Spooky McGraw, that was my name from as way back as I can remember, my parents call me Sandy, my grandparents Sandra.

Why? Well, I live in a cemetery. To be precise I live with my parents in the grounds keepers house just inside the main gate of a cemetery. My father is the groundkeeper, custodian, and grave digger of an early Victorian cemetery, the house goes with the job. On the other side of the road is the Norman church and graveyard that the cemetery was opened to replace when the graveyard became over full.

I can’t really say that the cemetery was my playground as I was growing up because I was always taught to show a great deal of reverence as I walked around paths and flower beds, and I did mostly walk, running and being boisterous was not showing reverence, so was not allowed.

Nevertheless, I had a good childhood, and I did have lots of places to play and a lot of scope for mischief. The cemetery is very large, and a good proportion of it is deliberately left overgrown and quite wild. My father says he knows every inch of the place, and the name on every headstone and memorial, I have always thought differently, there are places where my dad never goes, deep in the overgrown sections, and over the road where although it is owned by the church my dad does some tidying up for a few extra pounds a month.

I think I was about thirteen years old when I first saw other children playing around the place, I didn’t join the two factors together at the time, but I believe I had just had my first period. I didn’t see the other children very often, it was only after a couple of years that I realised that I only saw them on particular nights, usually full moons, and more significantly, that only I could see them!

Ghosts, spirits, shades, memories, call them what you want, they were children who were no longer alive yet played around certain parts of the cemetery and graveyard. Some played, a few just wandered, and a few more just sat or stood still and looked forlorn.

At first I had thought they were local kids using the cemetery as a playground, but after trying to talk to them in an effort to get them to leave and finding they ignored me I realised that they couldn’t all see me, either that or many of them were ignoring me. Further observation revealed that the clothes they wore were all wrong, some wore rags, others were wearing fashions outlandishly out of date, like hundreds of years out of date. It was then that I knew they were ghosts. I wasn’t frightened at all, my dad had instilled in me from birth that there was nothing to be frightened of except the living in the cemetery.

“Ghosts can’t hurt you!”

He was right, wasn’t he?

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By the time I’d left school and college I was used to seeing the ghosts in the cemetery and even more so in the church graveyard. I had noticed a very strange phenomenon, even stranger than seeing ghosts in the first place. As I had aged, so had the ghosts that I could see, I could still see the younger ones but could now see older ones as well, as if I was able to see those of my own age and younger as I aged. Over the years I’d carried out a lot of research on both those places, for school and college history projects. The church had a particularly interesting history, it had what was reportedly a ‘plague pit’ in one corner and a section in the farthest corner which was supposedly for suicides and executed criminals, as well as ‘fallen’ women from the parrish. Quite a lot of the graves were enclosed in iron railings, apparently in order to deter body snatchers in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. The same can be said of the oldest parts of the cemetery, lots of iron railings and huge memorials, many including statues of weeping angels (One of the few things to spook me following a certain episode of Dr Who!).

I hated studying, so although I was going to go to university, I decided to take a year out, get a job, and maybe save some money towards a holiday or even just to get something behind me before going off to uni.

I had finished college and was looking for work. It wasn’t very fruitful, so I was spending a lot of time hanging around the churchyard, doing some tidying up for dad, cutting grass, clearing leaves, and straightening some small memorials. Some of the graves were surrounded by low stonework that occasionally started to sink, or tip over, I straightened them and pushed supporting sand and gravel under them to hold them steady, not a professional job, but it kept the place looking tidy.

There was one corner of the churchyard that I didn’t work in however. Right Back in the furthest corner of the churchyard was an area that I had always known as the criminal corner. I don’t know about the criminals, but my research had shown me that it was an ‘unsanctified’ area, that was used for the burial of suicides and apparently ‘fallen’ women in years long gone by. My researches had shown that sometimes these people were buried on top of each other, five or six deep, their graves in some cases being only a spades depth deep. That was the reason for the cemetery being opened in the first place.

