Young Writers Society

That day really scared me. Was I really to die in one day? Who would have done such a thing? Why would they go that far to scare me?

I didn’t talk about it to Father or Charles again. I knew that they wouldn’t believe me. I scarcely believed myself. How could someone have known that I was to die? Were there such things as fortunetellers and gypsies?

I shivered and closed my eyes, my head resting against my warm pillow, back at home. It was a very cold day, and some of my remaining relatives were downstairs, silently mourning for Mother. They rarely ever talked, and when they did, no one wanted to listen because they were all deep in thought and memories of their sister, or daughter.

January fifth. I hoped with all of my heart that I would live to see that day go by. But would I?

I slipped out of the back door. It was midnight, and I knew that if Father realized that I was out of bed, he would surely whip me with his belt, for a punishment. I had learned this art from Charles, for he did it almost every week. He had the bruises to prove it.

I tiptoed into the shed out back, and opened it. A mothball rolled into the cold, freezing snow that was layered upon the earth. I took a step inside the shed and shivered. It was freezing cold! I knew that I should have grabbed my nice, thick coat that Mother had made for me last Christmas. Mother…oh Mother. Why did you have to go?

I took a few more steps in and found was I was looking for. I wrapped my fingers around the long, wooden pole of a shovel. I was ready.

I slowly shut the barn door and locked it, and then I walked silently over to the horses. I would just take Henry, a dark brown mare, because he knew the way, and he didn’t make as much noise.

I stepped inside of the horse stall. Rupert, the white mare, was asleep. Henry was looking the opposite way. I whistled very softly, and the horse jumped, and looked over to me.

“Hello, Henry. Fancy taking a little midnight run, do you? I didn’t think so.” I said quietly. I quickly fastened a saddle up onto the horse, strapped the shovel onto one of the holes in the saddle, and opened the pen gate.

“To the cemetery, boy,” I whispered to him, and then pushed my feet into the sides of Henry’s hind legs. He leaped forward, almost bucking me off, but I held on.

The ride was cold and terrible. The midnight winter air struck my face as I held on to the saddle, and I smothered my face in Henry’s hair. The horse didn’t seem to enjoy the ride either, but the job had to be done. I had to know who was buried in that grave.

We swept through New York City slowly, and then picked up speed on the countryside, heading towards the Winding River Cemetery. The snow continued to fall, and the horse started to slow down suddenly, and I looked up. We were there.

It had been at least an hour or so since I had left the house. It was still very dark when I tied Henry up to the front gate. “Stay here, boy, and I’ll be right back.” I whispered to him.

Then it occurred to me that the gate was locked. I tried to see what locked it, and saw a chain that linked together, forming an unbreakable lock. I even tried hitting it with the shovel, but that didn’t work. It resulted in me climbing the fence.

I looked up at the big, long gate that I had to climb. It was at least twenty feet, and I knew that I could do it, but the question was, how?

I threw the shovel over the fence and it thudded down on the other side. “Okay…” I muttered as I put my foot in a hole in the fence. I placed my hand on a higher hole, and pulled myself up.

The climb was difficult, because the gate was metal, and it was freezing cold. Henry grunted a few times, as if to say, “Just come on! I want to get home!”

But, at last, I made it to the top of the fence. I was so worn out that I considered just jumping down the other side of the fence, but decided not to. It was too high up.

Slowly, I put my foot down on the fence, and I let go with one hand. The instant I did it, my foot slipped off of the hole and I was sent flying to the ground.

“No!” I cried to no one. I stuck my hand out, and it hit the fence and flew off of it. I tried to grab it again, and this time my fall suddenly stopped, and I swung my foot into another hole, and then my other foot into a hole.

My hearth was beating really fast and I tried to calm myself. I knew that I had just about been killed, because I was not careful enough. I looked down and saw that the ground was just a few feet below me.

I jumped and landed on the ground. The shovel was just a few feet past the fence, and I ran and picked it up. Now, where was the grave?

I looked around, but I didn’t recognize anything. Where was Mother’s grave? I knew that it was by the Winding River that ran through this cemetery. I started to walk along the fence line, hoping to find another gate that led to the Winding River.

I suddenly stopped. I heard voices talking, and then silence. I spun around and fell against the fence. My eyes spun around in my head, trying to find out who had just talked. But no one was there.

