by Amy Cross
"Exactly," Sam replies, "and I already feel like I've fucked everything up. I mean, everyone around here knows me. They know what I'm like, what I do... I just feel like I've trashed my reputation and I need to go somewhere else, somewhere no-one knows me." She pauses for a moment. "Don't you ever feel like you just want to get the hell away from everything and everyone you know?"
Nadia shakes her head.
"You're lucky," Sam continues. "I was thinking about getting a job far away from this shit-hole, and then just moving. It's not like there's much keeping me here. I could start again, somewhere new, somewhere without all these fucking complications. Somewhere... I mean, somewhere I haven't fucked half the guys in town. Somewhere I'm not..." Taking a deep breath, she feels a tear creeping out of the corner of her eye.
"Somewhere you're not known as Sam the Slut?" Nadia asks. "Or is it Sam the Slag? I can't remember."
Sam smiles weakly.
"You know I'm kidding, right?"
Sam nods.
"You're not going anywhere," Nadia says after a moment. "You're like me, Sam. We're local girls, and we'll always be local girls. There's nothing out there that's any different to things round here. Anyway, it doesn't matter where you go, you'll still be you, right? What are you gonna do, stop partying and live like a fucking monk?"
"Maybe," Sam replies.
Nadia laughs.
"I'm serious!" Sam continues.
"Whatever," Nadia says, getting up from the table. "I've gotta get back to work. I'll see you later, yeah? You can tell me all about your plans to move far away and start a new life." Patting Sam on the back, she starts to walk away before stopping and turning back. "You up for the pub later?" she asks. "Just a quiet one, but a few drinks wouldn't hurt, right?"
Sam opens her mouth to turn the offer down, but somehow the word "Sure" comes out instead. "Sounds great," she adds. "Usual time, usual place?"
"Now that's more like it," Nadia replies, turning and walking away. "Don't fight who you are," she calls back. "You've got nothing to be ashamed of!"
Once she's alone, however, Sam finds herself feeling very ashamed. She feels as if she's stuck in a perpetual loop, and now that she's agreed to meet Nadia for a drink, she knows the loop is starting up again. One drink is gonna lead to two, and then they'll end up at a nightclub, and then tomorrow morning Sam'll wake up with a vague memory of the night before, and Nadia'll come along and tell her what happened. Wrapping up the rest of her baguette and tossing it in the bin, Sam takes a deep breath and decides she's going to prove everyone wrong. She's not going to sit around this crumby little town for the rest of her life. She's going to go out there into the world and reinvent herself. She's going to find a happier place. A simpler place, away from temptations. An uncomplicated and relaxing place where she can just kick back and relax. One day, life's going to be good again.
Chapter One
Today
"No!" Sam shouts, racing across the pitch-black cemetery. "Get the fuck -"
Before she can say another word, however, she accidentally slams full-speed into the side of a gravestone, which sends her spinning off to the side before finally she lands hard on the bumpy ground. Winded and with a sharp pain in her ribs, she nevertheless forces herself to get up and keep running. All she knows, all she can think about, is that she has to get the hell away from this cemetery, the hell away from Rippon, and - if possible - the hell away from reality itself.
"Sam!" calls out a voice from the distance. "Can you come back? We need to talk!"
"Fuck off!" Sam screams, before she runs straight into another gravestone. This one is shorter than average, and Sam tumbles straight over the top and lands face-first on the ground with her legs caught on the monument. It takes a moment, but she finally manages to maneuver herself down onto the ground so that she can get back on her feet. Pausing for a moment, she feels an intense pain in her shoulder, but she quickly manages to overlook the potential injury and start running again.
When she gets to the main gate, she grabs the iron bars and tries to pull the damn thing open. To her horror, however, she finds that it's locked. The thick chain is hanging around the main part of the door, and a heavy old padlock is firmly secured to prevent anyone getting through. She's been diligently locking the gate every night, in order to make it slightly harder for kids to come and cause trouble. Now, however, she realizes that she's locked herself in, and the key is back in the cottage.
