Respect For The Dead
a collection of dark tales
Lindsey Beth Goddard
Copyright © 2011 Lindsey Beth Goddard
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or retransmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the copyright owner.
Cover design by Evan Gooch.
Inside artwork by Geff Bartrand AKA Dr. Twistid
Publishers Note: This is a collection of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
This book contains adult content and may not be suitable for younger readers.
ISBN-13: 978-0615567792
ISBN-10: 0615567797
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing: November 2011
This book is dedicated to my three children, who remind me of how quickly time passes. Life flies by without warning. We need to stop and smell the roses while we can. For me, that means writing strange stories…
All the tales within this book were written when I was younger, and—I dare say—a little bolder. Some of these stories may shock or offend you. I hope they entertain you as well.
“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.” ~Pablo Picasso
Respect For The Dead
From a road atop a gently sloping hill, Sandra scanned the grassy landscape. She saw nothing but trees and tombstones, spread out in every direction, for what seemed like endless miles. The occasional crucifix or stone figure cut into the overcast sky, as if trying to break through the layer of clouds and let a little sun shine down. Small roads cut through the old graveyard, zig-zagging around maples and oaks. Statues watched with stationary eyes as Sandra purveyed the scene. Even from a distance, she could see the ornately carved faces, the granite plumage of an angel wing, the creases of a billowing robe. It was her passion; she had an eye for detail.
Derrick sat in the driver’s seat, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. He had to do something to break the silence. Even his Cadillac’s smooth engine seemed noisy in this place. Vacant of traffic or crowds—well, live crowds—all that remained was an eerie calm. He sighed through his teeth, eyes on the road. “What exactly are we looking for again?”
“Oh…” replied Sandra, pulling herself from a quiet reverie. “It’s just a little further… I think. It’s the largest marble headstone in the state.”
Sandra bit her lip. She felt guilty for becoming so lost in thought, leaving Derrick to the driving like a hired chauffeur. She just couldn’t help it. She was at home in this place, walking among weeping angels and towering monuments. It was breathtaking to imagine the hours of handiwork spent on these timeless memorials.
She checked the settings on her camera. Lighting would be tricky today. Not a speck of blue was visible in the sky, just a thick, unbroken layer of gray. “I hope I’ve got my camera’s flash on the right setting…”
Derrick didn’t bother to feign interest in this topic.
In a way, he loved Sandra—the soft curve of her neck, how her black eyelashes batted when she laughed, her perky tits, always absent of a bra—but he didn’t understand her obsession with cemeteries. With such precious little space on this earth, why waste valuable land on the dead? It was pointless to preserve a rotting corpse, comparable to leaving an empty milk jug in the fridge. He pictured the bodies beneath the surface of this place, yellow teeth bared in an eternal sneer, more hair on the casket floor than on their withered scalps.
It was Saturday, for god’s sake. Why spend time in a creepy bone yard? They should be out having fun! Catching a movie at the mall, grabbing a bite to eat, shopping in their favorite CD store, or—even better—at home fucking like animals. Instead they were driving past moldy mausoleums in search of Sandra’s “perfect photo”.
That’s the price you pay, he thought, for dating an artsy goth type.
She did look hot with her black dye job, shiny metal hoops shoved through her bottom lip, thin black shirts that barely hid her perfect nipples. Maybe this endeavor would prove worth it in the end. Maybe she’d reward his patience tonight. He sighed, reaching for his pack of Marlboro Menthols. He flicked a lighter and inhaled the minty smoke.
“There it is! I can see it!” She gripped his thigh in excitement, causing him to feel excited, too.
He slowed the car, peering through her passenger side window. The statue was quite impressive. Standing a hundred yards away, it loomed over everything in sight. But just as he had predicted before laying eyes on the figure, the sculpture was a massive angel. How creative, thought Derrick, rolling his eyes. Two giant wings cast a shadow over everything beneath, despite a lack of significant sunlight. Its face was upturned, palms together in prayer.
