I don’t remember how we got to the graveyard.

I remember the sky grew dark—and we were there.

My sister Terri and I walked past rows of crooked, old tombstones, cracked and covered with moss. Even though it was summer, a damp, gray fog had settled on everything, sending a chill through the air.

I shivered and pulled my jacket closer. “Wait up, Terri!” I called. As usual, she had plowed ahead. Graveyards get her all excited. “Where are you?” I yelled.

I squinted into the gray fog. I could see her shadowy figure up ahead, stopping every few seconds to examine a tombstone.

I read the words on the tombstone tilted at my feet:

In memory of John,

son of Daniel and Sarah Knapp,

who died March 25, 1766,

aged 12 years and 22 days.

Weird, I thought. That kid was about my age when he died. I turned twelve in February. The same month Terri turned eleven.

I hurried on. A sharp wind swept in. I searched the rows of old graves for my sister. She had disappeared into the thick fog. “Terri? Where did you go?” I called.

Her voice floated back to me. “I’m over here, Jerry.”

“Where?” I pushed forward through the mist and the leaves. The wind swirled around me.

From nearby came a long, low howl. “Must be a dog,” I murmured aloud.

The trees rattled their leaves at me. I shivered.

“Jer-ry.” Terri’s voice sounded a million miles away.

I walked a little further, then steadied myself against a tall tombstone. “Terri! Wait up! Stop moving around so much!”

I heard another long howl.

“You’re going the wrong way,” Terri called. “I’m over here.”

“Great. Thanks a lot,” I muttered. Why couldn’t I have a sister who liked baseball instead of exploring old cemeteries?

The wind made a deep sucking noise. A column of leaves, dust, and dirt swirled up in my face. I pinched my eyes shut.

When I opened them, I saw Terri crouched over a small grave. “Don’t move,” I called. “I’m coming.”

I zigzagged my way around the tombstones until I reached her side. “It’s getting dark,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

I turned and took a step—and something grabbed my ankle.

I screamed and tried to pull away. But its grasp tightened.

A hand. Reaching up through the dirt beside the grave.

I let out a shrill scream. Terri screamed, too.

I kicked hard and broke free.

“Run!” Terri shrieked.

But I was already running.

As Terri and I stumbled over the wet grass, green hands popped up everywhere. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Pop! Pop!

The hands rose up. Reached for us. Grabbed at our ankles.

I darted to the left. Thwack! I dodged to the right. Pop!

“Run, Terri! Run!” I called to my sister. “Lift your knees!”

I could hear her sneakers pounding the ground behind me. Then I heard her terrified cry: “Jerry! They’ve got me!”

With a loud gasp, I spun around. Two big hands had wrapped themselves around her ankles.

I froze, watching my sister struggle.

“Jerry—help me! It won’t let go!”

Taking a deep breath, I dove toward her. “Grab on to me,” I instructed, holding out my arms.

I kicked at the two hands that held her.

Kicked as hard as I could. But they didn’t move, didn’t let go.

“I—I can’t move!” Terri wailed.

The dirt seemed to shake at my feet. I peered down to see more hands sprouting up from the ground.

I tugged at Terri’s waist. “Move!” I yelled frantically.

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can! You’ve got to keep trying!”

“Ohhh!” I let out a low cry as two hands grabbed my ankles.

Now I was caught.

We were both trapped.