Keilor Killer

• Holly Wulf
• Short Story
• 2008

There was a delicate tapping on the front door. I opened it, with a loud creak and as I looked out, there were two men, one wearing a lab coat, the other, a very neat suit. ‘Sam Bellamy?’ they asked.
‘Aye,’ I replied, with my half-Scottish accent.
‘Good,’ said the man in the suit. ‘I’m Peter Alexander, and this is my colleague, Bobby Rockfish.’
‘How do you do,’ muttered Bobby, staring at his bright purple shoes, and then at my fleecy pink slippers.
‘We have reason to believe you were in the Keilor Cemetery the night it was closed down, because there was suspicion it was haunted,’ said Peter.
‘Aye, in 1950,’ I replied.
‘Well, could you please tell us about it? We’re studying up on the history of this area, and think this may be crucial in completing our notes.’

“Well, it was on a dreary night in November,” I began. “Rain was pouring down and thunder shattered the sky as we shuffled through the cemetery, searching the tombstones with our eyes to find one name; Rachel Bellamy. Two little words, one big person. You see, Rachel was my grandmother. She died when I was 4, and the only memory that still exists is of her large round face, her glistening eyes and a warm and inviting smile, helping my ride my bike without training wheels for the first time. A lot had changed since then...

We stumbled down the pathways, staring at names and epitaphs, scanning them for a clue as to the whereabouts of my grandmother’s grave. I sure hope she was more relaxed in heaven than we were now. I remember the funeral. The epitaph was chosen by her a few months before she died, as she knew the end was near; ‘Blest be he that spares these stones, and curst be he who moves my bones,’ made famous by the one and only William Shakespeare.

After hours of searching, the last grave we saw was a terrible mess, and oh, how we hoped and prayed it wasn’t dear GranGran’s. Unfortunately, in our hearts, we knew it was. We looked at the smashed tombstone, and the dirt thrown around and over the graves nearby, and I couldn’t help but let out a bloodcurdling scream as we looked down into the grave. The lid of the coffin was pushed to the side, and a small shrivelled pile of bones sat on the bottom of the open box. All her clothes were gone, and so were all her valuable artefacts that she had kept with her. You see, Rachel believed that all the possessions you took with you to the grave were there for you in heaven, or the afterlife. We all thought it was a bit strange, when she could have got a bit of money for all those antiques, but she thought it wiser to keep them, as they had such a sentimental value to her.

We were all completely flabbergasted at how cruel people can be. Digging up a grave, with the threat of a curse? Seriously, how stupid could you get?

As we left this terrible sight, we heard the gates slam shut, and the guard walked away, swinging his keys around his finger and humming a jovial tune. We all screamed in fear, because being locked in a cemetery isn’t exactly the best way to spend a Saturday night, wouldn’t you agree?

There was nothing more we could do, so we all lay down on the ground, and I attempted to get some sleep, but as I shut my eyes, I heard a noise that sounded a lot like bones cracking. I tried to ignore it, but it just got louder and louder, closer and closer. I sat up, shuddering, and shook my sister Kristen awake. ‘D-d-do you hear th-that?’ I stammered.
‘What? What the hell are you talking about? Shut up and go to sleep, you little twerp,’ she snapped.
‘But I swear, I heard something!’ I shouted, waking up everyone around me.
‘Emma, shut up! You’re so loud, that scream could wake the dead!’ I admit, it was a pretty lame joke, but we were so delirious with exhaustion that we all went into hysterics. ‘That’s not very funny,’ Dad sarcastically yelled, sounding as if he were drunk, and we were all doubled over laughing again. We calmed down a bit, with tears of joy in our eyes, when we all froze in terror, staring at the thin white thing that was stumbling towards us. I screamed as Auntie Carol cupped her hand over my mouth. That was the last thing I could remember for a while, I blacked out.

When I woke up, a pasty white skull with one eyeball dangling out of the socket cast a ghostly shadow over my dark, tired face, and I screamed. I looked around, and I saw rows of skeletons, rotting skin still attached, holding guns and machetes, and chanting, as if they were in the military. The smell was worse than anything I’d ever smelt before... I stared along the ground, and saw Mum, Dad and Auntie Carol lying there, and every few minutes, one of them would jolt. I knew there was no hope for them.



A group of the beasts moved over to Kristen, and circled around her, like sharks circling in on their prey. Every time she pushed a skeleton away, another would take its place. There was no way she could escape. I looked away, as another terrifying scream echoed through my head. I don’t know what happened to Kristen, as I couldn’t bear to look, but all I knew was that I didn’t want it happening to me.

I sat and thrashed as the cadaverous creatures closed in around me. I begged and pleaded with them to leave me, but they obviously didn’t understand English any more. I sat with my head in my hands, praying, when I heard this strange sound come from one of the beasts, like fingernails down a blackboard and the rest of them backed off. I had no idea what was happening, but I knew that while I had a chance, I had to escape. I sprinted past the kind person who had saved me, whispered ‘Thank you,’ and clambered over the fence to try and erase any memory I still had.

You know, this all happened the day before my 14th birthday, and what a wonderful birthday present.” I said sarcastically. “The memory of that night has haunted me my whole life, but I’ve been too afraid to tell anyone anything. And the odd thing, I am now 62, which means it’s been almost 50 years since this horrid night, and to this day, I’m sure that guard knew he locked my family in that cemetery...”