User:Catherine Cushing/Sandbox 6

CEMETERY STORY Ronald I said I'd be fine patrolling the cemetery alone. I knew it had been cleared of undead, but still, I was ready for anything. Or so I thought. At length, I'd finished my first circuit and found myself back at the old church. As I ventured off once again, I heard behind me a rhythmic creaking sound. I looked about, shone the torch, but saw nothing. I satisfied myself that it must be the wind swinging an old sign somewhere nearby. When my watch was up, I stood near the back of the church, lit a cigarette and stood smoking it in the dark. The squeaking sound seemed right in front of me not more than fifteen feet, but still I saw nothing. Soon, the old sergeant appeared with two more patrolmen. The creaking stopped when they appeared. I told them there was apparently nothing on the grounds, that all seemed quiet that night. But on the way back to camp, I mentioned the persistent sound I'd heard and asked him what he thought might account for it. "Oh, that'd be Ronald you heard," the old man told me, without looking up. "Ronald?" I said. "Who's Ronald? No one was there but me," I assured him. Still not looking up, he said, "A few decades back, there was a swing set behind the church. A large shrub blocked the view of the gravestones, so nobody minded using it there. But it was very cold that year and the shrub died. None of the parents wanted to push their children looking out at the graves, so the men decided to move the swing to the other side of the church. The night before the swings were to be moved little Ronald must of took it into his head to go out for a last swing on it there. No one knows what happened, but the next morning they found him dead, sat in his nightclothes, frozen solid in the swing, his little hands blue and clutching the chains, sitting just like he was waiting to be pushed by his mother." He looked up at me then. "There's nowt to be afraid of, lad. It's just little Ronald enjoying his swing." Although you'll find no one who will admit such a thing, there have been rumours for a very long time that the most haunted city in England is Malton. His and Hers There ain't no grave can hold my body down There ain't no grave can hold my body down When I hear that trumpet sound I'm gonna rise right out of the ground Ain't no grave can hold my body down - old American gospel song* This is a strange one, this cemetery, I mean. It was before the Outbreak and it's hardly stranger now after the rise of the undead. I suspect - and I'm not the only one, just so you know - that this place had something to do with the Incident. Frank Witherspoon and his wife, Naomi, were both NecroTech employees. But after they were killed in a car crash in Lukinswood, the company paid for their funeral and the plots. Right over there, can you see? The two plots, side-by-side, the ones with the thick concrete slabs over the graves. * [1] Just One of Those Things Everyone agreed that it was just one of those things. Arnold P. had been out buying fruit at a sidewalk stand, talking care to make his selections wisely - as would anyone - when a taxi cab mounted the kerb and slammed into his body, effortlessly launching him into the next life. The cab driver had had a massive heart attack and died immediately in the street, in his proper lane. So it was nobody's fault. "An act of God, they'd said, nodding, as if to... ...