I hadn’t been able to find any actual reports or records of criminal burials in the corner, but local legend suggests that a notorious highwayman was buried there after being gibboted (hanged and then placed in an iron cage to rot).

Unsanctified, unblessed, unholy, call it what you will, it was a lonely unkempt area and always cold, even in the height of summer. The other thing I noticed about it was that the ghost children didn’t go anywhere near it, they seemed to avoid it completely.

There was a huge overgrowth of nettles and other weeds in the criminal corner, and one day dad asked if I would like to start clearing it up. It was surrounded by a dry stone wall and the wall wasn’t in very good shape either. The church council had actually put a little money to one side to pay for some work on it, dad had said that he (meaning me!) would sort it out. So it was that I took on the job.

On a lovely warm summer day I stood and looked at the criminal corner. This was going to be some task! The nettles were higher than my waist, there were headstones in there, I knew that, but they could hardly be seen.

I took a pair of hedge shears and walked into the enclosed area. The chill hit me immediately, and a strange feeling of darkness. It was as if someone was stood behind me and I was in his shadow, it definitely felt like a ‘him’. The foreboding feeling stayed as I began the arduous task of cutting down the nettles. After I’d cut down maybe a couple of square yards I gathered up an harmful and took them over to the big waste bag that I’d brought from the cemetery. As soon as I went out through the gap in the wall the oppression seemed to lift, it was after all, a lovely summer day.

I worked all morning, clearing the heavy foliage away so that I could see the area. Every time I went into the walled area I felt the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders, every time I left it disappeared.

By lunchtime I had filled two large refuse bags with nettle stems, not small bags, but the huge ones that builders deliver sand and stuff in. I now had to drag those bags back out and over to the cemetery and empty them onto the rubbish heap for the council to take away. It took two trips, and by the time I’d finished I felt like I’d done ten rounds with Mohamed Ali, I ached.

After grabbing a sandwich for lunch I went back to the churchyard. As I stood and surveyed the work I had already done I stretched my back and wondered how long this was going to take me? As I stretched I felt that darkness again, and then I felt there was definitely someone stood behind me! As I made to turn around I felt hands touch my breasts, not grabbing exactly, but sort of weighing each breast.

Shocked and angry I spun around… There was no one there. My imagination? I wasn’t sure, it had felt so real.

I decided it must be my imagination and pressed on with the task. Two more trips to the cemetery with full bags and I had cleared the area down to a couple of inches above the surface. I had discovered fourteen standing headstones and a dozen either fallen or set flat into the soil, who knew how many unmarked graves were in there? In one corner was a row of tiny stones, each marked only with a ‘P’. Paupers graves, not even deserving of names.

The feeling of some dreadful darkness had never left me as I had worked, and as I gathered myself together to call it a day I once again felt that I had company, and once again my breasts felt like they were being felt, and my nipples responded as though they were being teased.

As I walked away from the churchyard my nipples were so hard that they rubbed on the insides of my bra. This was just weird, I’d been around these graves all my life, admittedly not the criminal corner, but this has never happened before.

The next morning my dad came over with me and after looking at the area decided that it all needed digging over, the roots of all the weeds etc removing and then re-seeding with grass. Some of the fallen stones could be turned over so that the inscriptions were up over, instead of face down, but they couldn’t be be reset due to the cost, that would have needed a stone mason, the budget wouldn’t stretch to that.

Dad left, I started digging, and that feeling of oppression returned. A couple of times during that day I felt as though I was being touched, my back, my breasts, and once even between my legs. It was kind of weird scary, but not actually that unpleasant. My sexual activity up to that point had been limited to a few teenage gropes and occasionally my fingers. I was very inexperienced as far as sex was concerned, and I was actually thinking maybe it was just my imagination, or my hormones playing up due to lack of any real action, it sort of turned me on. The thing is, as soon as I left the enclosure for any reason, the feelings disappeared. I can talk to my dad about most things, and my mother about the others, but not this, this was too personal, I was going to have to solve this little conundrum myself.

