Hill Cross Cemetery - A short story

This is another Reedsy Prompts short story, where the requirement was to write about two friends spending the night in a cemetery. I decided to write this with two male characters, which isn’t something I usually do. I tend to write from a female perspective, but this was fun!

Hill Cross cemetery is possibly the world’s most incorrectly named cemetery that has ever existed, on account of the fact that there’s no hill anywhere in sight. In fact, it’s set so low that you could almost call it a valley, and as such it’s prone to flooding and there’s been more than one occasion when a gravestone has been uprooted and floated down the lane. The valley of the dead. Not a nice place to be in the daytime, let alone at night.

Thankfully, no bodies have been unearthed yet, but it’s only a matter of time. The ground is so eroded in places, you can almost see corners of a coffin sticking out. Not that I’ve looked too closely myself… ignorance is bliss. Needless to say, there hasn’t been anybody else laid to rest here in years. These days, it just stands as a hidden relic - on account of the army of tall trees that surround it - of times and people that have long since been forgotten, and some very bad planning decisions. 

Maybe it wouldn’t have been the case if they’d invested in a decent road, but it’s down an overgrown, tree-lined, dirt track, that in the summer is so bumpy, that it’s been known to knock an exhaust clean off. It’s almost impossible for anyone to get here if there’s been the slightest bit of rain, because your wheels get stuck in the ruts and you get completely drenched in mud, trying to get the car to budge.

That’s what happened when I was about twelve and my nan and grandad brought me out here. It’s almost a rite of passage to visit Hill Cross when you’re a kid, but most people only do it once. Everything about this place screams, “Stay away!” not, “Hey, Matt, why not spend the night here?” but then, I’m not doing this by choice, and thankfully, I’m not doing it alone. Frankie and I lost a bet; the most ridiculous bet you could ever lose, but that’s what six pints of The Feathers’ ‘Ale of the Week’ will do to you.

Now all Frankie needs to do is show up.

Walking the track here was actually quite nice. It’s early autumn and still pretty mild and the leaves are turning brown and starting to fall. It’s been dry, so they are nice and crisp, instead of mushy and I was starting to enjoy the walk down that path. I’m not generally one for a walk out in nature, but it actually felt like I had a bit of company too, what with the sound of the leaves crunching beneath my feet, the birds singing and squirrels rummaging for acorns; “Nature’s own melody,” Nan would say. It had a peace to it, a feeling of happiness, almost – which actually puts you off your guard, because then I turned the corner and saw the gravestones and chills immediately laid roots deep in my spine. 

I’ve been here thirty minutes, and I’m yet to shake them off.

There must be at least one hundred dead bodies at my feet; more if what they say about the poor people being buried in other people’s graves is true. I’m absolutely, one hundred percent, going to be cremated. I do not want my corpse left to rot in a place like this. I’d rather be a forgotten name on a wall covered in other names, than keeping the company of all this rotting flesh…

“Matt!”

“Gah!!” I jump out of my skin so hard that I almost fall over a broken gravestone. “Frankie, you absolute…”

Frankie bursts out laughing! He’s literally doubled over, holding his stomach in order to stop his guts from spilling out. My giddy aunt… my heart is beating like I’ve just done half a spin session at the gym (half was all my heart could take).

“You…” he can’t talk because he’s laughing too much. “You… scream… like… a… GRIL!” He bursts out laughing, once again.

“You are an absolute dick! Do you know that?!” I breath out as I place my hand on my heart, which is yet to find its way back into my chest. “You could have killed me!”

“Pahhahahahaaaaaa!”

“Yeah laugh it up now, mate, because you won’t be laughing once it’s dark,” I warn him. Then I sit on my sleeping bag and try catch my breath.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist,” Frankie says, as he finally stops laughing. “Why don’t you grab a beer?”

“Pass us one then…”

He looks at me blankly.

“You didn’t bring any beers?!”

“I thought you were bringing them?!” 

Oh, Jesus, he always does this!

“Frankie. Mate… I specifically said in my text that you were bringing the beers,” I rummage in my pocket in order to get my phone so that I can show him. “And I was going to bring the pot noodles and a flask of…” Oh… shit.

“You forgot the pot noodles, didn’t you?!” he asks, with a grin.

“Erm, no… just the flask of hot water.”

Frankie slumps backwards with his head in his hands.  “Well, what a night this will be. Cold pot noodles with no beer to wash them down!” 

“I wanted the beers so that I could pass out, to be honest,” I tell him. 

Frankie laughs. “Afraid of ghosts, are we?!”

“Abso-bloody-lutely, and I ain’t afraid to admit it.” I’m really not. There is no shame in being afraid of the supernatural.

Frankie let’s out a loud groan. “I cannot believe we’re doing this! Do you think we can get out of it?”

