Read Paupers Graveyard for Free Online Page B

inside. The blazing fire cast shadows on the bare bricks and made giants of the people moving about. He knew nothing was beyond Black Jack, there was no stopping the devil’s offspring. He saw a group of boys, dressed alike in jumpers and baggy trousers. Each had a hood pulled over his face. Timmy had to climb inside the house to get a better look at them. They seemed no older than he was, had been, in that time long ago. Black Jack stood in one corner of the room, his blood-red eyes narrowed, watching. Their language was hard to understand.
    â€˜This is good shit,’ one of the boys said, taking a shiny packet from his pocket. ‘Almost pure.’
    He hunched in front of the fire and the others joined him. Each held out a silver spoon and he divided the powder between them. Timmy squeezed in beside them and watched as the spoons were held over the flames and the powder melted into liquid. Even Black Jack had drawn closer. Next they took a tube with a needle attached to it. The tip of the needle was placed in the bubbles and the liquid sucked into the tube. The first one rolled up a sleeve and tied a string around his forearm. He held the needle as it punctured the skin in the crook of his arm and a small amount of blood appeared to mix with the liquid. Timmy watched in amazement as it all disappeared inside him. One by one his companions repeated the ceremony. Timmy pulled back as they fell away from the fire and slumped against the wall. Each wore the same stupid smile, and their voices now sounded different, slurred. After a while they began to move.
    The banging of metal sounded as they pulled silver canisters from their bags. Timmy hunched closer to one of the boys, their noses almost touching, as he pulled a ring on the top of the canister. Suddenly, with a sharp hiss, the air was filled with the scent of ale. Black Jack came forward, licking his lips, and tried to pick up one of the canisters, but it was useless. It just passed through his fingers, and he swore loudly, before stalking away.
    Timmy stayed to try and find out where he was, what year he was in. But it was difficult. They spoke of bitches, but he could see no dogs. They seemed to be religious as they used the name of Christ often in their speech.
    â€˜This fuckin’ place is A-1, man,’ one of them said. ‘No watchman, no security guards, fuckin’ happenin’,’ he looked around, and the others mumbled their agreement. ‘Anyway, who’d want to come way out here, to the arsehole of nowhere, to knock off that shit?’ He pointed to the bricks.
    Their speech grew duller, their movements slowed, as the hours passed. Timmy grew tired of their company and decided to return to the graveyard. He had seen enough of the living for now, it was time to go back to his own kind. The light from the fire glinted off one of the tubes that littered the floor and he bent to pick it up. He held the fine plastic between his finger and thumb, amazed at its smoothness, lightness and craftsmanship.
    â€˜What the fuck is that?’
    He spun around to find one of the boys pointing in his direction.
    â€˜It’s floating, man,’ answered another, ‘flying.’ Flapping his arms, he mimicked a bird.
    â€˜No, that other thing; it’s some sort of scarecrow. Look at it.’ The others tried to focus on where he was pointing.
    â€˜Hey, you,’ the first one spoke to Timmy, ‘get the fuck out of here.’ He aimed one of the empty canisters at him. The others joined in, and though the missiles sailed past, Timmy was afraid and started to run, the boy’s voice following him.
    â€˜And stay the fuck out.’
    Timmy could still hear their hysterical laughter as he ran through the bushes to be confronted by Black Jack.
    â€˜How did you do it, Walsh? How did you pick it up?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    â€˜If you’re hiding something from me, some sort of secret, I’ll find out, and