The Grave Consequences of Hazing

[jasman]

A Personal Experience By Haley

"No, Amber, I can't take you trick or treating. I won't!" Steve's face was red
as he screamed at his little sister.

"But Steee-viiieee," she whined.

"No, Amber! You're stupid. It's stupid. I can't take my baby sister when I go
trick or treating with my friends."

She flung her arms out to either side and then stomped out of the room.
"I'm telling Mom!"

"Go ahead, little crybaby," Steve muttered. He slammed the door shut and
snatched his black hoodie out of the closet.

"What was I thinking?" he mused aloud. He was beginning to have second
thoughts about tonight's plans, but a glance at his watch told him it was too
late to change his mind now. Marty, Frank, and Trey would be waiting for him.

He scooped his flashlight of his dresser and slipped out of his bedroom, taking
the stairs two at a time. Once he slid across the kitchen floor in his socks,
he made a dash for the door, but was hindered by a lack of traction.

His mother snagged his shoulder and spun him around.

"Why can't you take your sister trick or treating?" she asked, frowning.
"Is it just because you're twelve?"

"Mom...ugh. Can't she just find a friend to go with?"

"Steven, you're ridiculous." She ruffled his blonde hair, her features softening.
"Go ahead, but don't be out too late."

Steve grunted and ran out the door. The crisp autumn air filled his lungs, and
the dry brown leaves swirled around his feet, dancing in the wind. He shivered,
already regretting what he was about to do.

As the new kid at school, he just wanted to fit in. Marty, Trey, and Frank seemed
to be the cool kids, and certainly the toughest, so he'd started hanging out at first
near them, and then with them.

They'd informed him just last week that he had to go through an initiation, to be
sure he was really one of them. He'd agreed, but then they'd spilled the location:
meet them at the town cemetery. He'd almost changed his mind then and there.

Pulling his hood on, he kept walking quickly. Just imagining the cemetery made
him shiver. The tall metal fence, rusted and sagging in some places; the twisted,
sunken gravestones; the rust and the dead vegetation everywhere.

He'd never dared to set foot in it, but he'd heard that the newer stones filled the
back plots, and the oldest ones were near the front.

Steve stepped off the street and headed for the cemetery gates. It was dark enough
now to turn on his flashlight.

He stopped in front the gnarled gate reading "Macentire Cemetery.
" His thoughts raced. Should he turn and go home now? Was it worth being branded
a coward?

Then he heard footsteps behind him and whirled around. A lanky kid walked into his
flashlight beam.

"Oh," the boy said.

"Caleb?"

In unison, they said, "I'm supposed to meet Marty, Trey, and Frank here."

Steve scratched the back of his neck under the hood. "So they put you up to it too?"

Caleb nodded and absently kicked a rock.

"Hey! They showed!" It was Trey's voice. He came into the light beams, Frank and
Marty trailing him.

"But will they make it?" Frank said with a laugh.

Marty reached into his pocket and withdrew two forks, handing one to each of the
shaking boys. "Only one way to find out. Here."

"What do we -- " Steve started.

"Go into the cemetery and find a grave with your first name on it. Stick the fork in
the grave, and you're free to go home. And cool enough to be one of us."
Marty was sneering slightly.

"How will you know we did it?" Caleb said, voice shaking.

"We'll check tomorrow, twerp. Now GO!"

Without consulting each other, Caleb and Steve bolted into the cemetery, turning in
opposite directions. Steve ran until he came to the first readable group of headstones.
He spotted his name without much trouble: Steven Hopkins.

Jamming the fork into the hard ground, he kept skidding past a small group of crosses,
then spun back the way he'd come -- or at least the way he hoped he'd come.

He couldn't see now, and his blind dash had made him uncertain of his direction.

His side began to hurt. He gripped it, wincing, and scanned the cemetery. No sign of
Caleb, or the entrance. Panic began to settle in his chest, a leaden weight he couldn't
swallow. Something grabbed his leg. His eyes wandered downwards, terror at what
he might find gripping him.

"Stupid tree root," he muttered.

He looked to his let. On the small flat nearby, a fork was stabbed deep into the earth.

"Caleb must be already out," was his last conscious thought.

As the morning sun rose, the paper boy biked past the cemetery. A paper slipped
from his satchel and landed, headline up, in front of the gates.

Too spooked to retrieve it, he rode on.

The headline read:

BOY'S BODY FOUND IN CEMETERY

The story continued:

"The body of 12-year-old Steven Phillips was found at Macentire Cemetery late
last night. He was stabbed with a fork and lying on the grave of war veteran Steve
Hopkins. Foul play is expected. Friend Caleb Thompson, who also entered the
graveyard last night, swears he saw and heard nothing in regards to Phillips's
death, but that he can no longer sleep due to an infant's squalling.

Thompson stuck a fork in a grave of his own, that of a newborn baby named Caleb
Mathis.

In lieu of flowers, donations can be sent to the Phillips family, and will fund the
purchase of warning signs to hang on the cemetery gates. Sitting on Steven
Hopkins's grave, it is said, guarantees you will not make it through the night."

The gates creaked as the wind and leaves swirled around them.


Source from internet

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