Ok, here’s my latest short story that I wrote for school. I hope you like it, and please, no reviews whining about the whole “dead principal” thing. Eh, and on’t comment on the name Matt please. I just like that name. Ditto for the gravedigger’s name, it was the first “Icky old man grave-esque” name I could think of. Whatever, Enjoy!

The Spider’sHandiwork

By Feeré Goroné

The iron-wrought gates of the graveyard loomed above the three teenagers like a twisted black spider web. Their shadow in the light of the full moon was like a masterpiece of intricate lace, weaving around the trio. Beyond the gate, crosses and headstones stood row upon row, surrounding a war memorial in the centre of the cemetery.

One of the three flicked a stray lock of her blonde hair over her shoulder and stared at the black words above, so much like a spider’s handiwork: Riverview Memorial Cemetery. Her hair shone like spun gold in the moonlight and her eyes were like glittering sapphires.

“Do we really have to go through with this?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest. “I mean, I know we agreed to the dare and all, but now that we’re about to do it…”

“Relax Sarah,” said another of the three. He was taller than Sarah, who could be described as petite, but still shorter than the other member of their small party. His black hair was gelled and his emerald eyes stood out against his pale face. “You know there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“I’m not scared of ghosts,” Sarah said. “It’s the grave keeper, old Jenkins that I’m afraid of. Jess, you said your older brother saw him once, right?”

“Yeah, he did,” said the tallest of the group. Her mahogany hair, which matched her eyes, came down to the small of her back. “He said the old guy shot at him when he found him in the cemetery. I don’t know whether to believe him or not, but he was bleeding when he came home.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Matt, the boy with the black hair. “We’re still going in. Look, it’s open, saves us the trouble of picking the lock.”

They pushed open the gates, wincing as the oil-thirsty hinges screamed in protest. The ground was soft from the rain that had fallen the night before and it made their footsteps almost silent.

“Objective one complete,” Jessica said, crossing out a line of text in the small notebook she was carrying. “Next objective: find the grave of Leroy Harris, deceased principal and ex-idiot.”

“Jess, this isn’t a game,” Matt muttered.

“Once we find it, we steal a shovel from old Jenkins and dig up the grave,” Jessica continued, unabated.

“Then we just need to get a picture of us with the open grave, refill the hole, and get the hell out of here,” Sarah finished. “Remind me to never accept a dare from Rob or Thomas ever again, no matter how much money is involved.”

“Will do,” Matt said. “Now let’s find the grave. We should split up and find it. Text me when you find it.”

The two girls padded across the wet grass, and then went their separate ways. Sarah figured it would be most time-efficient if they got the shovel first. Her stomach squirmed with guilt at the thought of what they were about to do. Then she remembered the scathing, unjust string of detentions received at the hands of their former principal, and her expression hardened. Who cared what happened anyway? He was already dead!

Sarah reached the small shack of the gravedigger. The grimy windows of the small wooden house were black, and the only sound was that of the gravedigger’s snoring from inside the house. She checked her watch; it was ten-thirty.

Sarah peered around the house for the shovel she knew had been there in the morning when they had performed a scouting mission of sorts. She looked for the silvery glint of the shovel’s blade, but it wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Mentally, Sarah screamed every swear word conceivable at herself for the idiocy of not bringing a shovel for the grisly task, but in reality she was silent as a mouse as she top-toed to the wooden door that all but blended with the rest of the house.

The door was miraculously unlocked, but creaked more than Sarah was comfortable with. The moonlight barely made it through the dirty windows, but it was enough to see the lumpy, misshapen head of the grave keeper protruding from the grimy sheets. The slow, methodical breathing of the gravedigger was the only sound except for the scratching of a spider spinning its web. The sound stopped as the spider admired its handiwork, and then the rustling continued as it explored its surroundings.

Not wanting to stay longer than necessary, Sarah quickly scanned the tiny room. She located the shovel almost immediately, propped against the wall, but in her haste, she knocked over a bottle as she grabbed the spade. Her heart stopped, and time seemed to stand still as the empty glass bottle tipped to the hard, grubby floor. The sound of it shattering grated on her ears like a thousand chainsaws, and in her desperation to escape, she knocked over several more as she dashed out into the cold night air. Sarah gripped the shovel with both hands as she ran.

Jessica heard the tinkling of broken glass from afar, but thought nothing of it. She looked at each tombstone in turn, looking for the name she sought.

