Hello Everyone! Longer today, and a little distressing? I don’t know if you’ll agree with that, but I do hope you enjoy, and stay reading! 
Caution!
Contains depictions of character death.
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“Mary! Mary? Hey, where are you? I need your help!!” I called, searching around Doyle’s Abbey, laughing. I was sure she’d be around, she never left her flock, even if the boyfriend was involved.
“Mary?” My gaze wandered up the chapel path to the open archway. Hardly anyone was spotted anyway near the inside of the chapel wreck. There were all these ghost stories of the graves opening up and their masters chasing people away. However, I noticed now, some fresh blood-red vintage roses were lying idyllically on their side on a pretty fresh grave too . I entered through the broken walls and knelt at the side of the grave. It read:
Lily Jean Wilson
2005-2013
Taken so Young, Her Spirit Living Within Our Hearts Forever More
She would only have been 8. It was sad. I rubbed my hand gently on the petal of the rose, and then stroked the headstone, resuming a standing position. I suddenly felt sad about how the parents must’ve felt. I turned away, fearful of suddenly crying. I don’t cry? Never have, not since… well I explained, but I suddenly felt a wash of real upsetting sadness glide over me. I shook it off, and then the glowing caught my eye. It was ominous, of a kind of powdery blue, and it shone out of the open windows of the real chapel. I walked towards, a fly to a light, but suddenly I heard sobbing. I stopped in my tracks. I knew that tone, lovely and calm, kind and forgiving. It was Mary. I jogged into the chapel, but jumped as her ice cold hand gripped onto my palm.
“Anna!! Anna! You must go, now, it’s not safe, they’ll haunt you, they’ll hurt you…” Tears ran down her face, racing down to her neck as she hung her head, her shoulders lifting heavily. I leant her backwards towards the wall, as she stayed crouched. But she began to fight me off, pushing me with her hands.
“Stop, Mary, we need to get you out, stop it!” I mumbled quietly. People didn’t cry around me a lot. People near my age, I mean, because I guess they didn’t know me? Or didn’t trust me. I don’t know which, but they didn’t, and I surprised myself at the softness in my voice.
“Leave, please, before they plague you too!” She cried, her fists unclenching under my palms as she raised her hands to her ears. I got up, not knowing what to do. Then I heard it. Millions of ‘it’, whispers of the forgotten, ringing out, like stolen prayers. I gasped and stumbled out, running back to Braveheart. But they seemed to run with me, and only left as we galloped away, down towards Fort Pinta. I was suddenly aware of the tears running down my face, and wiped at my face abruptly. We clattered over the bridge, and I started shouting, scared for something, Mary’s well-being, the safety of Jorvik? I jumped off Brave as he reared, startled by my shouting. The doctor ran out, clearly on errands, and gasped, throwing an arm around my shoulder and ushering me to a wooden crate as a seat.
“What on earth is the matter, Anna? I’ve never seen you this distraught, not in the whole time you’ve been here!” She rocked me sideways a little, calming me, mothering me. I loved it, slowing my breathing down to be able to speak.
“It’s Mary. I went to find her to… it doesn’t matter, but she’s in Doyle’s Abbey and she’s crying and the voices…!” I was spluttering again, crying in shock. The tears ran freely as I spoke, a river running down my face. I turned to the Doctor, who had gone extremely pale.
“Doyle’s Abbey?” Her voice became tense as she shouted across the market square at Ron. “Call Elizabeth! Now! And send someone to bring her here.”
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