Sandra was out of the car as soon as it came to a stop, tiptoeing across the grass as if the ground were made of thin ice. She always walked that way in graveyards, and it drove Derrick mad. They’re all dead, he wanted to shout, you can’t hurt them now!
He leaned back in his seat, taking a drag of his cigarette, listening to the engine softly purr. He turned to blow his smoke out the window, when something strange caught his eye. It was the most peculiar gravestone he’d ever seen, large in its own right, though not as tall as the angel. It was essentially an oversized boulder, its surface covered entirely in etched faces. Hundreds of beady eyes stared at him from the rock.
He felt an irresistible urge to get closer.
As he approached, the etchings took on more detail. The fine lines of the hair—both curly and straight—draped over the sides of stone faces. Hard lips—some full and some thin—stuck out from below flared nostrils. In certain spots, the faces were all smashed together, a veritable collage of expressions. In other areas the boulder hadn’t been touched, showing only the gritty texture of stone.
Standing before the carved rock, an unwelcome sadness washed over him: melancholy with a hint of remorse. He couldn’t understand the onset of feeling. It snaked around his insides, making his heart beat faster and his stomach tighten. He shook his head, kicking his foot across the grass. His toe thumped into something hard. “Ow!” he moaned.
An engraved plaque was planted in the ground. He dropped his cigarette on the stone, smashing it with his foot. His ashes streaked across a list of names.
“Wow, what is that?” Sandra’s voice made him jump. Under his breath, Derrick cursed the childish reaction.
“I don’t know. I saw it from the car.”
Sandra’s eyes were instantly glued to the sculpture, intently studying each face before moving on to the next. Derrick noted the awe in her expression, and smiled. Sometimes her personality quirks were a turn-on. She was cute when she felt passionate about something.
Neither one of them noticed the extinguished Marlboro Menthol slowly sinking into the plaque. The stone bubbled and oozed, quickly engulfing the dirty brown filter like quick sand. In a matter of seconds, the butt was gone.
“I have to take a picture of this.” Sandra circled the collection of faces, disappearing for a moment behind its massive bulk. “Are there no engraved names? No dates?”
“Uh… yeah…” Derrick replied, remembering his cigarette. Sandra would be pissed if she knew. He chanced a peek at the stone in the ground, plotting to move the butt with his foot. Oh good, it rolled into the weeds, he thought.
“Yeah, there’s a list of names right here.”
“Great. I’d love to do some research on this grave!”
Sandra knelt in the grass before the plaque. She positioned her camera, finger on the button, when suddenly her lens popped and cracked. “Oh!” Sandra jerked
in surprise. The camera fell to the stone with an audible thud. Shards of plastic shot into the weeds.
“Oh great!” she half-screamed, slamming a fist on her knee. “What the hell, man? My camera is wrecked!”
She picked it up, examining the damaged side. “Let’s just go,” said Derrick. “No point in staying now.”
She shoved the remains of the camera into her oversized purse, rising to her feet. Her eyes were transfixed once again, drawn to the countless faces of the uniquely carved rock. “We have to come back, when the camera is fixed. I need to get a photo of this…” Her voice trailed off as she walked closer to the headstone.
It was so beautiful, like nothing she’d ever seen. Her head was suddenly spinning, intoxicated with curiosity. She didn’t question why the eyes seemed to move, the corners of the stone lips curling into smiles. She reached out with her palm, placing a hand to the surface.
Zzzzzztttt.
Electric heat shot through her palm. It raced up her arm, ripping through her gut; it pulsated into her brain. Her limbs felt heavy, as if they’d been filled with wet sand. Her eyelids fluttered, eyes straining to keep focus as her body fell to the soft grass. “Sandra!” Derrick yelled. His voice seemed so far away. A comforting darkness enclosed her like a womb.
