The Graveyard Book

“The Nobody Owens I knew wouldn’t’ve run off from the graveyard without saying so much as a fare-thee-well to those who cared for him. You’ll break Mistress Owens’s heart.”

Bod had not thought of that. He said, “I had a fight with Silas.”

“So?”

“He wants me to come back to the graveyard. To stop school. He thinks it’s too dangerous.”

“Why? Between your talents and my bespellment, they’ll barely notice you.”

“I was getting involved. There were these kids bullying other kids. I wanted them to stop. I drew attention to myself…”

Liza could be seen now, a misty shape in the alleyway keeping pace with Bod.

“He’s out here, somewhere, and he wants you dead,” she said. “Him as killed your family. Us in the graveyard, we wants you to stay alive. We wants you to surprise us and disappoint us and impress us and amaze us. Come home, Bod.”

“I think…I said things to Silas. He’ll be angry.”

“If he didn’t care about you, you couldn’t upset him,” was all she said.

The fallen autumn leaves were slick beneath Bod’s feet, and the mists blurred the edges of the world. Nothing was as clean-cut as he had thought it, a few minutes before.

“I did a Dreamwalk,” he said.

“How did it go?”

“Good,” he said. “Well, all right.”

“You should tell Mr. Pennyworth. He’ll be pleased.”

“You’re right,” he said. “I should.”

He reached the end of the alley, and instead of turning right, as he had planned, and off into the world, he turned left, onto the High Street, the road that would take him back to Dunstan Road and the graveyard on the hill.

“What?” said Liza Hempstock. “What you doin’?”

“Going home,” said Bod. “Like you said.”

There were shop-lights now. Bod could smell the hot grease from the chip shop on the corner. The paving stones glistened.

“That’s good,” said Liza Hempstock, now only a voice once more. Then the voice said, “Run! Or Fade! Something’s wrong!”

Bod was about to tell her that there was nothing wrong, that she was being foolish, when a large car with a light flashing on the top came veering across the road and pulled up in front of him.

Two men got out from it. “Excuse me, young man,” said one of the men. “Police. Might I ask what you’re doing out so late?”

“I didn’t know there was a law against it,” said Bod.

The largest of the policemen opened the rear door of the car. “Is this the young man you saw, Miss?” he said.

Mo Quilling got out of the car, and looked at Bod, and smiled. “That’s him,” she said. “He was in our back garden breaking things. And then he ran away.” She looked Bod in the eye. “I saw you from my bedroom,” she said. “I think he’s the one who’s been breaking windows.”

“What’s your name?” asked the smaller policeman. He had a ginger mustache.

“Nobody,” said Bod. Then, “Ow,” because the ginger policeman had taken Bod’s ear between finger and thumb, and had given it a hard squeeze. “Don’t give me that,” said the policeman. “Just answer the questions politely. Right?”

Bod said nothing.

“Where exactly do you live?” asked the policeman.

Bod said nothing. He tried to Fade, but Fading—even when boosted by a witch—relies on people’s attention sliding away from you, and everybody’s attention—not to mention a large pair of official hands—was on him then.

Bod said, “You can’t arrest me for not telling you my name or address.”

“No,” said the policeman. “I can’t. But I can take you down to the station until you give us the name of a parent, guardian, responsible adult, into whose care we can release you.”

He put Bod into the back of the car, where Mo Quilling sat, with the smile on her face of a cat who has eaten all the canaries. “I saw you from my front window,” she said, quietly. “So I called the police.”

“I wasn’t doing anything,” said Bod. “I wasn’t even in your garden. And why are they bringing you out to find me?”

“Quiet back there!” said the large policeman. Everyone was quiet until the car pulled up in front of a house that had to be Mo’s. The large policeman opened the door for her, and she got out.

“We’ll call you tomorrow, let your mom and dad know what we found,” said the large policeman.

“Thanks, Uncle Tam,” said Mo, and she smiled. “Just doing my duty.”

They drove back through the town in silence, Bod trying to Fade as best he could, with no success. He felt sick and miserable. In one evening, he had had his first real argument with Silas, had attempted to run away from home, had failed to run away, and now failed to return home. He could not tell the police where he lived, or his name. He would spend the rest of his life in a police cell, or in a prison for kids. Did they have prison for kids? he didn’t know.

“Excuse me? Do they have prisons for kids?” he asked the men in the front seat.

“Getting worried, now, are you?” said Mo’s uncle Tam. “I don’t blame you. You kids. Running wild. Some of you need locking up, I’ll tell you.”