Disclaimer: I don't own BTTF. That explains that.

This is for Halloween – it's not scary, but it fits with the occasion. Enjoy, and reviews are welcome…

Chapter 8

August 3rd 1989
Time unknown
Oak Park Cemetery, Hill Valley, California

His first clear sense was of a feeling of confinement and uneasiness. His body felt of nothing but aches and pains, yet strangely enough he felt something soft underneath him and he was comfortable.

Cautiously Marty forced open his eyes to widen the picture he was getting. His eyelids felt heavy and sticky, and his vision was blurred like mist. He steadily lifted his hand to his eyes to attempt to clear them, but instead his hand hit something hard just above him. He hissed lightly at the impact, only to find his throat very sore and his voice crackly.

Marty swallowed hard, trying desperately to figure out where on earth he was. He couldn't remember a thing – not his name, age, where he lived…not even where he was now.

Confused as to what his hand had struck above him, Marty stretched out to feel the structure. It felt hard and silky, yet as soon as he touched it he heard a faint crack, as though the object was under a great pressure…

His vision began to clear, and he could see white padding all around him. There was some sort of a cushion under his head, and along the sides of the box the satin was sown in such a way as to give a ripple type effect…

Box? Marty suddenly thought to himself. What am I doing in a box?!?!

Then the realization seemed to hit him…wherever he was, he was trapped!

Panic began to sink in as an overwhelming fear caught in his muscles and veins. He started to bang his fists against the lid to attract attention to anyone who may have heard him. No one responded, and the horrible feeling of dread swept over him. He was trapped in the worst possible place…

In desperation Marty tore at the lining of the box to reveal the dark wood underneath. Knowing the wood sounded weak, he hit the structure as hard as he possibly could until it began to give way, cutting his hands. He ignored any pain he felt, continuing on until he could finally remove the wood. Soil began to drop into the box from above. This didn't look good. Marty paused to gain his bearings and to settle his nerves at what he had to do next. After all, he'd never had to dig his way out of a box before…

After several minutes (which had seemed more like hours) Marty managed to force his bloodied hand through the soil to the surface. Grabbing hold of anything he could for leverage, Marty gradually pulled himself free of the earth's grip around him. Pulling his feet free, he collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily from the strain of digging through several layers of soil to freedom. He lay on his back for several minutes trying to catch his breath back before even thinking of finding his bearings on his location.

Eventually, Marty hauled himself up to look around. The graveyard was dark and creepy at this late hour. His eyes still blurry, Marty could make out the outline of the headstones surrounding him – the moonlight casting eerie shadows upon them.

Looking down at himself he found his attire to be a black suit – shredded at the hems – with a white shirt and black tie; exactly the type of suit he would only be seen dead in…

Marty grabbed the tie and pulled it off, feeling it begin to choke him as the fear in him started to return again. He removed his jacket hastily to cool himself down in the warm night air as he stood up on his feet. Feeling a wave of dizziness pass over him, Marty placed his hand on the nearest headstone to regain his balance.

While he waited for his head to settle Marty began to think. He had no idea as to where he was (the name of the town), or who he was at all. His memories had disappeared, and no matter how hard he thought they refused to return.

Who the hell am I? Where am I? Does anyone even know I'm here?

Marty moaned softly at the thoughts. He needed some time to think. Slowly he lowered himself down until he was sat on the soil and leaning against the headstone. He glanced towards the hole from where he had dug himself out and shuddered at the thought that someone had buried him alive.

Who would wanna do that, and why?

Frowning, Marty decided that hanging around the cemetery wasn't going to get him any answers at all. Pulling his weight to his feet, he quickly brushed himself down and allowed his head to steady once more. He turned and straightened his back to remove the knots…then froze solid when he glanced at the inscription on the headstone he had been leaning against:

Here lies:
Martin Seamus McFly
Born 3rd July 1968
Died 22nd January 1986
Aged 17 years

May he rest in peace

Marty slowly walked towards the engraving. The name felt so familiar to him, yet he didn't know where from. He traced his hands over the letters spelling out the name before him, allowing his eyes to wander in thought as he tried to patch the clues together. The headstone stood at the head of the grave he had been buried in, pointing to the suggestion that…

"Oh my God, no!" Marty whispered in disbelief. Glancing back and forth from the ground to the headstone, he hastily began to move himself away from the terrifying image. He stumbled backwards from the carved stone with his hand over his mouth, realising only now what the clues meant to him as the memories came flooding back – the name on the stone was his name, standing before his grave, where his body had rested only a few moments ago…

August 4th 1989
12:09 a.m.
Lone Pine Mall, Hill Valley, California

"Verne! Verne, wait!"

