Grave Girl

by Amy Cross

  "Okay," Sam says, before pausing for a moment as the reality of the situation sinks in. "Oh..."

  "I don't suppose you've ever dug a grave before, have you?" the mayor asks with a smile on his face.

  Sam shakes her head, contemplating the prospect of digging a real, actual grave.

  "Well this will be a test of your skills," the mayor continues. "However, I'm confident you'll have no trouble. What we need is a six-foot deep hole in the ground, big enough to fit a coffin that's approximately six feet in length and four feet wide, with a little extra room for clearance." He lumbers forward and uses the tip of his cane to mark out the rough shape of the grave. "I mean, it's not the most complex or difficult job in the world. If one has dug even the smallest hole in the past, one can certainly manage to expand the operation and create something that's big enough for a coffin. The biggest challenge will be in making sure the sides are straight, you see, since we like our graves to be nice and neat in Rippon. Most towns have one of those little mechanical diggers to make the job easier, but I'm afraid we've never quite managed to get the budget wrangled into shape. You'll need to use elbow grease and a shovel for this job, I'm afraid, but I'm sure you can manage it." He swings his cane toward Sam and taps her on the arm. "Strong young thing like you, shouldn't have too much trouble, eh?"

  "Totally," Sam replies, taking a deep breath at the thought of spending the better part of the next day digging a grave. "I'll get right on it."

  "That's the spirit," Mayor Winters replies, tapping the ground with his cane once again. "When faced with a daunting task, one must simply roll one's sleeves up and get stuck in. You've always got a little time tomorrow morning to neaten up the edges. The undertaker will see to the rest and bring the ropes and so on. Really, all you need to do is prepare the grave and then fill it in after the service is over, and maybe in a few days you'll have to plant some grass-seed to encourage it to grow over. Oh, and erect the tombstone when it arrives, but that's a minor job."

  "It is?" Sam asks, wondering how on earth someone is supposed to go about the job of putting a tombstone next to a grave. Glancing across the cemetery and seeing row upon row of crooked, cracked stones, she reasons that her predecessors seem to have had no great skill in the matter either.

  "So," the mayor continues, filled with the enthusiasm of a man who has just offloaded a back-breaking job onto someone else, "my advice to you would be to have a nice hearty lunch, grab your spade and get on with the task at hand. As I said, the service will be tomorrow or the day after, but we need to be prepared for tomorrow, just in case. It all depends on how the autopsy goes, but I'm not anticipating any snags. Open and shut case, if you ask me."

  "I'll have the grave ready first thing in the morning," Sam says, staring at the ground and imagining herself digging deeper and deeper down. Just when she thought she was getting on top of her new job, this fresh challenge arrives to shake things up. Still, she reasons that she should have known something like this would happen eventually. No matter how neat and tidy she makes the place, she realizes there'll always be people coming along to be buried. After all, that's the whole point of a cemetery.

  "I shall pop by first thing in the morning to see how you're doing," Mayor Winters says, turning and starting to walk away. "I look forward to seeing a rather exceptional grave in this spot, Ms. Marker. I have no doubt whatsoever that you have all the talent and determination to make an excellent grave-digger. One of the first things I noticed about you was your broad-shouldered physique. I could tell at once that you'd be quite excellent at this job. Quite excellent indeed."

  "You could?" Sam asks, staring at him as he makes his way along the path. Unsure as to whether that last comment was a compliment or not, she reaches up and feels her shoulders. "Broad?" she mutters, having always considered herself to have a rather narrow, ladylike figure. Shrugging, she turns to look at the cottage and realizes there's no point delaying things any further: it's time to go and get her shovel and set about digging her very first grave. She slings the scythe over her shoulder and wanders toward the shed. As she walks, she notices her own shadow on the grass, and she sees that in silhouette at least, she rather resembles Death itself, broad shoulders and all.

