Read Online Graveyard Shift by Chris Westwood - Free Book Online

heard children crying inside.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œI could’ve sworn I did. I still heard it when I went inside, but I didn’t see anyone there. So maybe it was nothing, just someone with a baby on the street.”
    â€œYeah, probably outside,” I said.
    â€œAnyway, your picture reminded me of that,” she said, “and I wondered if you were thinking of the kids in the fire when you drew it. But you know something, Ben?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œ I believe in ghosts, even if you don’t. I’ve seen more than one.”
    I thought she was putting me on, but she looked deadly serious.
    â€œTell me about it,” I said.
    She shook her head. “I’ll tell you when I see you again, but only if you’ll tell me what you saw in that classroom.” She lingered a few paces behind me at the start of Middleton Road, so I guessed she wasn’t going my way from here. “Do we have a deal?” she asked.
    â€œI’ll think about it.”
    â€œYou do that.” She half turned away. “OK, then. See you Monday.”
    â€œMonday. Yeah.”
    She was heading for Richmond Road when the thought struck me, and I called her back.
    â€œBecky? You can have it if you want. Your portrait.”
    â€œNo!” Her mouth formed a wide O of surprise. “Are you serious?”
    â€œIf you like it that much, it’s yours.”
    Taking out the sketch pad, I carefully teased the page loose and peeled it out.
    â€œOnly if you’re sure,” she said. “But could you roll it up? I don’t want to get it creased.” She put out a hand to stop me before I could start. “Funny, didn’t notice that before. The lights in the eyes are shaped like four-leaf clovers.”
    â€œAre they?” I looked again. “You’re right.”
    I’d put a lot of work into getting the eyes right, but hadn’t noticed that, either. I rolled up the page and handed it over.
    â€œHope, faith, love, and luck,” she said, balancing it between her hands.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIt’s what the four leaves represent.” She flashed a smile before setting off again. “Dead grateful, Ben. Wait till my folks see this.”
    Watching her go, I thought over what I’d learned during our walk from Mercy Road. She liked my work, no question, and I didn’t mind giving it away. But her wanting to get to know me probably had more to do with my outburst in class than my skill with a pencil.
    The rain I’d sensed in the air was beginning to fall, misty and fine. It began as a drizzle, but the sky looked set to burst wide open. I took off down Middleton Road.
    A breeze was picking up, driving the rain. Trees and hedge-rows nodded at me over garden walls. A plastic supermarketbag whistled past my ear. Torn scraps of newspaper, potato chip bags, and candy wrappers fluttered at my feet across Queensbridge Road.
    A raven kept pace with me as I went, gliding above the rooftops along the nearest row of houses. Every so often it slowed and hovered, as if waiting for me to catch up. I lost sight of it when it dipped down into a yard farther up the street.
    It couldn’t be the same bird I’d seen above the chapel on Mercy Road — that would be highly unlikely — and yet something told me it was. Slowing to check the yards to see where it had landed, I nearly collided with a figure stepping out from between two parked cars right in front of me.
    â€œHey you, watch out!”
    His sturdy hands caught me by both shoulders before I could smash straight into him. He let me go and took a step back, looking me up and down. His face was inscrutable, his eyes concealed by a pair of mirrored sunglasses. He towered above me, tall and well dressed in a dark suit. In the lenses of his shades I saw myself reflected twice over, looking shaken and small.
    â€œSorry, mister,” I said. “Wasn’t looking. Didn’t see you