"Sam," says a female voice, right behind her. "Can we talk? Please?"
Standing completely still, Sam refuses to turn around. Filled with fear, she thinks back to the image of Anna a few moments ago, standing in the doorway of the cottage and looking like some kind of zombie. There were pieces of flesh missing from her body, and a very obvious Y-shape carved into her chest from the autopsy. Although Sam has never really believed in ghosts, she's quite certain that she knows what she saw. All that remains to be seen, in her opinion, is whether or not she's losing her mind.
"Sam," Anna continues. "Please. I need to talk to someone. I'm kind of freaking out right now. I mean, have you seen what the hell I look like? I'm going crazy here."
"Join the club," Sam replies, turning and forcing herself to stare at Anna. With the moon hidden by clouds, there's not much more to see other than a dark figure, but a moment later the clouds shift a little and Sam is once again able to see Anna's decomposing face.
"It's true, isn't it?" Anna says, her voice sounding strangely calm. "I'm dead. Physically and socially."
"Um..." Sam replies, her mind racing as she tries to work out what to do next. Glancing over at the cottage, she sees Faraday standing in the doorway. He seems strangely calm, as if he's merely amused by everything that's happening.
"It's okay," Anna continues sadly. "I already worked that part out." She holds her arms out in front of her. "I mean, look at me. I'm falling apart. Anyway, I remember it all. The accident, everything. It's weird, but I think I even remember the autopsy. I've got this really strong memory of being naked on a table, and this guy was leaning over me with all these big cutting devices and clamps and shit, and I was trying to tell him to stop, but -"
"Okay!" Sam shouts. "Stop right there!"
They stand in silence for a moment.
"You're not real," Sam continues eventually, trying to catch her breath. "I must have relapsed. I must have hidden a bottle of vodka in the cottage and then drunk it. Vodka always used to make my mind go weirder than normal." She pauses. "Yeah, that's what happened. Vodka. Damn it, I was sober for so long. I should've known it'd really fuck me up if I tried it again."
"I don't think that's what this is," Anna replies. "I mean, touch me. Just touch my arm. I'm real."
Sam stares at Anna's outstretched arms.
"Go on," Anna continues. "Just try."
Sam shakes her head.
"Is it because I'm dead?"
Sam nods.
"I guess I understand," Anna replies. "I mean -"
Before she can finish the sentence, however, Sam takes off again, racing along the path that leads from the gate over to the far end of the cemetery. Rather than standing around and having a chat with a dead girl, she's decided to see if she can vault over the lower part of the wall, which is over behind some of the mausoleums. It's a long shot, but she figures it's better than hanging around with a bunch of dead people.
"Sam," says Faraday, reaching out from the darkness and trying to grab her, "we need to talk!"
"No!" Sam shouts, dodging his arm by a few inches and continuing to run to the far wall. When she gets there, she leaps up and just about manages to grab hold of the top, but as she tries to find a foothold, she realizes that the climb isn't going to be easy. She heaves and heaves, trying desperately to haul herself up, but her arms are already starting to ache and after a few minutes she realizes that the others might well have caught up to her by now. Still, she can't bring herself to look over her shoulder. She knows that Anna and Faraday are probably stan
ding and watching her, but she doesn't want to make eye contact with either of them.
Especially not Anna.
Suddenly, just as she's about to give up, Sam feels something reach out and touch her shoulder. Her first instinct is to assume that it's Anna or Faraday, but after a moment she realizes that it feels different somehow. Stronger and more solid, and colder. She slowly looks over at her shoulder and sees, with mounting concern, that the hand that reached out to her is made of stone. Taking a deep breath, she turns to look back, and finally she sees that Sparky the stone angel is standing right behind her.
"We need to talk," Sparky says suddenly.
"Fuck!" Sam shouts, pushing him away before reaching up and grabbing the top of the wall again. Summoning every last ounce of energy in her body, she finally manages to start hauling herself up. To her amazement, she's soon able to swing one of her legs up to the top of the wall, and with one final heave she lifts herself up and -
"Fuck!" she shouts again, gripping the top of the wall for dear life as she almost topples over to the other side.
