Let the Dead Lie & Other Stories

Welcome, fair readers to this little corner of the darkness around us, By picking up this anthology, you are willing to expose yourself to the dark recesses of my mind, in the forms of stories ofcourse. So please, sit back, relax, and delve into the abyss with me as the darkness enraptures us within each of these short stories...


1. Let Me Ask a Question; Connor's Story

~Let The Dead Lie~

Before I tell you what will take place, I feel as though I must ask the following; do you believe ghosts? Whether you do or not now, I assure you, you will by the end of my short tale. You may be asking yourself as to why you’re even here, in this place when you could be at home watching a horror film or something when instead you’re here, in the cemetery doing a séance when you stumbled upon little old me. I’ll leave you to ponder these questions as for now I must tell my story.

   Let me see, ah, I've got one perfect for this, do you know what happens if you knock over, or even, break a graves stone? Well traditionally its ten years bad luck, but, there’s also another little… hitch to the deed; you’ll have an angry spirit to contend with. I should know since well, being a teenager, I've done some stupid things myself. Now, onto the story, there once was a boy named Connor, now Connor was generally a decent kid, but, like everyone one of you gathered here tonight, he had a little problem….

   “Aw come on, not again, Connor...” moaned his best friend as they stood by the edge of the fence of the playground. “Every time you swing, the damn ball goes into the cemetery, on of these days something bad’s gonna happen.”

   “Like what?” he chuckled as he hopped the fence for the umpteenth time, landing with a soft thump on the other side. “Nothing’s gonna happen; this cemetery’s been abandoned for years.” And it was true, the cemetery in particular had been pretty much abandoned since the eighty’s when, after years of struggling, the granite quarry and mine outside of town closed down. But see, what arrogant little Connor didn't know, or, chose not to believe in was that, a spirit always stays to watch over their grave. Why they do it you ask? Simple, they do it to remember their life on Earth, you see, being near their physical remains allows them to sort of relive their living days; that is, as long as their grave remains intact.

   “Hurry up and get the ball,” his friend called hopping the fence to join Connor, “This place gives me the creeps.” Walking in and amongst the thick trees and overgrown shrubbery, Connor could see why his friend didn't like being around here and to be honest, neither did he I imagine. However, they had to find the ball if they were to keep playing their game.

   “Let’s see...” he thought to himself, “Where on Earth could that ball be?” He continued to scrounge around for the ball, breaking through the bushes being careful to avoid the pricker bushes and stinging nettles.  “Ah, found you!” he reached down to retrieve the small dirtied sphere when, to his dismay, he found the ball had become stuck; wedged into the crack of a grave and it wouldn't give way.

   “Did you find it?” his friend asked as he wandered over, picking prickers from his sweatshirt.

   “Yeah, but,” he grunted, pulling on the ball, “This grave won’t let go…of…it.” He flopped back, having let go of the ball to catch his breath. “Sucker’s firmly planted, gonna have to break it out.”

   “Connor, let’s just go home then,” his friend began to cringe; it felt like something was watching them. “I can get a new ball; it’s not worth smashing someone’s grave.”

   “Aw, you big wuss,” he smiled as he stood above the grave, “The dead don’t mind, they can’t feel or see what we’re doing, and besides, I’m not going to break it, just… nick it a little is all.” His friend pulled on his shoulder, fear in his eyes, begging him not to. “Oh that’s right, your family’s a bunch of superstitious gypsies, aren't they?” He smiled cruelly as he lifted a small rock over his head.

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