I look at him doubtfully. “Have you forgotten about the pictures we’re supposed to send every three hours?”

“Ah man!” Frankie groans as he reaches into his bag. “Good job I brought this bottle of JD then.” 

He looks up at me with a big grin on his face and I feel like could almost kiss him. “Frankie, you are a prize-winning arsehole, but I seriously love you, right now.”

**** 

It’s 7pm and starting to get dark. The squirrels have gone to bed, but there’s still a few birds swooping in and out of the trees… but it’s quiet. Eerily quiet. Something-isn’t-quite-right-about-this-place, kind of quiet. It’s cold too, which I guess is to be expected, but this coldness seems to touch more than just your skin. 

The birds don’t seem to sing around here. They fly over the bodies of the dead, but apparently, they don’t sing to them. Though, if the rumours are true then the bodies don’t deserve to hear nature or music. Some say, that the reason this place is so remote is because it is the final resting place of the dammed. Murderers, suicides and mad men; that’s who is supposed to be buried here. 

Others say, that it was an overflow cemetery from an asylum that burned down a century or so, ago, but that’s just bollocks. Some of these head stones have had some serious money spent on them. There’s even a row of tall tombstones and they’re not cheap. I know that from when we were planning Nan’s funeral, last year. They are however, going provide us with what little bit of shelter that we’re going to have tonight, since all we’re allowed is a sleeping bag each – “No tents!” Paul had stipulated as part of the bet.

****

 “You do know the story about this place, don’t you?” Frankie pipes up, as we lay our sleeping bags out behind the tombstones, which apparently all belong to a family called, ‘Carter.’

Oh, bloody hell! The JD had helped rid me of the uncomfortable chills that had been creeping up and down my spine since I got here, but Frankie is now clearly going to relate the story of the Lady of Hill Cross. Welcome back, chills!.

“Well, they say, that the Lady of Hill Cross…”

“Do we have to do this?” I at look at him in astonishment. “We are sleeping here… next to these dead bodies, all night.”

Frankie shrugs as if it’s nothing. “No mate, it’s zombies that you need to worry about, not ghosts.”

Zombies! I hadn’t even thought about zombies. I have a quick look around to see if there are really any graves with coffins hanging out of them, before grimacing so hard I visibly shudder.

“Frankie. Stop.”

He gives me a devious grin and I know that he isn’t going to listen to me. I let out a defeated huff, sit down against one of the Carters and pour myself another JD, hoping that the burning sensation of the spicy heat sliding down my throat will stop the chills in my spine, and numb my senses.

Frankie takes his cue and sits down, lubricates his throat with a quick drink, and then begins. “They call her a ‘Lady’ but not because she was a Lady in title, it’s purely down to gender,” he smiles. He’s slowly reeling me in before he totally freaks me out. “She was in fact a washer woman – that’s what they called them back then…”

“I thought this was a ghost story, not a history lesson?” I joke, but really, I’m stalling.

“I remember what GCSEs you got…” he smirks.

I say nothing, because he has a point, to be fair.

Frankie continues, “So this woman…”

“Can we give her a name?” I ask, stalling him again.

“We can pretend she’s your mum if it shuts you up.” 

“Don’t bring my mum into this…”

“Then shut your mouth and let me get on with my story!” Frankie glares at me. “Right so this woman… Lillith…” He raises an eyebrow at me, and I burst out laughing. 

“Lillth… who gets called Lillith?” 

“Old people!” Frankie flaps his arms in the air in exasperation! “Do you want to hear this story or not?”

“Not!” I laugh back, but then we both sit up right. “You here that?” I ask him, as I look around trying to place the sound.

“Yeah…” Frankie is spooked, and he comes and sits next to me and we silently listen.

There’s a low rumble, it sounds far away, but it’s getting closer. My heart starts to beat out of my chest once again, and as panic starts to take over, all I can hear is my blood pumping in my ears. Frankie is holding my arm in a death-like grip and the noise is getting louder and closer. 

“What was that?!” Frankie almost jumps onto my lap.

“Lights… it’s lights… it’s a car!” I realise, as I peek through a gap in the tombstones in order to get a better view. “Three cars!”

“Is it the lads?!” Frankie asks, as his voice quivers. 

“Can’t be… if they were planning on coming to scare us, they’d have walked.” 

I can see clearly now… three cars are driving up the dirt track that leads to the cemetery. I’d like to feel relieved, but that road only leads to the cemetery – there’s nowhere else to go. It’s not the lads, I know it’s not, so who the hell would be driving here in the dark?

Frankie comes so close to me that I can feel his breath on my cheek, as he tries to look through the same gap as me. “I do not like this, one bit!” he whispers.

