Part 1
“Don’t be stupid”, Rudy said. “Dead people can’t hurt you.”
Mark nodded nervously. Sure, in the clear light of day, that made logical sense, but now, with the moon casting shadows over the rusty wrought iron gates of Perpetual Rest cemetery . . . well, the whole thing seemed nuts.
“Maybe we should go home”, Mark said, backing away.
Rudy just laughed and scrambled up the fence, climbing hand over hand, and then vaulted to the other side. He landed on his feet like a cat and said, “Hand me the shovel”.
Mark reluctantly slid the shovel through the fence bare and into his older brother’s eager grasp. Rudy, who was four years older than Mark, was a senior at Piedmont High, when he wasn’t in juvie, and had the bad habit of doing things without tarrying about their consequences. Mark had to admit that it was fun sometimes, but other times - like now - it reminded him why his brother spent so much times in a juvenile facility, wearing orange overalls behind locked gates.
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