Fresh blood. This is a completely new tale inspired by a dream I had this morning. wrote it up, like to read it, here it goes.
The Orphan’s Graveyard
by Jason Foster 10/23/2012
“Never walk home through the Orphan’s Graveyard.” That’s what Papa always told us. And we don’t. Except for Mark.
“Aww, I ain’t afraid of no dumb old orphans. I ain’t afraid of anything.” Mark would say before sauntering off alone into the graveyard. He always got home twenty minutes before the rest of us. Papa would ask him if he’d cut through the graveyard.
“No, Papa, I’m just eager to get home and help you with your work.” Mark would always reply.
“Such a good boy.” Papa would say. “The rest of you should be more like Mark.” Papa would admonish us before setting us about our chores.
Mark always got home before us.
Until he didn’t.
He didn’t come home at all that night. Papa went out to look for him with some other men while Mama took care of the rest of us. It was cold that night and began to snow. The men had to come back after a few hours. “We’ll try again in the morning.” they said.
I think Papa cried that night.
They found him in the morning. All they had to do was look in the graveyard. He was half covered in snow. His hair was completely white and his face was frozen in a scream. Old Doctor McCoy later said that Mark’s heart had stopped suddenly. The adult all said that he died from fright. But we knew better.
The Orphans had finally got him.
The Orphan’s Graveyard wasn’t always a graveyard. Before that, it was an actual orphanage. The train tracks used to pass right by it. The orphanage was really old and falling apart. None of the adults seemed to care about fixing the place up for the orphans.
“What was important,” Mama would say, (or one of the other grownups sometimes) “was that they lived at all. After that, it’s Mrs. Walker’s responsibility to take care of them.”
“But we all know what she’s really more interested in taking care of, don’t we?” One of Mama’s friends would usually reply.
“Oh my, yes, don’t we?” and “Ummhmmm.” and lots of other agreeing sounds would come from Mama’s circle. That was all the conversation we could hear. After that, it was time for bed.
The kids at school used to say that Mrs. Walker was a witch. That she ate babies and children. That she ran the orphanage as a way to get food. The kids at school used to say a lot.
One day around lunchtime, the train came right off of it’s tracks ran right through the orphanage. Nobody ever figured out how or why. It went all the way through the building and kept going until it fell into the river on the far side of the woods.
None of the Orphans survived. After that, the adults came and they cleaned things up some and buried the Orphans and put up a big fence. They left some of the train cars laying around and kids used to sneak in at night to play in them. The Orphans got them, too.
No one ever saw Mrs. Walker again. The kids at school used to say that she used her witch powers to make the train jump off the tracks and wreck the orphanage. They said she put a curse on the town to keep the Orphans here.
The adults used to say those were just kid stories, but once or twice I heard one of Mama’s friends say the same thing and they all nodded their heads in agreement.
Sometimes at night, you can hear things as you pass by the Orphan’s Graveyard. Sometimes they sound like screams. Sometimes they sound like voices.
“I was born with spiders.”
“I was born with rats.”
“I was born with snakes.”
“I was born with spiders, too.”
“I wasn’t born at all.”
The Orphans are lonely you see. They want someone to take care of them. Or someone to play with. How do I know?
It was getting dark.
I was going to be late.
I was in a hurry to get home.
I cut through the graveyard.
The Orphans got me.
Just like they got you.
You should’ve listened to Papa.