A Case of Grave Danger. Sophie Cleverly

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      Thoughts raced through my head.

      It’s a grave robber. Or a murderer has come back to steal the body. Or … I gulped, thinking of Frankenstein’s creation in the novel as it shuddered to life.

      Bones wobbled around the room, sniffing everything. I tried to contain my panic, told myself I should just go back to bed. But in a flash, Bones was racing out of the door, heading for the back of the house.

      I didn’t know why, but I felt I had to follow. It took all my strength to put one foot in front of the other, but I did it. I felt a cold breeze on my skin, and heard the sound of falling rain grow louder.

      Now Bones batted at the back door, whining. It was open a crack. Someone had come inside.

      Or gone out.

      After a deep breath, I pulled the door back a little and peered through. I could see nothing but rain. A lantern, I thought. That was what I needed. Father often kept one by the back door.

      I snuck into the tiny cloakroom by the porch and pulled out a black overcoat that was a little too big for me, buttoning it on over my nightgown. Soft leather boots that were now old and battered went on over my feet – they felt odd without any stockings.

      The glass lantern was on a hook next to the door, almost too high for me to reach, but I managed it on tiptoes. There was a white candle stub inside, so I found a box of matches and lit it. Then I took a deep breath. It was time for a very unwise decision.

      I stepped outside.

      The rain fell around me in waves, immediately sticking strands of my hair to my forehead. Gooseflesh rose on my legs in seconds as the wind bit into them. The light from the lantern illuminated only a mere few feet in front of my eyes. Bones quivered in the cold, before striding ahead into the dark.

      There were fresh footprints in the mud, leading away from the house. Human footprints. Footprints that were just a little larger than mine.

      Definitely an unwise decision.

      As I went through our back gate, the footprints disappeared as the grass of the cemetery took over.

      I began to walk through the graves. I knew them well. I passed John Beckington and steadied myself on the headstone. I passed Annie Arkwright and Mr and Mrs Jones and Jeremiah Heap. I stopped for breath by the O’Neill family crypt and leaned against the cold wall. The vast tomb gave a little shelter, at least.

      If I listened hard enough, I could hear their whispers.

      Keep going.

      You’re close.

      They sensed something that I could not. So far I had seen nothing but the faint grey shadows of the ghosts, which shifted and changed like wisps of fog. I had heard no movement in the grass or trees, no sounds of footsteps or heavy breathing. But it was so dark and so loud out there that I began to wonder if I wasn’t being totally foolish. Perhaps I had just imagined the footprints, the way they looked. Perhaps they had belonged to Thomas from earlier in the day, and I just hadn’t noticed them before.

      The only way I would know if someone was there was if they jumped out at me, and that wasn’t an idea I relished. Bones was still moving forward, as if he had caught a scent.

      I shivered. I was sure to catch a chill in this weather. ‘Who’s there?’ I whispered, blinking through the rain at the iron clouds and the few stars that dappled the empty space between. I wondered if I might hear a ghostly answer, but whatever I sensed from the dead, it was never an answer to my burning questions.

      It was time to move on – I needed to keep going. I could see Bones running on ahead, investigating the graves as he passed. I decided I would loop back on myself once I got to the far hedgerow (I longed for my bed already), but I soon realised I was getting nearer to the spot where the blond boy was to be buried.

      Bones stopped at the graveside, where the freshly dug hole gaped like the mouth of Hell. Then I really could hear something. A moaning sound that seemed as though it were coming from the grave.

      I was near paralysed with fear. Bones hung close to my leg, and I felt his skin rumbling as he growled.

      Slowly, I dangled the lantern and peered in.

      The grave was empty. Nothing but a muddy hole, rapidly filling with rainwater.

      The sound reached my ears this time. It was definitely someone moaning. I bit my lip so hard that I could taste blood.

      ‘H-hello?’ I called into the night. ‘Is someone there?’ I blinked in the rain, in the flickering glow of the candlelight.

      Something moved behind one of the gravestones. A shadow, shuffling, ungainly.

      Watch out, one of the ghostly voices whispered on the breeze.

      I gasped, and Bones barked into the wind. The shadow moved nearer, pushing through the grass. I stayed frozen, held out the lantern like a shield. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see what was approaching, but I had no choice.

      A figure lurched into the light, and I caught a strangled breath in my throat.

      There, standing before me, was the blond boy. The boy who was supposed to be dead.

      I screamed.

      

      ou’re ALIVE!’ I gasped.

      Alive, the deathly voices around me echoed in whispers. Not one of us. This would be the talk of the graveyard now.

      The blond boy was dressed in funeral finery, the best that could be put together for a pauper from the tailor’s cast-offs, but even so – his face was as pale as the moon above us, a sliver of it peeking through the dark clouds. He was soaked with rain, dishevelled and muddy, his hair sticking up at strange angles. His skin was ashen, his eyes sunken and hollow, blinking in the light.

      I finally caught my breath again. ‘Are you all right?’

      The boy stumbled towards me, and I jerked backwards. Bones barked again, a warning.

      The boy opened his mouth, as if not quite sure how it worked. He rubbed a hand against the back of his head. ‘Where … am I?’ he asked, the words coming slowly like they were rising up through treacle.

      I shushed Bones and held on to his collar. ‘You’re in the graveyard,’ I said. ‘Um, well, Seven Gates Cemetery, to be precise.’ I realised that I was going to have to step a little nearer, but my legs were fighting against me. I ignored them and moved closer to the boy so he could hear me.

      ‘Are you a ghost? Am I … dead?’ the blond boy asked, his dark eyes wide with terror.

      I paused, a little taken aback by his humanity. Perhaps he СКАЧАТЬ