Having never really explored the other side of the town before, Sam had until this moment been blissfully unaware of the hundred meter sheer drop beyond the far wall. For a moment, she stares down into the dark abyss. All that stands between her and the darkness is her right hand, holding the top of the wall. Slowly, she pulls herself away from the edge and lowers herself back down into the cemetery.
"There's no need to be scared," Sparky says.
Without replying, Sam turns and runs.
"Sam!" Anna calls out from the darkness.
"Help!" Sam screams, figuring that her last chance is to barricade herself in the cottage and then hope that someone hears her desperate call for help. "Somebody help me!" she yells as she clatters into the door and tumbles into the cottage. With no time to spare, she gets to her feet and throws her weight against the door, slamming it shut. She reaches down and finds that the key is still in the lock, so she gives it a quick turn before pulling it out and taking a step back. Finally, in a bid to make sure that the door is unassailable, she drags the kitchen table until it's completely blocking the entrance.
Silence.
Looking over at the window, she waits for one of them to appear. They're out there somewhere, and it's not like they're going to just give up and go away.
"Fuck off!" she shouts suddenly, spinning around as she hears a noise. There's no-one behind her, however, and a moment later she spots a mouse scurrying across the floor. "You're okay," she says. "You can stay."
"Sam!" calls out a voice suddenly. "Let us in!"
Turning back to look at the window, Sam sees Anna's rotten face staring through the glass.
"Please," Anna continues, "I don't understand this any more than you do! Can we talk? Please? It's cold out here. I can feel the wind blowing through the holes in my body. It's pretty weird."
"We need to compare notes," says Faraday, who has suddenly appeared at the other window. "We don't have time for this silliness. If we don't get working quickly, everything could go very badly wrong. I'm sorry for the manner of my introduction, and I admit that I could have handled things a little better, but there's really no time to lose. Do you have any idea what we're all standing on top of?"
"Right now," Sam mutters, "I'd believe pretty much anything."
"Please, Sam," Anna pleads. "I'm scared. It's freezing out here. When it rained earlier, I could feel it raining through the holes. I just want to know what the hell's going on. I didn't ask to wake up like this!"
"None of you are coming in," Sam replies firmly. "You're staying outside until I stop hallucinating." As the words leave her mouth, she hears a banging sound coming from her bedroom. Racing over to the door, she sees Sparky peering in through the window, looking straight at her. "Mushrooms," Sam mutters. "I must have accidentally eaten some fucked-up mushrooms. Or drugs. Maybe someone spiked my drinks." She pauses for a moment. "What drinks?"
"There's a perfectly logical explanation for all of this," Sparky says, his voice sounding deep and grizzled.
"You think the explanation's logical?" Faraday shouts from the other window.
"Okay," Sparky continues, "it's not logical. And it's not perfect. But there's an explanation, and I really think you should just open the door and let us in. If nothing else, it'd establish an atmosphere of trust. One of the most important parts of conflict resolution is the act of establishing trust. I think it'd be a good gesture if we can all sit down and treat one another as equals."
"It would, huh?" Sam replies, stepping back through to the kitchen.
"What's the alternative?" Faraday asks. "Are you going to go to sleep and hope we're not here in the morning? Are you going to just wait the whole thing out? We're not going anywhere, Ms. Marker, so you might as well open the door before one of us breaks it down."
Hurrying over to the kitchen drawer, Sam starts going through the contents and eventually pulls out a steak knife. It's not much, but she figures it might help. After tucking the knife into her belt, she goes to the far corner of the room and grabs her spade, which she raises over her shoulders until the edge of the blade grazes the ceiling, bringing down a small shower of dust.
"It's my birthday tomorrow," Anna calls out plaintively. "Or today, I suppose. I guess it's probably past midnight."
"Do you know how ridiculous you look?" Faraday asks, staring at Sam.
