I’d only left him for a moment. When I returned he was gone, all I heard were his screams. For a second I couldn’t see where the heart piercing cries were coming from, until I looked up. There he was: pinned high against the wall of the mansion. With the rain continuing to thrash down, overhead the thunder cracks became steadily louder as I stood watching, helpless.
He tried so hard to break free – to escape what horrors the mansion had planned. Suddenly his neck jolted back, the screams stopped and a trickle of blood began to flow from his mouth. Now still, his arms and legs shrunk back towards his body. The skin on his face greyed and froze. Inch by inch, limb by limb his whole body turned to stone. Evil and fear locked in.
The next morning they asked me what happened to him. I said I hadn’t seen him that day. They never did find his body. Of course they didn’t.
Every year I go back. There is a bench under the spot where it happened. Looking up I sometimes think I hear a whispered voice as a tear of flaked granite floats to the ground.