PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young
Shaun gazed down the steep slope, past the apple trees and their blushed blooms. ‘Strange place to have a burial ground.’
‘Still a couple of hundred bodies under the grass.’ Grace kicked through a drift of empty beer cans and crisp packets.
She loved graveyards, the crumbling inscriptions, the weeping angels. He didn’t. The thought of walking over the dead made him shiver, imagine skeletal fingers reaching, clawing …
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You’ve had your fun. Time for a pint.’ Blossom fluttered around him like pink confetti. ‘Grace?’ From somewhere came a sound like bones tumbling on stone.
The burial ground in the story was inspired by a disused graveyard down the road from where I live. The slope is bizarrely precipitous for a spot where over two hundred people are still buried. It’s now a public park and community orchard.