Ben stumbled towards the deserted graveyard with teeth chattering and hands shivering. He could see the light of the moon shining bright white. He wished that he knew a guy who would let him stay in his house for the night, but he didn’t. Ben heard the rustles of leaves and a howl. Ben was painfully thin, like a bean pole, who looked as if a gust of wind could bend him in two. “Come to me boy!” Ben spun around. He saw a small squirrel race down a dead old oak tree and back up with a shriveled acorn in its mouth. Ben was motionless. He could smell rotten eggs, mouldy old goats’ cheese and a pinch of fox poo. His hair stood on end as he wondered what on earth that distant, lonely voice would want. Ben’s heart was beating faster and faster every minute that he stood near the graveyard. He looked around. What was he to do? Was he to go in or go home to get beaten to death?
Ben peered into the far distance. He could see memorial stones packed with gifts from their family. As Ben edged closer, sweat ran down his back. “Howl.” There was that sound again. Ben listened carefully. He could hear faint footsteps creeping towards him. He was panting like a dog on a hot summer day. What was he about to witness? Suddenly, from out of the shadows of the church, the vicar emerged in his nightdress carrying the Bible and howling like a wolf. “What in the world is going on here?” Ben screeched at the vicar angrily. “I… I … I am afraid of the wolves,” the vicar replied, trembling as he spoke.
“Where are these WOLVES?” Ben asked.
“There!” mumbled the vicar, pointing to the rubbish bins next to the gates.
“There are no wolves ok” Ben sighed. “Look, come on I’ll show you.” And with that, he held the vicar’s hand and traversed towards the bins. But as soon as Ben lifted the lid and peered inside, they were sucked in, never to see the light of day again.