A lovely place

Behind the church, built out of large, irregular blocks of stone, almost black with age, the grave-yard sloped down towards the river that cut the valley in two. Centuries ago the villagers must have had a good reason to build their church on top of a wind-swept hill, a good mile and a half away from their humble dwellings. Penitence perhaps, Lucy wondered.

The church was no longer used and stood silently awaiting its fate. The grave-yard too had been abandoned, at least by the living souls in the valley. The dead souls had been forgotten, their names on the grave-stones blotted out by erosion or covered under soft green moss.
Lucy liked the place. On a good day, when the church shielded it from the cold wind and the sun warmed the ground, rabbits played between the head-stones, birds sang in the trees and shrubs and once she had seen a fox, sunning itself on a great grey slab, belonging to the priest who had founded the parish. Unlike Lucy Janet disliked the place. But she always did what Lucy, the elder of the two, wanted. A dark cloud blotted out the sun, the wind turned and blew around the church. Together with the shadow a chill fell over the place.
‘’Let’s go home’’, Janet said.
‘’The sun will be back soon.’’
Looking up at the sky she saw more clouds gathering.
‘’LUCY.’’
Janet’s voice was a shriek. Her face was white, her dark eyes bulging out. She stretched a shaking hand to something behind Lucy, unable to speak.
Her appearance alarmed Lucy. Janet did not have the heart to joke on a place like this. She reeled round. From between the flowers on a newly dug grave two hands rose from the earth.
‘’A silly prank’’, Lucy said. ‘’Plastic hands.’’
Her voice trembled. She almost choked on the last words. Staring at the hands, the fingers stretched out as if in an attempt to reach at something, she expecting them to beckon her.
Janet had grabbed Lucy’s arm.
‘’You hurt me’’, Lucy said, trying to shake her off. Without taking her eyes from the hand she opened Janet’s cramped fingers one by one. She took a few steps towards the grave.
‘’Don’t’’, Janet shrieked. ‘’It will drag you down.’’
Yet she found herself following Lucy, holding her arm once more. Afraid to go forward, too scared to stay behind.
Lucy picked up a fallen branch. She bent forward, moving the top of the branch towards the hands. She expected them to grab it and wondered if she would faint, or even die from the shock.
Nothing happened.
She touched one of the hands. Loosely stuck into the soft earth, it fell over. It was real enough, cut off at the wrist.
Beside her Janet sank down, huddled up against Lucy’s legs, spreading a poignant smell. She had wetted herself.
Lucy did not know how long she stood there, thoughts storming through her brain as the blood rushed through her body.
A moan from Janet drew her back to reality. But what reality. She helped Janet up, turning her away from the grave. Holding her firmly, she marched the trembling girl back to the village.
Strange though it seemed, an explanation could be found for the hand. Having a vivid imagination, she could think of many ways for loose hands popping up at a grave-yard. It was the grave that unnerved her most. The flowers, the loose earth, no stone yet with the name of the deceased, all that indicated a fresh grave. That was impossible. Nobody had been buried there for twenty years. But the worst was that it had not been there minutes before Janet saw it.
Crossing the bridge over the river the neglected wood suddenly gave way under their feet. Instinctively they groped for some kind of hold, missing the rusty iron railing by a hand. In an instant they were swept away. Their bodies were found later that night in a bent of the river, several miles downstream. Janet’s hands, cut off at the wrists by the rusty, but sharp iron railing, where never found.
They were buried in a single grave, on the old grave-yard, for everyone knew how fond they had been of that place.