It was a cold autumn night. A dense fog had rolled
across London, it was impossible to see anything
more than five feet ahead of you. The mist reduced
people to vague, ghostly figures, or disembodied
voices.
In short, it was the perfect Halloween night.
Fifteen year old Michael Blake shivered as he
walked through the fog with his best friend, John.
On John's insistence, he'd managed to give his
parents the slip so that they could perform that
time-honored Halloween ritual- to walk through a
deserted cemetery in the middle of the night.
Conveniently, there was a supposedly haunted
neighborhood cemetery nearby.
Trust John to come up with an idea like this ,
thought Michael. But he wasn't going to complain.
One of John's ideas had once saved his life.
Somehow, John always seemed to know the right
thing to do, even if it seemed absurd at the time.
And then, out of the fog, the cemetery gates
suddenly appeared before them-old and disused.
The iron had rusted to brown so that they looked
like twisted pieces of wood that had been bound
together. In fact the entire cemetery was in
disrepair, the authorities weren't bothered about it
and the relatives of the people in the cemetery didn't
complain. The cemetery is abandoned and unloved,
thought Michael, perhaps just like the souls of its
residents. Then he chided himself. Why did he let
such weird thoughts enter his head?
John kicked the cemetery gates, which swung open
with a loud groan of protest. Michael looked around
nervously, but nobody seemed to have heard them.
As they entered the cemetery, John suddenly
stopped.
"I almost forgot," he said casually. "We'll have to
watch out for gravediggers."
"Gravediggers?"
"The poorest of London's poor. They're usually
homeless and jobless. They go about stealing from
the dead. They rob graves of glasses, watches, even
the clothes worn by the corpse, if they're desperate.
And most of them are armed with knives."
Nice of him to tell me now. Michael shivered. But
once again, he didn't complain, and followed John
into the cemetery.
This is so cliché , Michael thought to himself. Two
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