  Chapter Four

  "Fenroc dropped in today," Dr. Wellington says as he and Mayor Winters sit on the terrace outside the cafe. It's a pleasant afternoon, and the two old friends often meet up for a drink over lunch. Today, though, the situation is a little more tense. "The damned nuisance just came wandering in through the back door, straight into my examination room while I was going through Mrs. Mayberry. Just stood around like he fancied a chat. I swear, that man seems to think he can go wherever he wants in this town, causing trouble."

  "You should lock your door," Mayor Winters replies, taking a sip of beer. "That'd solve it."

  "He'd probably just come climbing in through the window instead," Dr. Wellington sighs. "I absolutely cannot understand what goes through his mind. It's as if he takes the greatest possible pleasure from trying to irritate those of us who are getting on with an honest day's work. Sometimes I think the man has some obscure point that he's trying to make. Today, for instance, it was as if he was endlessly circling something, but I'll be damned if he didn't just keep holding back. It was like he was prodding me, hoping I'd say something specific." He pauses for a moment. "Sometimes, I wonder what that man knows."

  "The man's a pest," Mayor Winters says, "but a man can't be run out of town simply for being a pest." He pauses for a moment, taking another sip of beer. "Did he happen to mention -"

  "Of course he did," the doctor replies. "It's all he ever talks about, in a roundabout kind of way. The man's obsessed. Just because he's heard a few rumors and superstitions, he thinks he has a right to go poking about. He's a man possessed of that deadly combination: intelligence and boredom. He sees a glint of light and thinks he's found the sun."

  Mayor Winters stares into his beer, lost in thought. "Is he becoming a problem?" he asks eventually.

  "That's not for me to say," Dr. Wellington replies. "He's certainly something of a pest when he comes and disturbs me, but a pest can be tolerated. Whether he poses a wider problem is a matter that should be taken up by those who have a broader view of the whole town." He waits for Mayor Winters to say something. "Do you think he's becoming a problem?"

  The Mayor shrugs.

  "He mentioned the Peterson mausoleum," the doctor says. "He didn't say anything about it in particular, but he definitely seemed to think it was important for some reason. Apparently it's been cleaned up."

  "He mentioned the mausoleum?" the mayor asks, raising an eyebrow. "Well, then, it seems Mr. Fenroc has most definitely become a problem."

  Chapter Five

  "I'll have the grave ready first thing in the morning," Sam says as she drives the shovel into the ground and then pulls up another clump of soil. She pauses for a moment. "Now there's a sentence I never thought I'd end up saying to someone."

  As the late afternoon sun beats down with relentless heat, Sam pauses for a moment and looks up at the top of the grave. She's spent all afternoon digging the damn thing, but now - as she raises a hand up above her head in order to measure her progress - she realizes that she's finally managed to get six feet down. Standing in the pit, surrounded on all sides by walls of mud and soil, she takes stock of her achievement. Although the edges are rough and there's still some work to do, this is to all intents and purposes a grave. There's room for a coffin to be lowered down, and then for the soil to be thrown back down. For a moment, Sam tries to imagine what it must be like to look up and see a grave being filled in from such a lowly vantage point. She reaches out and touches the muddy walls, thinking about how all her hard work will be undone in a day or two when the coffin is buried. Frowning, she examines her hands and sees that she's already developing some tough callouses thanks to the fact that she's spending twelve hours a day using gardening tools. A year ago, she'd have been horrified by such things; t
oday, she sees them as a welcome sign that she's been knuckling down to some hard work.

  Looking up at the top of the grave again, she spots a mouse staring down at her.

  "What are you looking at?" she asks, as the mouse scurries away.

  "Okay, Mrs. Mayberry," she says, tapping the solid wall, "I think this should do you." A small amount of soil comes loose and drops down to Sam's feet, and she's suddenly overcome by the thought that maybe the walls could collapse and bury her. Deciding it's time to get out, she realizes that she's neglected to leave herself an exit route. With a sigh, she starts digging up some soil from one end of the grave and using it to construct a small step; finally, she's able to haul herself out and sit catching her breath on the edge, with her legs dangling down into the darkness.