Harris, Harris, Harris…No, not here, maybe the next one… No, the next one…

The many names began to vex until they barely registered in Jess’s mind. Unlike Sarah, who probably still had second thoughts about this whole business, Jessica had no qualms about what they were going to do. She had spent the most time in detention under Harris’ rule, most of the time based on unfounded accusations. Besides, only about half of those detentions she really deserved. The other times she had just been an accomplice to a more elaborate prank pulled by Matt. Come to think of it, those were the only times when Sarah had deserved her detentions.

Suddenly the name “Harris” jumped out in Jessica’s vision. She groaned. Even in death, the conceited old fool continued to aggravate Jessica. The grave was in an empty space away from the other tombs. The gravestone was a veritable mausoleum, with angels and crosses chiselled into the huge mass of marble. Jessica was certain he’d made it clear in his will to have such an elaborate final resting place, and was equally certain that the construction of such a masterpiece of carving had been paid for with the school budget.

Jessica pulled her phone from her pocket and texted to Matt and Sarah to hurry and find her.

This isn’t good, Matt thought. He crouched behind a gravestone as he watched old Jenkins open his door and come hunching out. His grumbling was barely audible from Matt’s position, but Matt distinctly heard “Damn kids.”

Matt dashed from his hiding place, and then stopped behind another grave. He pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the screen. I found the grave. It’s the big one with all the crap on it. Don’t bother with the shovel, Sarah already got it.

He closed the phone and looked up at the rows of graves. The giant one at the very back could only belong to one person. Matt made for it as fast as he could, darting between the crosses towards his friends, silent as the ghosts that were perhaps watching him.

Jenkins ignored the whisperings of the kids. Instead of chasing after them with his gun and shovel, he would do something much worse. Besides, his leg and back would not allow it, for he had ruined them after decades of crouching and digging. He hobbled his way over to the gates and extracted a large iron key from his pocket. The padlock chaining the gates shut was hardly ever used even in situations like these, but he kept it clean in case the need should arise. He turned the key in the lock and made good the old saying, “throw away the key.” Then, cackling madly but quietly, he limped back to his shack to fetch his shotgun.

The three teens reunited, they stood looking at the grave before them.

“Well, let’s get this over with,” Matt said. “I’ll start.”

He took the shovel off Sarah’s hands and stuck the blade into the ground before the stone. The wet earth made digging easy, not to mention that the grave had been freshly dug not four weeks ago.

They took turns digging, passing the shovel wordlessly between them as they grunted with exertion. When she wasn’t digging, Jessica was flashing photos with her camera. All three were soon covered in mud, but they didn’t let their soiled appearances diminish their bloody-minded determination.

Finally the coffin of the late Leroy Harris was exposed. The wood was astonishingly rotting already, and the top was cracked. Without warning, Matt swung the shovel into the casket, and lifted the lid off, using the shovel as a lever.

All three friends took an automatic step back as the carcass of their former principal came into view.

“I can’t believe we actually got this far,” Sarah breathed. “Let’s get this over with, it smells.”

All three stood with their backs to the coffin as Jess held up the camera to include all three in the shot.

“Okay, perfect,” Jess said once she had gotten enough pictures.

“Easiest hundred bucks we ever made,” Matt said, already beginning to shovel dirt back into the hole.

“I don’t know, putting those worms in Harris’ spaghetti was pretty easy,” Jess said. “Not that we made quite as much cash from that. Still, pranksters for hire… I don’t know why we didn’t think of it long ago.”

“Shut up and help me,” Matt said. “This won’t get done with you talking.”

Jessica complied, and began to push soil into the hole by hand. The task was completed a great deal faster than it had taken to dig the hole.

Suddenly there was a deafening crack, like lightning.

“Crap, Josh wasn’t lying about the gun!” Jessica yelped. “Drop the shovel, let’s get out of here!”

Matt and Sarah wasted no time in arguing, almost tripping over the headstones as they sprinted in the direction of the gates.

They reached the gates, and their hearts fell a thousand miles when they saw the padlocked chains. They looked up at the iron words above the gates and turned around.

The shadow of the iron web vanished as the moon was obscured by a cloud. The misshapen old man approached them, a long gun under the crook of his arm. The night never seemed darker as he laughed a cruel laugh and shouted, “No more damn kids messing up my graves! You’re going to be stuck in here for so long, you’ll be begging for graves of your own before long!”

So ya, I hope you liked it. By the way, any fans of V.I.C.E., chapter Nine probably won’t be up for a while. I only have two pages of it done and I have exams in a week, but it’ll definitely be up before or around Christmas. Thanks for your patience.