“Sandra,” he slapped her face, rattling her shoulders. “Sandra, Sandra, what just happened? Wake up!” He could see her nostrils widen with each labored inhale. Her chest rose and fell in an effort to keep breathing. Her eyes moved rapidly underneath the closed lids. “Sandra, please…”
Just then, something cold and wet silenced Derrick, snaking over his lips from behind. He looked down, eyes glassy with shock. It appeared to be a strip of half-hardened concrete, pulled over his mouth like a gag. Where his lips had been slightly parted in mid-speech, he could taste the chalky flavor of the substance. It reminded him of tasting dirt as a child, sliding for home base at a baseball game.
He tried to scream, but his jaw was held tightly in place. The strip of gray had formed a monstrous muzzle. His esophagus was overtaken by a fit of spasms as the substance invaded his throat. It inched past his uvula, growing harder as it traveled. Mucus and spit burst from his nose. He tasted blood, his body’s natural reflexes still forcing him to swallow.
Two more clammy pieces of concrete slithered around his ankles. They wrapped around his lower legs with unspeakable strength, rendering Derrick completely immobile. His arms were seized, his wrists locked behind him by unbreakable handcuffs of stone.
The sickly matter covering Derrick’s mouth began to branch off into tinier pieces. Four thin, wiggling strips of concrete danced like tentacles before his eyes. They moved as lithe fingers, inspecting his face, trailing over the subtle slope of his nose.
All at once, the concrete tentacles pulled away, reminding Derrick of a snake before its strike. Two of the strips hovered before his face. The others writhed in his peripheral vision. He tried to shake his head, which moved less than an inch.
The things attacked with such force that a scream burst from his lungs, though he knew his pleas were muffled by the stone. His world went black as the tentacles thrust into his eye sockets, snaking deep inside each gore-filled cavern.
He could no longer hear his own whimpering. The other strips had invaded his ears, plunging into his shattered cranium. He was faintly aware of the torrents of blood dripping down the side of his neck.
A burning pain spread through his brain, and suddenly he could see. He saw visions of a life that wasn’t his. No, not just one life… so many, many lives. The images rolled through his mind like a photo slide show. A young girl with a crayon, doodling on a headstone. A middle-aged man, taking a piss in the dirt. And Derrick, kicking the plaque… his foot extinguishing the cigarette.
A breeze rustled his hair as he was pulled back. Closer and closer to the sculpture. Unearthly pain filled his body as his spine slammed into the rock. It lapped his blood like an ungodly sponge.
The strange substance was everywhere now, encompassing his torso, wrapping his arms in a straight jacket of doom. He felt the liquid stone oozing around his skull. He disappeared behind a curtain of gray…
Sandra awoke next to the strangely carved boulder. From her position in the grass, it appeared to be leaning, a thousand carved eyes watching her recover. She rubbed her head. “What in the hell just happened?”
“Derrick?” she called out. She looked around. Only tall grass and gravestones met her vision.
His car was still parked in the road. The driver’s side door stood wide open. “Dude! Quit hiding! I think I just fainted… and this is no place for jokes!” She scanned the tombstones, watching for any sign of movement. “C’mon, Derrick, have some respect for the dead!”
She rose to her feet, still woozy, and stumbled off in pursuit of her boyfriend. She didn’t notice the new stone face following her every move. She didn’t see his name on the plaque.
Holiday Tradition
Judy watched Carolyn brush a pile of crumbs into the sink with the edge of her hand. She saw her face light up as she sniffed the air, breathing deep the smell of baking pie. The kitchen was filled with the scent of cinnamon and pumpkin spices, reminding Judy of Thanksgiving or Christmas. Anything but Halloween.
Carolyn had been cooking when Judy arrived, mixing pureed pumpkin—from her own garden out back—and a handful of seasonings and milk. Judy thought she’d found a good way to pass the time, a hobby to consume her tortured mind, until Carolyn explained “I make a pie every year. It’s a holiday tradition.”
Jack O’ Lanterns and pumpkin pie. It kind of made sense, Judy thought, nodding in approval.
