SPOOKY
“…short cut through the cemetery…”
G’day, Boss.
I love those spooky stories about the Aborigines. But definitely not to be read before going to bed. What’s the spookiest thing that’s ever happened to you?
-B. Spiteri, Queensland, Australia.
REPLY: Ok, I will tell you …
Many years ago, back in the ancient dreamtime when I was a reckless teenager, I over-indulged at an old bush pub along the Murray River, on the New South Wales side.
Fairly late at night, when I was having trouble remaining vertical, the publican chucked me out, telling me to go home and sleep it off.
Reluctantly, I started the homeward journey, weaving my way through the scrub, with the trees and moon dancing crazily.
I decided to take a short cut through the cemetery.
I climbed through the wire fence and tentatively started to negotiate my way over the graves, through tall grass, and around gumtrees blocking my path.
At one stage I scrambled over a pile of loose dirt and found myself falling head-first into a freshly-dug grave that seemed unusually deep.
When I had dusted myself off I tried desperately to claw my way out of the hole. But I soon realised it was impossible; the sides were too steep and smooth and I couldn’t get a grip anywhere.
I then realised, through my drunken state, that I would have to remain where I was and await rescue in the morning when, perhaps, cemetery staff started work for the day.
It was incredibly cold. My body started shivering uncontrollably. My teeth were rattling.
At one point I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I spun around. But I was alone. Achingly alone. What had touched me?
I crouched on the floor of the grave, huddled up as best I could manage, and closed my eyes, hoping to fall asleep.
Someone called my name. I was instantly awake. Searching the darkness for a friend. But I was alone.
Fear started to crawl into my guts and brain, a paralysing fear that overcame all senses.
Through those long hours of waiting I seemed to be visited periodically by spectres who prodded me or called my name, trying to entice me into some deep, mysterious under-world where lurked all the evils of the universe.
Dawn broke.
Very slowly light opened up the darkness and now, sober but freezing, I could clearly see my dilemma. I was squatted at the bottom of a grave that was rather deep, maybe intended to accommodate two coffins.
I waited there, shivering, praying for the appearance of a normal, living human being who could help me get out of my prison.
Soon I heard footsteps.
Far away.
Then coming closer.
I started to yell: “Help! Help me, someone!”
I heard the footsteps come close to the open grave. Then a rather frightened young bloke looked over the edge, staring down at me, his eyes flickering with terror.
“Eh, mate,” I called, reaching up, “help me get out of here, will you? I’m freezing!”
He nodded, thoughtfully, then stuttered: “No wonder you’re c-c-cold, mate. You’ve k-k-kicked all your b-b-bloody dirt off!”*
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