over the moon, and a silver light fell down on the cemetery. It was time to go home, she told herself. A very light fog was rising, and it was growing cool and damp and uncomfortable here. It was time to go crawling over the wall and go home. Nothing was going to happen. Unless she was arrested in her black jeans and black denim shirt and sneakers for breaking into the cemetery. No, the cops would never arrest her. They would just suggest to someone in her family that Dannyâs death had been her undoing, and that it was sad, but she really ought to be put away somewhereâfast.
She started to move, but then a chill swept over her again, and for some reason she couldnât fathom, she stood dead still. She tried not to give way to flights of imagination, but the fog had added a strange feeling to the graveyard. It was a ground fog, deepening, swirling around marble images of Christ and praying angels. She heard a rustling sound again, and this was different. Something much larger than a squirrel was coming around one of the old oaks just down the trail past the vault she was leaning against.
She breathed quickly, her heart hammering. She could hear footsteps; then a figure appeared. Then another figure, and another, all dressed in black. Carrying spades and picks. They emerged in silence from the fog, walking her way. Walking as if they were staring right at her.
They couldnât possibly see her; it was just coincidence that they were heading in her direction. Her fingers icy, her heart slamming so loudly that she was certain someone would hear it, she ducked very low against the mausoleum.
âWhere?â someone demanded in whisper.
âThere, in the center,â someone whispered back.
Keeping low, Spencer swung around. She noticed what she hadnât seen before in the darknessâa new grave, the earth just packed over it. This was crazy, she thought. They were living in the twentieth century, and people werenât just dumped underground, they were well protected before being placed in their graves. But apparently these grave robbers knew what they were doing. They moved furtively and quickly, six of them, she counted, and every one of the six carrying a tool with which to digâor to break open a coffin. She wasnât even sure just what all the tools they carried were, exactly.
She couldnât tell one man from anotherâif they were all men. They were dressed much like she was, in black, but they wore black caps, as well, and ski masks. They looked like bank robbers, she thought, and realized that hysteria was bubbling up inside her. The way they were moving, she had to inch around the mausoleum to keep from being seen. When she had rounded a corner, she sat on the earth, her back flat against the stone, staring into the night. She couldnât get up and run now; she would be seen. She could only sit where she was, barely daring to breathe, listening.
She heard the sound of spades hitting the earth. Somehow, just the sound made her flinch. She twisted to peer around the corner of the small mausoleum. As she did, her sneakered foot scraped against a rock.
It was a small noise. It shouldnât have been heard, not against the determined shoves of the spades digging into the earth. But somehowâ¦
One of the diggers went very still, staring in her direction.
âWhat is it?â a husky voice asked.
âDonât knowâ¦something,â was the muttered reply.
She flattened herself against the stone, afraid to exhale her pent-up breath. She had to look. She peered around again. One digger had remained standing perfectly still, staring in her direction. It was dark, she was in shadowsâ¦and sheâd been seen.
She stared at the figure in black and felt the figureâs stare in return. Felt the eyes, felt the dangerâ¦
She didnât thinkâthere was no time to think. She stood and ran, tearing down the central path, aware that her best bet would
She started to move, but then a chill swept over her again, and for some reason she couldnât fathom, she stood dead still. She tried not to give way to flights of imagination, but the fog had added a strange feeling to the graveyard. It was a ground fog, deepening, swirling around marble images of Christ and praying angels. She heard a rustling sound again, and this was different. Something much larger than a squirrel was coming around one of the old oaks just down the trail past the vault she was leaning against.
She breathed quickly, her heart hammering. She could hear footsteps; then a figure appeared. Then another figure, and another, all dressed in black. Carrying spades and picks. They emerged in silence from the fog, walking her way. Walking as if they were staring right at her.
They couldnât possibly see her; it was just coincidence that they were heading in her direction. Her fingers icy, her heart slamming so loudly that she was certain someone would hear it, she ducked very low against the mausoleum.
âWhere?â someone demanded in whisper.
âThere, in the center,â someone whispered back.
Keeping low, Spencer swung around. She noticed what she hadnât seen before in the darknessâa new grave, the earth just packed over it. This was crazy, she thought. They were living in the twentieth century, and people werenât just dumped underground, they were well protected before being placed in their graves. But apparently these grave robbers knew what they were doing. They moved furtively and quickly, six of them, she counted, and every one of the six carrying a tool with which to digâor to break open a coffin. She wasnât even sure just what all the tools they carried were, exactly.
She couldnât tell one man from anotherâif they were all men. They were dressed much like she was, in black, but they wore black caps, as well, and ski masks. They looked like bank robbers, she thought, and realized that hysteria was bubbling up inside her. The way they were moving, she had to inch around the mausoleum to keep from being seen. When she had rounded a corner, she sat on the earth, her back flat against the stone, staring into the night. She couldnât get up and run now; she would be seen. She could only sit where she was, barely daring to breathe, listening.
She heard the sound of spades hitting the earth. Somehow, just the sound made her flinch. She twisted to peer around the corner of the small mausoleum. As she did, her sneakered foot scraped against a rock.
It was a small noise. It shouldnât have been heard, not against the determined shoves of the spades digging into the earth. But somehowâ¦
One of the diggers went very still, staring in her direction.
âWhat is it?â a husky voice asked.
âDonât knowâ¦something,â was the muttered reply.
She flattened herself against the stone, afraid to exhale her pent-up breath. She had to look. She peered around again. One digger had remained standing perfectly still, staring in her direction. It was dark, she was in shadowsâ¦and sheâd been seen.
She stared at the figure in black and felt the figureâs stare in return. Felt the eyes, felt the dangerâ¦
She didnât thinkâthere was no time to think. She stood and ran, tearing down the central path, aware that her best bet would
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