  After a moment, she realizes there's a noise nearby. Turning, she looks across the cemetery but sees nothing. The gate is open, of course, so visitors are by no means unexpected, even if it seems there are very few people in Rippon who want to come and pay their respects. Sam listens, and soon she hears the noise again: there's someone moving about over by the wall. Figuring that part of her job is to make sure that no-one's doing anything untoward, she gets to her feet, puts her jacket back on over the singlet she's been using while digging the grave, and wanders toward the source of the noise. Eventually, she spots a young woman on her hands and knees, apparently searching for something in the grass.

  "Can I help you?" Sam asks.

  "Jesus!" the girl shouts, almost jumping out of her skin. She scurries back a few feet.

  "It's okay," Sam continues with a smile. "I just wanted to know if I can help you with anything."

  "No," the girl replies, wide-eyed. "I'm just... I'm just looking for something. I think I dropped a necklace here the other day."

  "Huh," Sam says, grinning as she realizes that this is definitely the same girl whose stilted amorous adventures she overheard last night in the dark. With dyed blonde hair and thick black make-up around her eyes, the girl kind of looks like she should be fierce, yet she has the attitude of a terrified little mouse. "So this thing you're looking for," Sam continues eventually, "would it happen to be a small silver necklace in the shape of an ankh?"

  The girl frowns. "What's an ankh?"

  "The Ancient Egyptian symbol for life."

  The girl stares at her, clearly unsure.

  "Like a cross with a loop at the top," Sam explains, drawing the shape in the air with her finger.

  "Oh," the girl says. "Yeah. That sounds like it."

  "I found it," Sam says. "It was right where you are now. I've got it in the cottage. You wanna come and get it?"

  The girl pauses for a moment, and she still seems a little uncertain as she brushes grass from her knees. "You found it?" she asks.

  Sam nods.

  "How?"

  "It was right there," Sam says, pointing to the girl's feet. "I saw it glinting in the sun."

  The girl stares at her. She looks so nervous, it's as if she could suddenly turn and run away at any moment. Her eyes keep darting about, like she's some kind of terrified animal looking for the best escape route. "Do you work here or something?" she asks eventually.

  Sam nods.

  "Like... You're the gardener's assistant?"

  "No. I'm the gardener."

  "But you're..." She pauses. "Like, no offense, but you're not..."

  "I'm female," Sam says. "I know it's a bit of a shock, but if you want your ankh necklace back, I'm the one who's got it. So do you wanna come and pick it up, or should I just hang on to it?"

  "Okay," the girl says tentatively.

  "Okay?"

  "I'll come and get it."

  "This way," Sam says, turning and leading her toward the cottage. "Sorry I didn't see you sooner," she continues, as the girl walks a few paces behind. "I was busy digging this." She points down at the grave.

  "You did that?" the girl asks.

  "Surprised?"

  "I guess. It's kind of cool."

  "It took a while," Sam admits as they reach the cottage. "Come in," she says, pushing the door open and walking into the kitchen. She makes her way straight over to the large tin on the sideboard, where she placed the necklace for safe-keeping.

  "Is that, like, your Lost and Found box?" the girl asks.

  "No," Sam says. "I think there is a Lost and Found box somewhere in here, but I haven't found it yet." Holding up the silver necklace, she turns to find that the girl is loitering shyly outside the door. "This it?" Sam asks.

  "Um," the girl replies, squinting to get a better view. "I think so."

  Sam smiles. "You know, if you actually dare to step inside and come a little closer, you'll be able to see for sure."

  "I think that's it," the girl says.

  "You're scared to come in?"

  "Scared?" The girl looks over her shoulder for a moment, almost as if she's worried someone might be watching her. "I'm not scared," she says eventually. "It's just that I'm in a hurry. I need to get the necklace home before my parents find out it's missing. It was my great-grandmother's and apparently it's worth, like, quite a lot of money, so I wasn't really supposed to wear it last night and... well, you get the idea. I just really need to get it back in my mother's jewelry box before she gets home from work, or she's gonna find out it's missing and she'll freak out."

  "Mothers, huh?" Sam replies.

  The girl smiles awkwardly.

  "So come and get it," Sam replies, holding the necklace out toward her.