The doorbell rang. Carolyn smiled so wide that her normally full lips became thin. “More costumes!” she squeaked, dusting food from her apron.
Judy furrowed her brow. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. Why did Carolyn seem so elated? She must be reliving a nightmare tonight…. the anniversary of her son’s disappearance.
Maybe she was trying to put the past behind her. She shouldn’t have to sulk on Halloween. After all, it’d been three years since Jacob vanished without a trace of evidence. Everyone knew, without saying, her boy was never coming back.
“It won’t be long until the pie is done. Will you listen for the buzzer?”
Judy nodded. “Sure, hon. Go ahead.”
With that, Carolyn grabbed a gigantic bowl of candy from the counter top. “It’s nearly empty,” she said, bouncing the bowl in her hands. She turned her pale blue eyes to the clock. “8:30. This’ll be my last group of trick or treaters. Then I’ll need to turn off the porch light.”
“Why. Do you have plans?”
“Sort of,” Carolyn said, making her way to the door.
**
Judy stabbed at the remainder of her pumpkin pie. She hadn’t needed whipped cream, the pie was so delicious. “So?” she inquired, chewing softly.
“So what?”
“You said you had plans. I’m curious.”
Carolyn smiled, exposing pearly white teeth. “Yes, I’m going to see Jacob tonight.”
Judy coughed. The strange statement had caught her in mid-swallow. Pure shock sent the food in reverse. “You’re what?!”
“I’m going to visit my son.”
Judy set down her fork, examining her troubled friend, trying to read those blue eyes. She locked her fingers together, in a prayer-like position, twiddling her thumbs as she contemplated what to say. “But honey… I’m afraid that’s just not possible. Jacob’s gone, dear. He’s been gone for so long…”
“Then come with me. I promise that you’re wrong. Tonight is special.”
**
Black tree branches flew by outside the car window. The dark, winding road was nearly absent of street lamps, only gnarled branches flitting across the moon’s glow, like some kind of demented strobe light. Judy kept checking the speedometer. It felt as if they were going too fast, on a high speed journey to hell. But every time her eyes fel
l to the dashboard, she realized they were going less than 40. It must be in my head, she thought.
A fresh pumpkin pie teetered in her lap as the car made a 90 degree turn. This particular roadside was littered with yellow signs, bright warnings of the drastic twists and turns. Most of the pavement was covered in dry leaves, crunching under the heavy tires and fluttering past the windshield.
Judy never loosened her grip on the pie. Carolyn had asked her to hold it. It’s for Jacob, she had said as they left the front porch. Judy gulped. She was beginning to regret her decision, less concerned for her friend’s well being than she had been twenty minutes ago. This was eerie, and she wanted to go home.
Carolyn started humming. The melody was familiar, but Judy couldn’t place it in her mind. She hummed very softly, a barely audible sound, as if lulling an infant to sleep. The corners of her lips curled into a smile. It looked sinister in the moonlight.
“Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat.” Now she sang the words, in a hushed, monotone voice. It sent a chill up Judy’s spine.
“Do you remember that song?” Carolyn asked, never taking her eyes off the road. She was an excellent driver, never going above 40, braking before every turn. So why did Judy feel so unsafe?
“Yes, I remember. The kids used to sing it, when they were still little boys…” Judy grimaced. She wished she had said something else, anything but the truth. She did remember that song, very well. How she had scolded the boys for singing it.
Judy’s two sons were in high school now, healthy and on the path to college. She couldn’t fathom how Carolyn must hurt, every day, to have lost her only son. A needle of pain stabbed Judy’s heart just to imagine losing a child.
“Ah, here were are.” Carolyn’s voice broke through her thoughts. She eased the car onto a gravel drive. A towering wooden barn loomed in the distance, several yards away. The walls of the barn were so white, they seemed to glow against the blackened sky. As the engine died, the sound of crickets overwhelmed Judy’s senses.
Judy turned to her friend. “Jacob is here?” She couldn’t think of anything better to say.
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