I was still breathing hard when I pulled myself up. I was not alone in the cemetery. Some one was out there, in the dark. But I couldn’t see them. And they couldn’t see me. Right?

I listened more, but the talking was gone. Slowly, I started to walk again. I heard no voices.

I sighed and walked a bit faster, and then I heard them again. I stopped and looked behind me, because I knew for certain that they were behind me. I listened. No voices.

This was really started to creep me out. I was hearing voices in a cemetery. I wanted to go home, and then I remembered my intentions for even coming here. I needed to find out who had been buried in my grave.

I suddenly burst into a run, hoping that my sudden movements would scare off whoever was behind me. I listened. They seemed closer. I ran again, now shouting, “Go away! Go away!” And still, they seemed to advance on me. I stopped and pressed my back against the gate. The voices came closer, and then I heard footsteps. I shrunk against the gate, trying to hide. Could they see me?

Suddenly, the footsteps and voices stopped, right in front of me. I held my breath. What was going to happen?

Silence. Eerie silence.

I suddenly screamed, picked myself up, and ran. The footsteps didn’t start again, and I ran into the center of the graveyard, with the shovel still firmly in my hand.

I looked behind me to see if I could see anyone, and then something hit me hard in the pelvis. I gasped and bent down, gasping for breath.

I was facing a grave. I was facing a cross. I gasped again. It was my grave!

I had found it!

I suddenly forgot about my pain and stuck the shovel in the ground, still looking behind me to see if I could see anyone. I lifted the shovel up, and dumped the snow and dirt to the right of me.

The ground was a lot harder to get through than I had thought. It required heavy-duty work to get through it. I pulled as hard as I could, and finally, I felt something under my shovel that wasn’t dirt.

I looked down the hold and saw a brown piece of wood. It was the coffin! I shuddered and kept digging around the casket. The pile of dirt that I dug out had to be taller than me when I finished. I looked down the hole once again. The coffin had an X at the top of it, and then I wondered how I was going to get down there and back up.

I slammed my shovel into the ground, creating a ladder. I excitedly climbed down it, and then I reached the coffin, six feet below the ground. I was really cold down here, and I grew very anxious to open the coffin.

Who would I find in there? Would I see myself? Would I see—?

Suddenly, I felt dirt land on my shoulder. I looked up. It was nothing.

I bent down and put my fingers over the coffin lid. I pulled.

And pulled.

And pulled.

At last, the coffin lid pried open, and I gazed fearfully down into it.

Another handful of dirt fell on my shoulder, but I didn’t look up. I kept staring in the coffin.

NO ONE WAS IN IT.

I sighed and then closed the lid once more. I looked back up towards the sky and saw a boy. I screamed as if I had never done before. The boy was me! He held the shovel that I had brought and started to scoop dirt down into the hole, and I caught a glimpse of his face.

Blood stained his face and he was missing both eyes. His skin was white and deathly, and I knew that that kid was me. He had to be!

And then I realized what he was doing. He scooped another shovel into the grave, and I gasped. He was burying me!

“Hey!” I cried and started to climb back up the ladder I made, but it was gone! I looked back up, my face white. Dirt flew into my face and my eyes, and I bent down, screaming to myself, “Ah! Ah! Help!”

I felt something sharp in my neck, and I jerked up, and felt more pain.

“Argh!” I cried. I looked up through all of the dirt that was being poured on me, and I saw blood dripping down from my neck. The boy was standing right next to me, and the dirt was flooding in! The cave was caving in!

I screamed when I saw the boy. The no eyed kid then pulled out a knife, razor sharp, and looked at them it. I backed away to the wall of the grave. The boy looked up and then screamed, and he plunged the knife into my face, right in my eye.

I screamed the highest scream as I could, when I felt the tremendous pain. It was just unbearable, and then I felt the knife slide out of my eye, pulling my eye right out of its socket.

Tears streamed out of my other eye and then I felt the pain again, this time in my one, remaining eye. Blood dripped freely from my face as I bent down into the dirt that was rising above my waist.

I felt movement around me and the kid was gone. Everything went black. Both of my eyes were gone, and I was screaming in terrible pain and blood poured down my face and into my clothes. I felt the dirt rise to my chin, and then up to my eye sockets.

I screamed once more and then never again.

Six feet above me, on a cross read the words:

DANNY CHASE

OCTOBER 3, 1840- JANUARY 5,1857