"I don't care," Sam replies firmly, strengthening her grip on the spade. "I can still take your fucking head off if you step foot in this place."
"Oh, for God's sake," Faraday replies. "How much longer are you going to keep this up? Do you really think this is going to work?"
"Go away!" Sam shouts. "Get out of my cemetery!"
"It was my cemetery before it was yours!" Faraday shouts back. "You're being extremely immature. We need to discuss this like rational adults. If you won't let the others in, at least let me come and talk to you. There's so much you need to know, and we don't have much time. You need to know what's truly at stake here, Sam. Can't you tell already that something's not right here?" He waits for her to reply. "Can't you see that there are things happening here that need to be corrected?"
"Go away," Sam mutters under her breath.
"You're the last gardener," Faraday continues. "It doesn't matter what you do and where you try to go, you can't escape your destiny. I'm afraid you have a role to play in all of this, but you can make it easier on all of us if you just agree to sit down and listen. Surely you'll at least give me that chance, won't you? After all, only a fool refuses to listen when a knowledgeable man offers to explain what's happening."
Taking a deep breath, Sam looks over at the far window and sees Anna staring in at her. Looking pained and lost, Anna comes across less like a terrifying zombie and more like a scared girl who's just woken up dead. It doesn't help that she was buried in her cheer-leading uniform, with full make-up and hairstyling. Turning back to look at Faraday, Sam realizes that she has no choice but to at least listen to what these freaks have to say. They seem determined to pester her, and something about them makes Sam feel that it might be futile trying to escape.
"I'll let you in," she tells him cautiously, "but not the others. And you haven't got long, 'cause when the sun comes up, I'm catching the first bus out of here."
Chapter Two
"Perfect," Fenroc mutters to himself as he finishes straightening his cutlery. Although he's never been such an obsessive perfectionist before, he has precious little else which to occupy his time. It's not as if he's brought a book with him to the restaurant. It simply never occurred to him that he might be stood up.
"Will there be anything else, sir?" asks the waiter, who has snuck up behind him without making a noise.
"Another bottle of wine," Fenroc says with a sigh, glancing over at the window and seeing nothing but an empty street. It's getting late, and only a fool would be out in Rippon after dark. Well, a fool, or someone who knew nothing of the t
own's reputation. "Something a little different this time. Maybe a Shiraz?"
"I'm sorry, sir," the waiter replies, "but I'm afraid we can't serve alcohol after midnight. It's against the terms of our license. In fact, I'm sorry to have to inform you, sir, but we usually close around now."
Turning, Fenroc sees that while he was lost in his own thoughts, the restaurant staff have begun to stack the chairs on the tables and generally prepare to lock up for the night. For a moment, he assumes that there must have been some mistake, but finally he realizes that his evening has hit the buffers and there's no chance that Sam might come running through the door.
"Huh," Fenroc says. "I guess I really have been jilted, haven't I?" Pausing for a moment, he stares at the empty seat on the other side of the table. "You have no idea how much I hate rudeness."
Chapter Three
"The first thing you need to know," Faraday says, sitting at the kitchen table while Sam sips from a cup of tea, "is that this is no ordinary cemetery."
"No kidding," Sam replies firmly, glancing over at the window and seeing that Anna and Sparky are still watching. Although she feels as if she's in some kind of hyper-reality where nothing makes sense, she's also worried that she might be losing her mind. She fears that, at any moment, paramedics will break the door down and wrap a sleeveless jacket around her torso before carting her off to the nearest asylum.
"The cemetery at Rippon," Faraday continues, "in fact the whole town, was built on top of another cemetery, or rather a grave. Now, that might seem like a rather strange thing for someone to do, but it made sense at the time. After all, where better to hide one cemetery than directly beneath another? If you think about it, you can just about see the logic. Many thousands of years ago, someone very important was buried here, someone whose body had to remain hidden at all costs, and it was decided to use all possible methods in order to keep him hidden. The original gardeners were a clan of highly-trained warriors from -"