Jules furiously cycled after him, trying desperately to catch up with him before he reached home. Verne had been frightened badly by something at the cemetery, that was for sure, and had raced off ahead to return home before either of their parents found out they had sneaked out late at night.

Jules eventually managed to catch up to him, racing alongside him and grabbing him by the arm to slow him down. Verne wriggled out of Jules' grasp - tears were flowing from his eyes as he started to ride off again for home.

"Leave me alone Jules!"

"No, Verne! We gotta go back to the cemetery to see if the spell's worked!"

Verne looked away, ashamed to be crying in front of his brother.

"I'm not going back there! No way!"

"Aw Verne! You can't be serious! There's nothing there to scare you! You're just a big baby, that's all!" Jules hoped that would do the trick – Verne never liked to be seen as a baby in front of anyone, let alone him.

But the name-calling didn't work. "Fine! You go back then, if you're so keen to! I don't care what you think of me, I aint goin' back there!"

Jules didn't answer. The terrified look on Verne's tear-stricken face told him he was deadly serious, no matter what he said or did.

Verne wiped the moisture from his face with the back of his hand as he calmed himself down. "You can go back if you want, but don't blame me if mom has a fit at you sneakin' off. It's up to you, only just remember that you need me to let you back in when you get home."

"Why? You deactivated the alarm, didn't you?" Jules asked, referring to the alarm their father had installed a few days after the terrorists had attacked them in 1986. It was a sophisticated state-of-the-art security system consisting of thermal imaging cameras and highly sensitive devices that could identify anyone who entered their property. Only people they knew and trusted were cleared to pass without setting off the high-pitched alarm.

"Yeah, course I did. But only I know how to reactivate it, remember? So if you wanna get back into the house without half the local sheriff's department surrounding you then you best come home with me," Verne countered, knowing full well he had practically won the debate.

After a few moments of thinking out his choices, Jules reluctantly gave in. "Alright, you win. I'll go back home with you. Only, you'd better promise me that you won't tell mom or dad about any of this, okay?"

"Sure. After all, it's both you and me who'll feel mom's wrath if she finds out what we've been up to," Verne replied.

Jules still didn't want to go home without checking on the cemetery. He kept glancing round towards the direction of the cemetery as the two boys made their way back home. Verne noticed his reluctance as gradually Jules slowed his speed and fell behind.

"Jules, will you keep up?" Verne asked out of annoyance at Jules' blatant hold up.

"I have to go check," he retorted, ignoring Verne's persistence to return home ASAP.

"Why not do that in the morning? I mean, when it's daylight? At least you can see then where you're going without using a flashlight."

"Yeah, you're right. A few hours won't do any harm, I suppose. Besides, I'm bushed!"

The two of them eventually reached the entrance to their home. They simultaneously dismounted their bikes, and as quietly as possible pushed them into the laboratory where they always kept them. While the night was still young the two boys made their way to the front door, silently unlocking it under the light of Jules' torch.

Softly, they entered the house, locking the door behind them. Verne looked up to the side of the door where a small grey box hung from the wall. He entered the six-digit code that reactivated the alarm to make it look as though nothing had been touched. The keys quietly bleeped as each one was pressed, which was then followed by a longer bleep to acknowledge the correct code had been entered.

Then, as quickly yet as smoothly as they could, Jules and Verne both made their way up the wooden set of stairs towards their respective bedrooms to hide the fact they had ever been out at all. Within ten minutes, all activity had ceased, and both were fast asleep.

Thanks for all the great reviews; it's nice to be appreciated!

Jennifer: I agree, they are the best duo around! They ARE soulmates, so don't worry – I'm not that cruel! (Or am I…)
Anakin: hey, don't worry about it!