The following day was much the same, the darkness and oppression, and then the feeling of sexual tension, the physical impression of being touched. If anything it was even stronger than the previous days. I began to worry that there was something wrong with me.

It was on the fourth day of working in the enclosure that I was interrupted by the oldest man I had ever seen. He came out of the church and stood watching me dig for a few minutes before asking me what I was doing? When I explained that I was making the place presentable he shook his head.

“Best just leave it alone lass, evil place that! I looked after this kirk for years when I was younger, always got the willies around this bit, aye lass, best just leave it! It’ll do no good raking around in there, they’re only just under the sod in there, it’s evil that’s in there lass, evil!”

With that last couple of words almost spat out he walked away. I watched him leave and head up the road towards town, thinking he was just some daft old man, but I realised that he had actually given me some information. He had been spooked by this corner of the churchyard as well as me. And I already knew he was right about the very shallow burials! Maybe I should go after him and ask him to explain, but by the time I came to that conclusion he was out of sight.

I carried on working all that day, digging and removing roots, although I have to admit that my digging was getting shallower as I went, frightened of accidentally hitting bones!

The feeling of darkness and oppression continued, as did the feeling of being touched, sometimes very inappropriately.

I wanted to stop going into that part of the graveyard, but I needed the money and I kept telling myself that it was all my imagination, that is until after one particularly hard day when I’d almost finished digging over the top soil.

Over the course of that afternoon I had had at least six or seven instances of feeling my nipples touched, quite hard, and the definite feeling of being touched between my legs. And to top it all, just as I was about to leave I was pushed so hard that I actually fell over. When I got in the bath for a good soak that evening I had definite evidence. Both my breasts showed bruising at or around my nipples.

The following day I asked my dad to give me a hand. I finished turning over the top soil and removing roots while dad managed to turn over a few headstones that had toppled over face down. The area was much bigger than it had previously looked, and all that really remained to be done was to sow a couple of sacks of grass seed. By the end of that day everything was fine and the place could be left alone to let the grass grow. I had had no feelings of being touched all day, although the oppression never lifted.

For the next three weeks I worked exclusively in the cemetery, staying out of the churchyard altogether. I put all my fears and feelings down to imagination and got on with my life.

Saturday night, I was going out into town, meeting some friends and going for a drink. As I was leaving to go out I noticed that it was one of those nights that I could see the children in the cemetery, and looking into the churchyard I could see a few in there as well. I had a pretty good night, and I obviously had a couple of vodkas too many because as I got out of the uber at home I didn’t go straight into the house.

As the taxi drove away I noticed what seemed like a light behind the church. I must have been drunk, because instead of running home, I went through the old lychgate and made my way behind the church. My thoughts, scrambled though they might have been, were that someone was messing around in the area that I had worked so hard to tidy up, I was angry at the thought of it!

But as I made my way around (withershins, I should have known better!) I noticed for the first time that not only were there children playing around, but that some of them were trying to get my attention, waving at me and gesticulating. They were wasting their time, I was too drunk and/or angry to take any notice.

Behind the church, in the far corner, sat the enclosed area, the ‘criminal corner ‘. It almost seemed to be glowing, the night was cloud free, a full moon, and the stars were twinkling, it was actually a beautiful night, and incredibly bright.

As I approached the corner the feeling of dread hit me, the temperature seemed to plummet and even the sound of our local owls faded away. I stood in the entrance way to the enclosed area and saw that the grass appeared to have started to grow, the whole area looked tended and cared for, for the first time in my memory. There was no-one there, the area looked quite serene. However, the feeling of oppression, like someone was pushing down on my shoulders made me turn away.

Too late. As I turned I was grabbed by the shoulders and physically pulled into the enclosure. A hand was placed over my mouth as I was pulled backwards, my feet were dragging along the ground and my bag was dropped as I tried to fight off whoever it was who was attacking me. I managed to look back behind me, but that was when I got the biggest shock of all, there was no-one there, I was being pulled along by invisible hands!

I couldn’t scream, what the fuck was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I scream?

