Gemma Mawdsley - The Paupers Graveyard

It is the sort of noise that wakes us in the dead of night. A vague sound from somewhere within the house that sets the heart racing. We lie in the dark, alert and waiting for it to come again, panic is barely contained, while seconds tick by like hours, and beads of perspiration break out all over our body.

Gathering strength, we reach for the bedside lamp and, once its comforting yellow glow dispels the dark, it is safe enough to rise and move from room to room, checking locks and window fastenings. Only when closets and under the bed have been searched, to rule out the presence of a knife-wielding maniac or sharp-toothed monster, does our heartbeat begin to regulate. Finally, silently, cursing the night and our own stupid fears, we climb under the warm covers again and turn off the lamp. With a little luck we will soon fall back to sleep and, by morning, the nightmare will be over, forgotten.

Timmy woke to such a sound. At first he thought someone had called his name and he lay in the dark, waiting. In days gone by it would have sent him running to his mother for comfort. Strangely, though, his heart was not pounding as he imagined it should be. It did not seem to be beating at all. There were no beads of sweat on his brow. He was cold, freezing cold. He should have been afraid and yet he was not.

It was only when the sound came again, a childs voice crying out in terror, that he became aware of the weight on his chest and the terrible taste in his mouth. He tried to identify the dry powder that coated his lips, but his tongue refused to move. It felt alien and heavy, and then he realised that it too was weighed down by the same substance. Still he didnt panic, didnt try to take what could have been deep suffocating breaths. Instead, he quietly accepted that he was lying there covered by the earth.

He was aware of others stirring close by. A great wave of restlessness seemed to sweep through the soil and he thrust his arms upward, wanting to be free. The earth parted before him like liquid, as he soared towards the surface.

Bright sunlight startled him and he stood blinking, rubbing his eyes. Thick grass reached almost to his waist, and he could hear rustling and whispers. The grass parted as small shapes scurried all around him. He knew this place well, he had only recently come here to bury Katie, but the grass had been much shorter then. The air smelt fresh, but still held the sting of winter. It was probably early spring and, judging by the sun, late afternoon.

The ground beneath Timmys feet shook and a roaring came from beyond the trees bordering the field. As he went to investigate, he saw that much of the earth in the graveyard had been dug up. Large chunks had vanished, causing the ground to fall away into a chasm. Jumping, he landed with ease in the deep hole. The freshly dug earth smelt raw, blood sweet, and he was suddenly overcome with a desperate longing, a feeling of loss. His head filled with voices calling out to him, pleading.

A new gateway had been cut into the bushes, and the dents in the fresh earth were alarming. No cart or plough could possibly have made such a track. Giant furrows, almost big enough for him to lie down in, tumbled one into the other. He followed the trail carefully, aware that the others were moving silently behind him through the long grass. He was dreaming; he had to be.

As he walked, he realised that everything was different in this dream world. The grass moving against his arms, caressing his fingers, felt like silk. His steps were languorous. Was he sleepwalking? The very air seemed to move through and within him.

Then he saw the reason for the noise. Was it a monster? No. Be brave, he told himself. It was huge, unlike anything he had even seen before, bigger than a hundred ploughs, but without horses to pull it. The noise alone would frighten the bravest of beasts. It stood shaking and belching smoke, causing the earth beneath his feet to throb. Light glistened off the yellow paintwork, dazzling him. All at once the noise stopped and silence buzzed.

He came out from behind the machine and walked along its length, feeling braver now. There was writing on its side and he traced the big, white letters with his finger. It read Earthmover. This machine was exactly what he had thought, a giant plough. Great steel arms reached out in front of it and he went forward carefully. At the front, instead of a blade, was a gaping mouth with saw-like teeth as big as his arm. Small dark scraps of material were caught between the teeth. Like the grass, the machine felt warm to the touch. The unfamiliar cold of the steel fascinated him, and he moved his fingers across the metal.

Jesus Christ, will you listen to me, man!

He spun round at the sound, unsure what to do. Moving back towards the long grass, he crouched and felt the others coming towards him. Soon the children had surrounded him, all familiar, frightened faces. He had buried most of them.

Timmy. A little girl came crawling towards him and tiny arms encircled his waist. Katie, she was here.

Timmy, whats happening? Im frightened. I want to go home. I want Elizabeth.

Hush, Katie, theres nothing to be frightened about. Thats just a big plough, he said, pointing towards the Earthmover. The other children nodded. Timmy was their leader, and he was never wrong.

Lets go home, Timmy. Katie could not be pacified.

The others looked to him for an answer, but he had no idea where home was any more. Small faces showed the ravages of disease and famine, with gaunt skin, sunken cheeks and hollowed eyes. Please God help me, Timmy prayed, show me what to do. The voices came again, loud angry mens voices carrying across the field.

Stay here, Timmy ordered, Ill go and see who it is.

The field, once lush and ripe, was now a muddy landscape. The few remaining trees looked to have been uprooted by some dreadful storm; great oaks lay on their side, roots dark and leprous. In some places, there were lines of roofless, brick buildings, in others, roped-off squares.

He ran across the vast expanse of mud into the grass on the edge of the field and towards a group of men gathered beside three blazing fires. Somehow, the fires came from inside barrels that were not burning.

Two men were arguing. One paced, cursing and running his hands through his hair. The other was calmer, more in control. Timmy crawled closer, so that he could hear what they were saying.

Listen, Paddy, weve had enough delays as it is with the weather. This is all we need.

I want the proper authorities informed, Sean, and I dont care how long it takes. I told you yesterday those werent animal bones. Theres too many. Cant you see whats in front of your face? Were digging in a graveyard. Weve been burning the bones of the dead! Its desecration!

Timmy followed his gesture towards the barrels and almost cried out as realisation came. They were digging up the children and tossing them into these great fires. He had to stop it. No one should have to die twice.

The rest of the workmen stood apart from the argument, whispering and casting fearful glances towards the two men. Timmy was about to leave when another machine, somewhat like the Earthmover, came thundering into view. It moved as if by magic there were no horses pulling it. Sure it would crush the men in its path, he stood up to shout a warning. They either chose to ignore him, or were unable to hear over its noise. No one looked in his direction. It stopped before reaching them and Timmy watched, spellbound, as a man got out of it. It reminded him of Jonah in the belly of the whale.