  The girl smiles awkwardly, before looking down at the kitchen floor as if she expects it to give way at any moment and tip both Sam and herself straight down to the fires of hell. "Okay, here's the thing," she says eventually. "I really just need to get home, so if you could just give me the necklace back, I can be on my way. I don't want to hold up your grave-digging, I'm sure you've got loads of work to be doing, so if you give me my necklace I can just get out of your hair." She stares at Sam with desperate, terrified eyes, almost as if she might burst into tears. "Please"? she adds quietly.

  "Here's the deal," Sam says. "You take one step through that doorway, and I'll come the rest of the way. Okay? I promise, this place isn't like the doorway to Hell."

  The girl takes a deep breath. "I'd really rather you just came out and gave me the necklace," she says quickly.

  Sighing, Sam wanders across the kitchen until she reaches the doorway, but she holds the necklace back for a moment. "Okay. New deal. All you have to do is tell me why you're so scared to come inside. You tell me that, I'll give you the necklace."

  "I'm really not sure you should be trying to blackmail me," the girl says timidly.

  "Come on," Sam replies. "What's wrong?"

  The girl looks up at the top of the doorway. It's almost as if she's terrified to even be anywhere near the cottage. "I'm not superstitious," she says eventually, "but still, I've heard stories about this place. You know, about the people who lived here before, about the other gardeners. It's nothing personal, I just feel as if maybe there's a kind of negative energy around here that might knock my own energy and make me less settled." She smiles at Sam, but it's a fake, nervous smile. "I spend a lot of time working on my energy. Like, properly, with crystals and stuff. If it gets all knocked out of whack, it might take me weeks and weeks to get it back to normal, and that'd kind of suck and..." Her voice trails off as she stands awkwardly on Sam's doorstep. "Can I just have the necklace? Please?"

  Sighing, Sam holds it out to her.

  "Thanks," she mutters, quickly grabbing it before turning and walking a couple of steps away. After a moment she turns back to Sam and stares. "So was that you last night? The one who, like, scared us away?"

  "Sorry," Sam replies. "It's local policy. Can't have people getting up to no good in here. I'd appreciate it if you could spread the word around town."

  "I guess," the girl says. "You just seemed bigger and scarier last night."

  Sam smiles. "What's your name?"

&
nbsp; "Anna."

  "I'm Sam. Sam Marker."

  "Okay." With that, Anna turns and hurries away, leaving Sam to stand in the doorway and watch her heading across the grass and toward the gate.

  While she didn't come to Rippon in order to make friends, Sam can't deny that she got a small buzz from that smidgen of social contact. It took her right back to the days of... As she turns back to walk through her kitchen, Sam looks over at the unopened bottle of wine on the counter. She's not really sure why keeps the bottle in full view; she had some vague idea about opening it to celebrate her first day at work, and then she decided to delay the moment a little while. The thought of having friends again, and opening a bottle of wine, makes her think back to the old days in Leeds. The fun days. The wild days. She feels this urge deep in her gut, begging her to open the bottle and take a sip. Even just one, brief drop, just a taste. Forcing herself to resist the siren call, Sam walks over, grabs the bottle of wine and puts it in one of the cupboards, where she can't see it. She still knows it's there, of course, but she figures she can wait a while. It'd be so easy to slip back into the old habits of drinking and hanging out with people, but she knows how that kind of things always ends. Taking a deep breath, she grabs her spade and heads out instead to do some more work on the grave.

  Chapter Six

  As he makes his way up the hill, Dr. Wellington spots a young man standing by the wall of the cemetery, smoking a cigarette and looking remarkably as if he's up to no good. Dressed in a leather jacket and wearing old, faded jeans, the young man has the kind of callous, uncaring expression that Dr. Wellington finds so disturbing in the town's youth. In fact, the boy is such a stereotype, it's almost as if he's stepped out of some 1960s teen-terror movie poster. Crossing the street in order to give the young man a wide berth, the doctor is surprised to see a young girl hurrying out of the cemetery gate and making straight for the other youth. Then again, he thinks to himself, why should he be surprised? Hormonal idiots are attracted to one another the world over.