I was now well into the enclosure, I’d been dragged over to one of the remaining fallen headstones that I remembered we had not been able to turn over, it was one of the largest there. I felt a great weight on my chest, holding me down as my one remaining shoe was pulled off of my foot, I saw it sail away back outside the entrance to the enclosure. I could hear heavy breathing, and the faint but fetid smell of bad breath.

I felt the bottom of my dress pulled, rather than pushed, up to my waist, and then hands took hold of my panties and tore them from me.

Invisible hands grasped my knees and they were pulled up, and wide!

Me sex was exposed to the night, I felt the cold air hit my pussy as I heard what sounded like a sigh, of pleasure!

Then, I almost did manage a scream as I felt a cold breath on my sex, then a tongue licking me, licking my crease, my vagina! The tongue felt cold, at first anyway, then began to warm. I was squirming around, trying to get away, but the weight on my chest held me firmly as I felt my legs being pulled upwards, to the point where I was almost being folded. Now my backside was open to the air, and to my horror I felt that tongue work its way further down, to my anus.

The wet sloppy tongue licked at my bottom, I felt it trying to enter me. Then as it was withdrawn, it was replaced by what felt like a finger. The finger had no problem entering my bottom, slowly to one knuckle, and then deeper, then back out. The finger began sawing in and out of my anus as the tongue went back to my vagina. Occasionally the tongue ventured back to my anus, lubricating the finger, although it seemed as though it wasn’t really needed.

That’s when it hit me! That finger no longer needed any lubrication, and I’d stopped fighting! OH. MY. GOD. I’d started to self lubricate, I was getting turned on, I was enjoying the feelings! I couldn’t help myself, and when the finger pulled out of my ass I felt deprived, that is until it plunged into my pussy, one, two, then I think three fingers, ramming into me, making me so wet! I was squirming again, but not to fight, I was suddenly thrusting my hips up to meet those fingers, and the tongue! I’d never felt anything like this, I wanted more, and deeper! Electricity seemed to flow through my body in a wave, Fuck me! I was having a gigantic orgasm, the most sweeping and powerful one I’d ever had.

As my orgasm flowed away I felt the wetness on the top of my legs, running down to soak my back passage, it felt cold on my skin but I felt so hot! As my juices flowed down to my bottom I felt the finger enter me again, deeper this time. I’d never before that night had anything penetrate my bottom and the feeling surprised me, I’d read plenty of porn stories and seen hundreds of videos, all saying that the first time was so painful, for both vagina and anus, but this wasn’t painful at all, in fact I felt I could enjoy something much bigger than the single finger that was sawing in and out of my bottom. Whatever or whoever it was must have read my mind because suddenly one finger became two! I knew that I shouldn’t, but I was helpless against the feelings, I was loving it!

The weight was suddenly lifted off of my chest and I could breath easier as my legs were released and I lowered them to the ground. I realised that I was panting, that I was also slightly dizzy. Then I felt that cool breath, down between my thighs.

GOD help me, I lifted and opened my legs! I felt that tongue start at the top of my thighs and lick its way slowly to my dripping pussy, my virgin vagina! I couldn’t contain myself as the tongue gently went around and around my labia, I moaned in pleasure as it pushed its way into my passage, lapping at my freely flowing juices.

The tongue lifted from me, leaving me feeling abandoned for a second, but then I felt my clit being licked, flicked by that tongue, then teeth gently nipped at me as I moaned out loud!

I was a virgin, all I’d ever done in the past was a bit of drunken fooling around, and used my fingers to bring myself off when the occasion felt right. But this was something else, I’d never experienced an orgasm like I’d just had, and I could feel another building. Stars appeared before my eyes before my vision went black as I arched my back and spasmed as another orgasm washed through me.

I was left fighting for breath, gasping for air as I came to my senses. Then I felt something else, something rubbing up and down my slit, something getting wet with my secretions. I felt a pressure at my opening and then I was suddenly thrusting upwards as I was filled, stretched wide open, a sudden sharp pain, and then I knew what was happening. I was being fucked, my virginity torn away, a moment of pain and then “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

I heard myself shout it out, what was wrong with me? I was being raped by a fucking ghost and I didn’t want it to stop!

