A Case of Grave Danger. Sophie Cleverly

was that?’ asked Thomas.

      I’d heard it too. I looked to the window. Only darkness.

      Bones’s ears pricked up, and suddenly he was on his feet, staring in the direction of the sound.

      ‘Perhaps it was the tree outside,’ said Father, tapping the bowl of his pipe out into the ashtray. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask the groundskeeper to cut it back. The branches are getting too near the house.’

      ‘It didn’t come from upstairs,’ Thomas insisted. ‘It came from out there.’ He pointed to the front window.

      ‘Probably only the rain, my dear,’ said Mother. ‘Come along now, Thomas, it’s past your bedtime.’ She stood up and shepherded my little brother out of the room, despite his protests.

      Father simply shrugged and went back to reading his newspaper.

      But I hadn’t looked away from the window. Because I had seen something that the others had not.

      A flash of white eyes in the darkness, and a shadow disappearing into the night.

      

       couldn’t sleep that night, though goodness knows I tried. My down quilt felt hot and heavy, and no matter which way I turned I couldn’t get comfortable. I knew, though, that wasn’t the real reason I couldn’t sleep. It was because of the face I’d seen at the window.

      The grandfather clock downstairs was chiming an hour past my bedtime, but my eyes hadn’t closed. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d seen. Someone had been out there, looking in on us. What if they had been a grave robber or a vandal? I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened.

      Why I hadn’t told my father about what I’d seen, I don’t know. Perhaps I thought he wouldn’t listen, given how preoccupied he seemed at the moment. But I hadn’t said a word, and now if anything did happen, I’d be responsible.

      And it was after that thought that I heard a noise downstairs.

      Bones, who had been sleeping on my bed (which, needless to say, he was not supposed to do), woke up and began growling softly. He hopped down, padded over to the door and started to paw at the floorboards.

      I had to go and look.

      It was a ridiculous idea, and I tried to talk myself out of it. What could I possibly do if I confronted a dangerous villain? Nothing but call for help, and by then it could be too late. If they ran, I could chase them, I supposed, but it was night-time and the autumn sky was black as ink.

      I wasn’t scared of being in a graveyard – how could I be, when I had been raised here? In the daylight, when the sun was shining and the poppies and daisies would gently blow in the breeze, it was beautiful. At night, things where different. The moon wouldn’t be enough light to see by, and a candle would be extinguished by the rain. I was fairly certain I had nothing to fear from the dead, but the living were another matter altogether.

      More noises came to my ears: shuffling and banging.

      Bones’s tail went upright like an exclamation mark. His eyes met mine, and I nodded at him. I felt my courage building, knowing that he was by my side. He could probably give anyone he didn’t like the look of a good bite.

      I found myself throwing off the covers and climbing out of bed. I pulled open the door as quietly as I could and tiptoed down the landing. I could hear Mother snoring gently and the ever-present rain on the rooftops.

      I slipped silently down the stairs, Bones padding ahead of me – his footsteps remarkably quiet for a large dog. He went straight for the funeral parlour, and started barking. In trepidation, I followed. I felt something was wrong immediately, but it took a few moments for me to realise what it was.

      I peered around the dark room, at outlines in the gloom of shelves and coffins and urns. I stepped further inside, and I could see the edge of the coffin on the dais, the sharp angles of the cheap wood, and my eyes swept past it to the tiled floor.

      And then I looked again.

      The coffin was empty.

      Only hours ago, the blond boy had been lying in it. It was the same coffin, that much was certain. It still smelled faintly of apples.

      Thoughts raced through my head.

      It’s a grave robber. Or a murderer has come back to steal the body. Or … I gulped, thinking of Frankenstein’s creation in the novel as it shuddered to life.

      Bones wobbled around the room, sniffing everything. I tried to contain my panic, told myself I should just go back to bed. But in a flash, Bones was racing out of the door, heading for the back of the house.

      I didn’t know why, but I felt I had to follow. It took all my strength to put one foot in front of the other, but I did it. I felt a cold breeze on my skin, and heard the sound of falling rain grow louder.

      Now Bones batted at the back door, whining. It was open a crack. Someone had come inside.

      Or gone out.

      After a deep breath, I pulled the door back a little and peered through. I could see nothing but rain. A lantern, I thought. That was what I needed. Father often kept one by the back door.

      I snuck into the tiny cloakroom by the porch and pulled out a black overcoat that was a little too big for me, buttoning it on over my nightgown. Soft leather boots that were now old and battered went on over my feet – they felt odd without any stockings.

      The glass lantern was on a hook next to the door, almost too high for me to reach, but I managed it on tiptoes. There was a white candle stub inside, so I found a box of matches and lit it. Then I took a deep breath. It was time for a very unwise decision.

      I stepped outside.

      The rain fell around me in waves, immediately sticking strands of my hair to my forehead. Gooseflesh rose on my legs in seconds as the wind bit into them. The light from the lantern illuminated only a mere few feet in front of my eyes. Bones quivered in the cold, before striding ahead into the dark.

      There were fresh footprints in the mud, leading away from the house. Human footprints. Footprints that were just a little larger than mine.

      Definitely an unwise decision.

      As I went through our back gate, the footprints disappeared as the grass of the cemetery took over.

      I began to walk through the graves. I knew them well. I passed John Beckington and steadied myself on the headstone. I passed Annie Arkwright and Mr and Mrs Jones and Jeremiah Heap. I stopped for breath by the O’Neill family crypt and leaned against the cold wall. The vast tomb gave a little shelter, at least.

      If I listened hard enough, I could hear their whispers.

      Keep going.

      You’re close.

      They sensed something that I could not. So far I had seen nothing but the faint grey shadows of the ghosts, which shifted and changed like wisps of fog. I had heard no movement in the grass or trees, no sounds of footsteps or heavy breathing. But it was so dark and so loud out there that I began to wonder if I wasn’t being totally foolish. Perhaps I had just imagined the footprints, the way they looked. Perhaps they had belonged to Thomas from earlier in the day, and I just hadn’t noticed them before.

      The only way I would know if someone was there was if they jumped out at me, and that wasn’t an idea I relished. Bones was still moving forward, as if he had caught a scent.

      I shivered. I was sure to catch a chill in this weather. ‘Who’s there?’