By Harlowe Pilgrim
“Have you finished your lessons?”
“Yes Mother.”
“Have you finished your chores?”
“Yes Mother.”
“Then of course you may run along and play. Just be sure to steer well clear of the cemetery … that’s no place for children.”
“Unless they’re dead,” the youngest said.
One of her siblings nudged her.
Mother looked stern, but then softened. “Very well then, off with you now.”
The children lost not a moment, scrambling out the door.
“And remember,” she called from the threshold, “not in the cemetery. You’re not to play in the cemetery!”
They passed quickly out of ear shot and into the countryside.
Mother returned to her work, which was somehow never done.
“Come on.”
“But Mother said we’re not to play in the cemetery,” protested the youngest.
“Come on,” she was urged by her siblings, as they entered the
cemetery through its open iron gate.
“What about Mother?”
“Mother will never know,” one of her sisters said. “Here … you cover your eyes, and count to … ten … no, thirty.”
“We’re going to hide,” one of her brothers said, “and after you get done counting―”
“I can’t count to thirty,” the youngest said.
“Can you count to ten?” another brother said.
“Yes, on my fingers.”
“Just count to ten, three times.”
“Is that the same?”
“Yes,” a sister said, “it’s the same thing.”
“Alright then … I guess.”
“Cover your eyes …”
“Now start counting,” another of her sisters said. “And no peeking.”
“Okay. One … two ...” Realizing she couldn’t count on her fingers and cover her eyes at the same time, she turned and faced the stone wall, and held her hands out where she could see them. “Three … four …”
Dusk was setting in early, on what had already been a dim and dour, overcast day.
The sky was becoming dark as the stones in the wall.
“Huh …” she gasped and jumped. “Oh … OH MY!”
A snake slithered out of a crevice at the bottom of the wall.
Her heart pounded in her chest, and she’d have screamed, had she been able.
The serpent continued on, small and harmless amongst the mossy stones, and was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.
“Oh my …”
She turned away from the wall, and its wicked creeps. “I’m scared!” she hollered into the field of sleeping dead. “I saw a snake! It was big and slimy! And I don’t want to play here!”
She knew she’d been told, time and time again, that snakes are not slimy. It was merely the shininess of their scales that looked slimy. Fiddlesticks! This one was slimy! And no one was telling her otherwise!
The cemetery full of hidden playmates yielded not a sound.
“DID YOU HEAR ME? WHERE ARE YOU? I SAW A SNAKE!”
Still, the response was nil.
She sighed, and looked at her fingers. “It must have been ten of you, three times, by now.” Her eyes searched the expanse of dreary grave markers. “AS SOON AS I FIND YOU … WE’RE GOING HOME! I’M NOT STAYING HERE WITH ALL THESE …”
A crow landed atop the stone wall behind her—some distance away, but it still startling to a little girl, and she jumped.
“… dead people,” she continued, meekly.
She wished not to feel the chill running up her spine, and for the goosebumps to subside, as she made her wary way into the field of monumental rock.
Somebody giggled … she heard it, for sure. Up ahead, and to the …
Somebody else giggled … it was behind her this time.
She turned and started back that way.
There was a scruffing … a noise like a body, on the ground and writhing.
“Ah-ha,” she said, speaking it under her breath as she crept, stalking the noise that she’d heard. “I found you.”
Somebody giggled again, and she felt sure from behind which of the stones it had come.
She tiptoed up to it, and sprang to face whatever hid behind.
“Found you!”
Nobody was there.
Her eyes darted from grave to grave.
Why did they have to play someplace so scary?
Mother was right. Children had no place in a cemetery.
Unless they were dead.
She turned around …
“HA!” her cruel brother jumped at her.
And she just about shot out of her skin.
“AHHH! That was mean!”
He chuckled as he ran away, deeper into the hallowed yard. “You didn’t find me—I found you! So I get to hide again!”
“That’s not fair! I don’t want to play!”
The wet warmth of tears began streaming down her cheeks.
“I told you I’m scared!” She started to bawl. “I hate this game.”
She started walking. “I can’t find you! At least give me some hints!”
There was a whoop up ahead.
Somebody let out a whistle.
Now she would find them!
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Copyright 2014 Cock and Bull Publishing, LLC