I felt the cock that was plunging in and out of me, it must have been huge, it certainly felt like it. I was being stretched, filled to the brim as my dress was pushed higher up my body, my bra pulled away and a mouth began to suckle my breasts. I felt a tongue flicking my nipple, then teeth biting at me. It hurt, but somehow it was a nice hurt, especially when it moved to my other nipple.

There was a smell, a rotted meat sort of smell, but I ignored it, what choice did I have? I was being taken, used, fucked and abused, and I wanted more, harder! As the invisible cock hammered into me I pushed upwards to meet every thrust with my now very wet and more than willing cunt. I was hungry for it, wanton, like a whore on double pay who was determined to give good service. I was insatiable, all I could think about was the sound of slap slap slap as I rose to meet that ghostly penis on its downward journey.

I felt my back arching, my whole body reaching up as I tried to take that cock even deeper that was now pounding into me. There was no resistance as my invisible assailant ripped away my virginity and made a real woman of me. I felt little waves of pleasure run through me, gathering together for a crescendo to come.

Once again I felt that build up of tension in my body, I felt like a child’s balloon that had been over inflated, then ‘Bang’ the cork was pulled and my whole body vibrated as wave after wonderful wave crashed through me! The cock that was pounding me seemed suddenly to grow harder, stiffer and then…

I screamed as the expected gush of warm fluid I was hoping for turned into excruciating pain as I was filled with ice! The cold that ejaculated into me was beyond anything I had previously experienced, it burned, it burned with an impossible intensity!

I heard a howl, a howl that seemed to disappear into the distance as I managed to sit up and thrust my own fingers into myself in an attempt to claw out some of the freezing liquid that had poured into me.

I don’t know how long I sat there, on that cold stone slab, trying to dispel the cold feeling deep in my body, it felt like forever though it was probably only a few minutes. I managed to get myself up and staggered out into the graveyard proper, picking up my discarded bag and shoes as I went. The ghostly children had all gone as I made my way out and crossed the road to home.

Back in the safety of my bedroom I took off my now filthy dress and bra and examined myself in the mirror. I was a mess, the insides of both my thighs were covered in a sticky mess, which I was sure included a little blood, my former virginity had run down my legs. I also had bruises on my legs, arms and both breasts, my nipples were raw looking, as though they had been bitten.

Taking up my dress and bra I went back downstairs and put them into the washing machine. As I stood under the shower a few minutes later I felt the water temperature change as the machine cycled through its programme, hot then cold, and then hot again. It actually seemed to work on my battered body, making me feel better.

I pondered on who I could tell about what had happened, the answer was nobody! No one would ever believe me, they would say I either got drunk and fell, or I got drunk and laid, and then regretted it. Either way, it would be my own fault.

I went to church the following morning, with my parents. After the service when everyone else had gone I walked around the back of the church to criminal corner. There was that old man again, this time with an even older looking woman. They were admiring my work in the enclosure they said. The man walked away but the lady, who said she was his wife hung back.

“I tidied this place up once, many years ago, I paid the price a month or so later!”

“Oh” I said, “what do you mean?”

She pointed to where I could just make out a piece of material in a crevice in the wall.

“I think you’ll find you pants there, that’s about where I found mine. I think it was the highwayman, but I can’t be sure. I haven’t been in there since that night!” She patted me on the shoulder as she started to follow her husband. “But I sometimes wish I had!”

I stood there in a daze, so this had all happened at least once before, even down to the rape! And it was rape, even though I had very quickly willingly taken part, had I ever had any choice? No! But that wasn’t the worst of it, because just as that old woman had suggested she felt, I was also thinking that going back in there wouldn’t be so bad. I was drawn to it, could I keep away, or would I give in and spend another night of ghostly pleasure in there? Only time would tell.

Thanks for reading.

THE END