THE INITIATION.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
A teenage boy seeks membership in a gang with tragic results.

Submitted: September 17, 2016

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Submitted: September 17, 2016

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Page 1 of 2.

 … THE INITIATION…

Midnight, Utopia cemetery, no moon, a very dark night. All Garth had to do was climb the fence, find the oldest section in the centre of the cemetery and return with proof of his dare achieved. ‘Proof’ being the timber cross and plaque with “John Edmundsen, Born 1800, died 1888” engraved on it.

He then had to return to the clubhouse that morning to be inducted into the ‘BEARS,’ the gang he had wanted for years to belong to! He would don the black leather jacket with the bear rampant in color, emblazoned across the back. Beneath ‘BEARS’ would be his name in the club colors.

Thirteen years old, tough, wiry and fit, Garth easily scaled the old wrought iron fence, perched and stared into the fathomless blackness of Utopia Cemetery. He dropped catlike to the ground and listened for disturbance. Who would he disturb here Garth thought? Raised to be rational and skeptical he had never believed in spooks. Yet never had he felt so alone and scared. His pen torch saber like, cut through the stygian night. Treading lightly, Garth quickly moved towards his goal, the very first grave site in the town of Utopia.

Night noises amplified and concentrated by fear, surrounded him-rustling leaves; a sign squeaked in the wind; something swept past his face, felt rather than seen. An unearthly sound rent the air. Garth’s shaking torch illuminated the Barn Owl, dying rat gripped in it’s talons! Resisting the desire to flee, somewhere, anywhere but here, he resolutely reached his objective. The torch beam focused on the grave site. Stone monuments, mute witnesses, silent masonry angels stared their disapproval at his presence.

Garth opened the ancient, rusted gate to the grave site, wincing at the grating noise. Quickly he wrenched the old wooden cross from the earth and turned to leave. Suddenly his flesh crept and fear engulfed him-he knew something or someone was almost upon him!

Maniacal, cackling, hysterical high pitched laughter exploded from the darkness. Garth froze. He heard his heart pounding as it rose in his chest. A terrible dread swept over him. Willing himself to run for his life, he fled, clutching the cross tightly. The terrifying sound pursued him as he ran in sheer, blind terror, dropping his torch. The fence was silhouetted by a street light. Garth was escaping, the still insane laughter was not so close as before, he was going to make it!

At the ‘BEARS’ clubhouse, eight boys, some smoking, others drinking Coke, sat around a large table on which lay a shiny new leather jacket, emblazoned with a brightly colored, erect, savage looking, snarling Grizzly bear beneath which “GARTH” was printed in red, white and blue.

‘Codger, did you see him run, see Garth run last night?’ A gap toothed kid asked.

 ‘Yeah’ replied their leader Codger, ‘Like greased lightnin,’ never saw a kid run so fast and in the dark!’

 

Page 2 of 2.

A fat kid guffawed saying ‘When you played that recording, I nearly peed my pants! Where’d you get it from Codger?’ ‘My older sister had it from her drama school; they’re doin’ some play, Macbeth or sumthin’.’

‘He’s late, shoulda been here an hour ago’ from a red haired gangly kid.

‘He’s probably still messin’ his self,’  said  Codger chortling.  

 

The cemetery Caretaker and the policeman stared sadly at the wiry, broken necked young body, clutching an old wooden cross, spread-eagled two meters down in the freshly dug grave. He shifted his gaze to the downcast face of his soon to be ex employee who had neglected to cover his handiwork before finishing work the previous day!

Several days later at Utopia Cemetery, grief stricken mourners watched as eight boys aged from eleven to fourteen years, draped a ‘BEARS’ emblazoned, shiny new black leather jacket atop a small coffin to the strains of The Battle Hymn of the Republic……..

 

 

 

 

 

 


© Copyright 2017 Gideon Curmudgeon. All rights reserved.

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