Day #8, Nightmare – by Elizabeth Averay
By morning the three teens in the waterlogged pit had screamed and shouted themselves hoarse. Visitors to the cemetery would look in curiosity and crack up laughing. One person at midday stopped, and asked, ‘What are you doing down there?’
The youngest, thirteen years old, piped up, ‘The security guard put us in here for spray painting. He was going to come back and let us out. Will you?’
The elderly lady shook her walking stick at them. ‘Serves you right. I won’t help you.’ Walking away, she burst into laughter.
As the day wore on, the teens grumbled to each other:
‘Your fault.’
‘I’m hungry.’
‘I’m tired.’
‘Stupid idea.’
‘It’s cold.’
‘Great, it’s raining.’
‘Shut up.’
They fell into a sullen silence, then one of them registered the second-to-last grumble. ‘Oh shit! It’s raining. Just what we need – more water.’
The youngest looked at the other two in horror. ‘It won’t. It can’t. We can’t. I CAN’T SWIM.’ Sloshing from one side of the little pit to the other in panic, drenching the other two who had had fairly dry heads and shoulders. He started to cry and yelled, ‘I DON’T WANT TO DIE! I CAN’T SWIM!’
The others ignored him.
The water level steadily rose. They were soon waist deep in it. The youngest boy was in a state of silent shock.
As night finally fell, the rain got heavier; but the boys never quite lost hope the guard would soon come to let them out. Surely they’d been down there long enough now?
Water reached the boys’ necks, and the bell signalling midnight began to ring.
Still no sign of the guard.
The water rose higher still. The older two were keeping the younger afloat, but they were getting tired, their fingers numbing from the icy rain.
Then it began to hail. Tennis ball-sized chunks. All three were pummelled. Struggling, trying to stay above the waterline, but the youngest felt something grab his ankle and down he was dragged, right out of the grasp of the others. They dove down to get him, but he wasn’t there!
The child was dragged down, down, down. Far below the surface. Impossibly far. The pit wasn’t that deep – how could this be happening? He was running out of air; any second he would breathe in water and it would all be over…
Cold air touched his face. Opening his eyes, he saw the guard.
It was a terrifying sight! Chest hacked open with all his ribs broken and bent the wrong way – and if that wasn’t bad enough, his heart was missing.
Holes in his ankles and hands; his skin waxy looking; the guard placed his bloodless hands around the boy’s neck and squeezed. In a raspy voice he said, ‘You. Your friends. You all did this to me. Now you will pay.’
Everything went black…
Screaming, the boy sits up in bed, looking around. Heart thundering. ‘Thank God. It was a dream!’ He tries to calm his galloping pulse. ‘Just a dream.’
But the headline story for that morning’s paper was already blaring all over the state: New security guard for local cemetery is found sacrificed by suspected satanic cult. All have vanished without a trace… Guard’s body mutilated… Heart missing…
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