Georgetown, South Carolina Fifteen-year-old Gerry Blake and his younger cousin Tommy Heinz couldn't believe what they were seeing. Day or night, they regularly cut through the graveyard. The old tombstones and creepy church had never held any fears for them.
Until now.
Today, they were in a rush to get to their friend Chuck's and go fishing with his dad in his boat out on the Black River. They both skidded to a halt on the rough shale path halfway through the churchyard; Tommy stumbled to his knees.
'Muuutherfucker!' screeched Gerry, drawing out the obscenity as he'd heard rappers do on MTV.
Tommy was already on his feet, panting like a dog, ready to run for the hills. He'd be out of there just as soon as Gerry came to his senses and got his ass into gear. For a second though, both boys instinctively huddled shoulder-to-shoulder and simply stared. What they saw was already branded into their memories for the rest of their lives.
The grave in front of them had been dug up.
A cheap pine coffin was splintered open and the skeleton of a young woman in a soil-stained dress was upright, resting against the headstone. Blackened bony arms and legs dangled from the filthy cloth. But the image that would haunt the teenagers until their own dying days was that of the head. Or rather, the space where the head should have been.