Virginia Creeper

Virginia sat bolt upright in bed and listened carefully. Sure enough, screams were coming in through her window. Someone was being hurt, from the sound of it. She ran down the hall to her sister's room.

"Lizzie, Lizzie, wake up, wake up!"

"Nathaniel Hale!" barked Lizzie, shooting up from her bed. "Oh...it's only you, Ginn. What is it?"

"Lizzie, I hear someone screaming outside. It sounds like they're being hurt. Should we call the police?"

"Is that all?" Lizzie sighed, leaning back a little. "I thought it was something drastic. Nah, Ginn, that's just the Riddles."

"The Riddles?"

"Jeepers, Ginn, you mean you've never heard what happened to the Riddles?"

Virginia shook her head, brown eyes wide. Lizzie yawned, sat up, and beckoned her sister over. "Here, I'll try to explain. About--hmm, fifty-one years this summer, at daybreak on a fine morning, the maid at the Riddle house--you've seen it, it's the big house on the hill--went into the parlour and found all three of the Riddles dead."

"Dead?" gasped Virginia.

"Dead," repeated Lizzie dramatically. "Well, the police showed up, and they arrested Frank Bryce. He worked for the Riddles--you know who he is, at least."

Virginia nodded. Frank Bryce, nearly seventy-seven, a World War Two veteran, had been found dead back in August.

"Anyway, they had Frank in custody, and they were about to put him in jail, but then the report came back on the Riddles' bodies. This is just what Grandma said, by the way. She said that the doctors discovered that the Riddles hadn't been harmed at all--that they were in perfect health, apart from being dead. Well, since there was no proof that the Riddles had been killed in the first place, Frank was let go. He lived up there in that hut ever since, until he was killed. Grandma said 's far as she's concerned, he killed them, and if he'd had any decency he'd've left town, seeing as how they know he did it.

"But they say"--Lizzie drew out the word for effect--"they say that on a night like tonight, when the stars are in the right positions in the sky, you can still hear the Riddles' dying screams. Remember when Frank was killed?"

Virginia nodded. Lizzie continued. "Well, he didn't have a scratch on him either, apart from that old leg of his. Grandma said in the Hanged Man that it was the Riddles exacting revenge on him for killing them and getting away scot-free."

Lizzie noticed her sister shaking. "Don't worry about it, though. They won't do anything to you if you don't go near the house. Go to sleep, Ginn."

Thoughtfully, Virginia returned to her bedroom. She climbed in bed and was about to sleep when she heard someone screaming again.

This was not the same screaming she had heard earlier. This voice was higher, not so deep, but still with a slight timbre to it...it obviously came from a younger male...

Virginia ran back into her sister's room. "Lizzie!"

"What now?" moaned Lizzie.

"Lizzie, how old were the Riddles?"

The sixteen-year-old sat up and groaned. "Well, let's see...Mr. and Mrs. Riddle were elderly, I think...and Tom Riddle was Grandma's age...yeah, he must've been thirty or forty, because Grandma said he had a teenage son. Get this, Ginn, he left his wife because she was pregnant. Can you beat that?"

Virginia didn't answer. She looked out her sister's window in the direction of the graveyard, where she was sure the screams were coming from. A boy was out there...tortured...maybe dying...

"Liz, I'm calling the police. There's a boy out there and it sounds like he's being hurt."

"Suit yourself," said Lizzie, and fell asleep.

Virginia flew downstairs silently and made the call. Finally, someone came on the line.

"Great Hangleton Police Department."

"Hello?" gasped Virginia. "Hello, my name is Virginia Roeby. I live in Little Hangleton, and I think someone is being murdered in the church graveyard."

"What leads you to believe that?"

"I hear screams coming from the graveyard."

There was a short pause. "Miss, do you think we're stupid? We know about you pranksters who call us out there and it turns out to be the Riddles' ghosts."

"No!" cried Virginia. "No, there's really someone being hurt! I heard a boy screaming!"

"Miss, we get thousands of prank calls like this every week. Who do you think you're trying to fool? We go out there to find the source and it turns out to be ghosts."

"The last time someone heard screaming in this village, Frank Bryce was found dead the next morning," Virginia pointed out.

Another pause. Then a curt voice came on the line. "We'll be right over."

"Thank you."

Virginia hung up the phone and stared out across the graveyard, where a golden light was glowing dully. She was praying it wasn't too late and wondering who was there.

Virginia didn't know that a fourteen-year-old boy was out there fighting frantically for his life. The boy had no idea that a nine-year-old girl had called the police to try and save him. Virginia did not yet know, and the boy had not yet realised, that he was fighting for her life as well as his own. Neither knew they were connected in any way.

Still, Virginia sat by the window, watching for police lights and keeping an eye on the graveyard, a silent prayer on her lips.

Please, God, don't let it be too late.