When I turned, the girl who stood there was as different from my Mary as she possibly could be. While she looked roughly the same age, perhaps nine-teen, she was curvy, heavy in the hips and generously endowed. Her eyes were confident and full of mischief.

“Who are you?” I demanded. “What have you done with Mary?”

The girl laughed again and sung,

“Cemetery Mary quite contrary,
how does your garden grow?
With bones of men and a touch of sin
And gravestones all in a row!”

She bent in a deep curtsy and I saw that her dress was made up of tatters of other dresses, like a strange quilt.

She winked.

“I am Anna. Mary couldn’t be here right now, but she wanted me to keep an eye on you. Actually she wanted me to keep you company until she returned. Do you dance? We should dance!” She grabbed my hands and started to pull me deeper into the cemetery.

“Return from where? Why would she have you meet me? She’s never mentioned you before. Maybe I should wait for her back there.”

Behind us rose a wailing cry.