Woodlington

Foreward

Seven years ago,

October

As the old horse pulled the old cart up to the even older gates, the moon crept into the one patch of sky which was free from cloud. Its appearance didn't last long, but it was enough to reveal the grave-robbers.

A pair of rough, thuggish criminals, right – stubble darkening their scar-ruined faces?

Wrong.

"Bugger," exclaimed a woman in a strong Scottish accent. "I canny see a thing."

Her companion, taller and quite a bit thinner, smiled.

"Good, then no-one'll see us."

The shorter muttered under her breath and clambered from the cart.

As she did so, her foot disappeared into a puddle.

"Och, for goodny sake!" she cried.

"Hush up now!"

The taller shook her head and hopped lightly to the ground.

"See, nothing to it."

The shorter glared at her, stomping her left shoe repeatedly on the pavement. Finally, she gave up, and taking the reins from the horse, looped them over an iron railing.

"Well come on then. You get the lantern, I'll get the spades."

A minute later, tools in hand, the two arrived at the tall rusting gates.

They craned their necks, gazing up uncertainly. This was the moment of truth; once they entered there was no going back. They looked at one another, nodded in agreement, and taking hold of the bars, pushed.

The gates creaked loudly, a long groaning screech which echoed through the night. They froze, holding their breath.

Seconds passed.

When there were no shouts, barks, or worse – police sirens, they slipped through the gap into the graveyard.

"What now?" asked the shorter, peering around nervously.

For a moment the other said nothing.

In front of them, long, wet grass sloped away on all sides, everything blurring into a damp grey. Here and there, a few darker smudges suggested graves.

Finally, the taller shrugged.

"I'm not sure."

"Not sure! What do ye mean, not sure?"

"Well there wasn't exactly a map, was there?"

The shorter let out an exasperated sigh and tugged back her hood.

"Can we at least light the lantern then? No-one's gonna see us."

Her companion looked doubtful.

"Really? You reckon anyone's stupid enough to be skulking roond here in weather like this?"

Relenting, the taller began searching her pockets.

"Fine, here's the matches. Shield the wick from the rain."

As the light blossomed, they peered at one another. In the amber glow they seemed almost strangers.

They were middle-aged – the shorter perhaps sixty. As the lantern flickered, shadows danced over their faces.

They looked scared.

"Right," whispered the taller. "Let's do this."

They set off along the gravel path, feet crunching loudly on the shifting stones. After a minute, the shorter's hand slipped hesitantly into the taller's.