“Me neither!” I whisper back, but then my heart sinks to the floor, I feel like that JD is going to come straight back up, and we both quickly duck behind the Carters as three sets of headlights practically blind us. All three cars have pulled up next to each and are now at the edge of the graveyard, facing us.

“What do we do?!” Frankie’s panicked whisper is a little too loud for my liking and I quickly shush him.

“Get your phone and put it on silent,” I instruct him as I do the same with my own. “Just sit tight and we’ll see what’s happening and if we need to, then we’ll leg it through those trees and down the lane.”

We both crouch low and watch the cars to see what happens and then we jump again as the lights go off. I have to blink because all I can see is the green glare that is lingering from the lights, and when that eventually fades it seems to have suddenly turned pitch black. We are both breathing hard, with our backs pressed against the tombstones, waiting for something - anything to happen. 

The anticipation is breaking me, and I’m starting to feel like a pig in a straw house, so I slowly turn and peek through the gap again. They have lights, each car has a small light, like a lantern, more than a torch. Not shining on one particular thing but illuminating the area. I’m too far away to see much, but I can make out a few people in each of the cars. Then suddenly I jump back again as I see one of the doors open. 

Footsteps crunch in the gravel, but then they stop… have they come onto the grass? I look again and see them all a little more clearly as all the lanterns have come together around one car.

“What are they doing?” Frankie asks in a whisper, because he’s still not looked.

“I don’t know… they’ve got lights and they seem to be hanging around one of the cars… hang on… something’s…” I dart back and clasp my hand over my mouth, unable to believe what I’ve just seen.

“What?!” Frankie’s whisper is urgent. 

“Hang on, mate… hang on…” I slowly start to turn again, daring myself to look for longer this time, because surely, I didn’t just see what I thought I saw.

Taking deep breaths, I focus on the cars. They’re lined up in a row, and the people in the cars on the outside have taken their lights and congregated around the middle car. All lights are focused on that car, which means I can see exactly what is happening. What is happening, is something that is going to scar me for life… what I’m watching, as we speak is the most horrific thing I have ever seen.

“What. Is. It?!” Frankie whispers through gritted teeth.

“Doggers, mate,” I whisper back as calmly as I can.

“You what?!” Frankie gasps.

“Dog-gers…” I whisper slowly.

Frankie dives into the gap nearest to him and slaps a hand over his mouth in order to stop his laugh from escaping him and giving us away.

This is happening. This is actually happening. I’m hiding behind a gravestone with a mate and we’re watching people, who are watching other people have sex, but unlike them, we are not in the least bit impressed. Morbidly fascinated – yes, but seriously unimpressed.

“I. do. Not. Believe this!!” Frankie is struggling to contain his laughter now. “I need to take a photo of this, the lads will never believe us!”

“No! The flash will give us away,” I whisper back a little too loudly, and then I quickly look through the gap again to make sure they’ve not heard us. They haven’t… clearly, they’re very engrossed in what they’re doing.

“What now?” Frankie asks.

“Now we drink, mate,” I take a swig from the bottle, before passing it to him. “Now… we drink.”

Unfortunately, it doesn’t take long for the ‘show’ that started off as a visual ‘treat’ to become pretty loud too. There are sounds that I don’t think I ever really needed to hear. The woman (I’m pretty certain it was just one woman) is practically braying like a donkey and even from where we are, I can hear the sounds that are made when skin rubs firmly and repeatedly against skin.

“It can’t last long… can it?” Frankie asks, hopefully.

I’ve no idea how long it has been happening, but I hope he’s right. If it’s just one woman, then surely, they’ll watch the show and then move on after the applause.

Apparently not… the first act finishes, there’s a short interlude and then it begins again.

“How many people were in the cars?” Frankie asks - his tone of voice mirroring the dread that I’m feeling.

“Too many… now pass me that bloody drink.”

****

We don’t sleep a wink. We finally pluck up the courage to pick up our phones after it feels like they’ve been at it for a few hours (turns out they have) and we even send the required three hourly-photos to the lads, but we do it in under our sleeping bags so that nobody sees the flash. 

Time rolls by… slowly…very slowly, and at 2am the show finally ends, and the cars go quietly down the track. By this point we’ve run out of whiskey and are both too shell-shocked to sleep. We don’t sleep and we don’t speak, we just sit there trying to think through what just happened and to work out how much therapy we might need in order to be able to move on from it.

It gets light, the sun starts to creep out, and we slowly start to pack our things away. I give the Carters a nod, thanking them for hiding us from the predators that lurk in the night, and then we start walking up the path.

We get about halfway when we see a car coming towards us, and we both freeze on the spot, but then we realise it’s Paul’s car, and sigh in relief.

I quickly turn to Frankie. “We never speak of this to anyone… agreed?”

“Absolutely, mate… Abso-bloody-lutely.”