Chapter Three
70 Years Later
Charlie’s Prod:
As the lads and I strolled through the big, gothic gates of the old, apparently ‘haunted cemetery/ graveyard’ my continence repeated that same phrase in the back of my mind.
I shouldn’t be hear, this is wrong, what if mum and dad see that I’m gone?
It was the 14th of February, Valentine’s Day. The perfect day for, in my opinion, crime. The voice was interrupted by a manly, slap on the back with Johnny congratulating me in a mean tone. I shook my head and gave a fake chuckle in response.
The plan: to dig up a grave. The objective: not to be seen or heard. What grave? The oldest grave we could find. My heart pounded as David pointed to the oldest grave. I was to be the one to dig it up.
After I started digging I sooner than expected, hit the coffin. The older guys brought it up and I saw that it was not a coffin to our eyes but a wooden, hand-made box. Amazingly old but what I did expect from an only a wooden cross as a headstone that you could barely even see the carvings in. It was from 1942. Midgets gathered around which really pissed some of the guys off.
‘Ok, put it down.’ Jonny announced, ‘Now…who wants to open the box huh?’
Everyone backed off mumbling no way and what not.
‘Alri’ then.’ Jonny continued, got the hammer and started at the nails. Jonny was 22, 5 years older than me and the leader of the group, he was missing two teeth as well but he was quite strong.
Once the lid was off everyone backed off because if the smell. They made me look first and as I walked to the box slowly some pushed me further which almost made me trip up. As I bent towards the open box the stench filled my nostrils. I felt sick. When most of the smell went I could finally see the corpse inside.
I almost screamed. I couldn’t scream. As I stumbled back the others closed in. All I could here was shouts and see only months to the ground and wide eyes.
That body was not 70 years old.
