling, tripping, falling, her arms flailing wildly to keep going. There was no one to help; it was afternoon and walkers on the bank were scarce; no one could save her. Where could she go? There was only one place she could feel safe and she headed for it as fast as her aching muscles would allow. As she came from the river, she saw the hill and the woods at the back of the houses. She reached the estate, gasping for air in her parched lungs, pausing against the pathway wall.
    A stone bounced past her eyes, missing her face by centimetres. Carrie Anne looked to see the Millers not ten feet behind her at the end of the passage, smiling and waving. Tears ran from her stinging eyes. Carrie Anne moved again with the energy of an overweight corpse. She was almost at a crawl and she winced at the high-pitch ringing in her ears. She was done…until she saw it, her cemetery. It was as if it had drawn her here and she had been led like a toddler holding its mother’s hand. As she arrived at the gates her relief was replaced by terror. A thick rusted chain, as thick as a fist, held the gate closed. Yet there was hope as the gates gave a little. Carrie Anne pushed her way through, screaming as the gate scraped the skin from her back. Finally she fell into the grass of the cemetery and glanced backwards for the pursuing Millers, who were not in sight.
    She crawled across the gravel and weed, amongst the gravestones, cutting her knees and the palms of her hands against the stones. Before she could stand as exhaustion kept her down, Sarah Miller came charging from the grass and delivered a kick to Carrie Anne, taking the air from her lungs, snapping ribs and sending her sprawling into the dirt. She had no time to comprehend what had happened as Michael joined in, laughing he pulled Carrie Anne to her feet and delivered a back-handed slap, knocking Carrie Anne backwards. She fell; landing sprawled down against a grave, hitting her head against the stone. Her vision sparked purple and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.
    “Now,” Sarah spat, “I’m going to let my cousin have as much fun as he likes with you, and then I’m going to bash your head in. You’re going to be my first person, no dogs and cats; you are going to be my first.”
    “But where will we leave her?” Michael Miller asked.
    “We are in a fricking graveyard; we will bury her, you idiot.”
    The words were sluggish and sounded at the wrong speed as if time was moving too slow. Carrie Anne tried to speak but her words were drooling from her bloodied mouth. She saw through her darkening vision Michael Miller moving towards her, undoing his belt. And as he stepped closer the ground opened up below him. How to comprehend the rotting set of hands that gripped at his legs and hooked his flesh? Through a scream so high-pitched that it sounded like air escaping from a hissing pipe, he was pulled into the ground. Except the hole was not big enough to fit the boy. His legs were pulled upwards as he was literally folded with a horrible, terrible snapping sound. He was still screaming as he disappeared into the dirt. Carrie Anne fought to stay conscious; however, unknown to her, the head wound she had received was bleeding considerably, soaking her in blood. All her body wanted to do was sleep. Before her, Sarah Miller stood, roaring at the fate that had befallen her cousin. Too preoccupied was Sarah Miller to notice the small figure scaling a large stone