Paupers Graveyard by Gemma Mawdsley

as he went about his work.
    ****
    The drug addicts returned and were disgusted to find a security man guarding the site. Still, the night was dry and they lit their fire on the opposite side of the graveyard, well hidden from prying eyes. They shared out the stash the same as before and soon all were high and feeling no pain. Each one slumped down onto the grass lost in a drug-induced fantasy world, as time slipped away from him.
    â€˜Shit, what was that?’ asked one of the boys, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head. Turning onto his knees, he searched the grass. ‘Wow! Cool!’ he exclaimed, holding the object up for the others to see. The skull glowed in the light of the fire.
    â€˜Toss it here. Let’s have a better look,’ called one of the others.
    The skull was passed around until it finally arrived back in the hands of its finder. ‘I wonder if she gave good head?’ He brought the mouth close to his crotch, shaking with laughter.
    â€˜She almost broke your head, wanker,’ added someone else.
    â€˜Yeah, fuck it,’ he said gruffly. He threw it hard against a tree trunk, and grinned as the force reduced the skull almost to dust.
    â€˜Hey,’ one of his friends came over and leaned on his shoulder, ‘it kind of reminds me of that bitch we did last night.’
    Black Jack listened, as they recounted how they had broken into the home of an elderly woman and beaten her and robbed her of her savings. He found these boys to be fearless, amazing in those so young. They could be of use to him, he decided, before walking through the bushes.
    â€˜Who or what the fuck is that!’ one of the boys uttered in horror.
    They drew back initially, startled by Black Jack’s blood-red eyes and blackened skin, but the drugs coursing through their blood quickly helped them to overcome any fear.
    â€˜Yeah, who the fuck are you?’ challenged another one of them, swaggering towards the spectre.
    â€˜Look at his clothes,’ another sneered. ‘What are you? Some sort of sissy, huh? Hey, lads,’ he called to his friends, ‘I bet he’s a shirt-lifter.’
    â€˜Are you?’ the one nearest to him laughed. ‘What’s the matter, nancy boy? Can’t you speak?’
    Black Jack realised he had been wrong in imagining that these boys could be of use. The pleasure he had felt at first was quickly being replaced by a growing anger at their mocking and jeers. He walked back into the graveyard, unnoticed by the boys who were falling about laughing at their own jokes. Stalking over to where he kept his latest acquisitions, he pulled some lengths of rope from the pile. These he fashioned into six nooses, biting and tearing them into shape with his hands and teeth.
    The children and Elizabeth sat clustered around Timmy looking at the picture books. They could hear Jack swearing and talking to himself, but that was nothing new.
    When he was finished, Black Jack strode back to the next field. The boys were now hunched beside the fire. Worn out by the laughter they dozed in and out of consciousness, and were too far gone to react, when a noose was slipped over each head and tightened. They had no time to scream, before he gathered the ropes and dragged them, pack-like, through the bushes and trees.
    The boys clawed at the nooses that were slowly strangling them, oblivious to the thorns and branches that tore at their clothes, shredding their skin.
    Timmy was forced to hold the pages of the book down as the wind whipped up sending them into a flurry. Elizabeth stood as the sighing increased around the graveyard, and cried out when she saw what Black Jack was doing. ‘Children, lie down. Do it now.’
    They huddled together, fearful of the cries around them, and glad to return to the dark earth.
    Timmy dropped his books and ran after Elizabeth. They tried to wrestle the ropes from Black Jack, but were no match for his demonic fury and strength. He