Graveyards: A Horror Short Story Collection (3 Tales to Chill Your Bones Book 6)

Home > Other > Graveyards: A Horror Short Story Collection (3 Tales to Chill Your Bones Book 6) > Page 2
Graveyards: A Horror Short Story Collection (3 Tales to Chill Your Bones Book 6) Page 2

by Mav Skye


  I took a step out from the tree. Looked back at the wrought iron fence that loomed like bars to a cell. Perhaps, I should go get help first? I turned back to the grave, but what if he needed me now? So many questions. No answers.

  I made up my mind, balled my hands into iron fists at my side and slowly walked to the freshly dug grave. As I approached, I looked down at the shovel, shiny in the dim starlight. A dark substance covered the tip. It was probably mud or dirt, but it looked like neither. I could see the walls of the pit from where I stopped and stood. Black crumbles of dirt fell inward, so deep I couldn’t see the bottom or the man.

  Finding my voice, I called out, “Mister?”

  Silence.

  I would have to peek inside. I wished Hagsy was still with me as I stepped closer, closer… dark shadows concealed the floor of the grave. I bent over the edge. I didn’t see a body. In fact, I couldn’t see any—

  Hands reached up and grabbed at my blouse, yanking down. Startled, I fell to the ground. His hands gripped my arms and squeezed. I screamed, kicking into the dirt, trying to pull away from their grasp. The hands were so strong, stronger than I ever could have imagined. I bent my head and bit a finger as hard as I could. His grip loosened and I reached out, feeling for something, anything, to protect myself with. I kicked hard and heard a metallic clank. The shovel!

  I used my foot to pull it closer to me and I snatched up the long handle. I tried to tug away my other arm, but he held fast to my wrist. And that is when I saw the knife jut out of the dark grave and the old man’s pasty, bony face behind it. I screamed and swung the shovel, knocking the knife out of his hand. This time, I was able to break free completely. I raised the shovel again and swung, hitting him dead in the face. He fell back into the grave.

  I jumped to my feet, clutching the shovel to my chest, and peeked into the abyss. The moonlight had shifted so I could see one of his shiny shoes reflecting up from the grave. Had I killed him? Had I just killed a man? I groaned, panicked. Looking at the mound of dirt, I knew what I was to do.

  I pushed the electric chair in on top of him. A slight hiss rose from the grave. I didn’t know if it came from man or chair. I grabbed the shovel and began tossing in dirt from the pile, glancing around me as I did to make sure I was alone. Minutes ago, I had feared the graveyard. I had feared the graveyard, when I should have feared myself. I was the monster in its depths. I was a murderer now. A murderer burying what I had done.

  Afterwards, I stomped on the grave, making it just as smooth as the others. Then I dropped the shovel and ran. Ran past the houses with blue-ish TV light dimly flashing through tightly closed curtains. If the people had looked out their windows instead of watching their TV they would have seen me, the monster, the murderer, running down their street. I finally reached my home.

  My curtains were closed as tightly as all the others, except inside my house was dark. It was dark the way I felt inside myself now. Hagsy stood at the back door wagging her tail as if nothing had ever happened. Perhaps I could pretend nothing had ever happened, too. I could go inside, turn on my TV and forget about all the darkness outside. But every time I close my eyes I see those hands, those white hands reaching out of the grave and clutching me. I see his pasty face rising up behind the knife. And I know I will never forget.

  * * *

  I lost my job, so I watch a lot of reality TV now. People selling junk for money. People dressing their daughters as princesses prancing upon the stage, the entire life of that one little girl is about how she looks to others. Is she pretty? Oh, yes. Is there a smile on her face? Yes, it is a permanent fixture. Is she a real person on the inside? No, but she can pretend she is.

  And so can I. I can pretend. I can drink myself into oblivion. I don’t ask questions anymore, only accept what I see. I try to stay awake during infomercials, but eventually my eyelids drop. And I see that old man’s toothy grin as he wizzes by me on the street. I follow him all the way to the graveyard, and everything happens all over again with one exception: he claws himself out of the grave and slices my throat while I sleep.

  Perhaps, it would be better that way. I came to this tiny Texas town to forget the past. What I’d done. But instead I did it again, sure it was self defense just like it was last time, and I know, like last time, no one would believe me.

  But, maybe this time was different. Maybe I liked it. I liked the feeling of getting away with it. And that made me feel like a monster. The old man had created the monster inside of me. It would only be fitting for him to kill it. Wouldn’t it? Maybe, that was why he was there in the first place.

  Only death knows true justice.

  Death had come in the disguise of an old man. It had come to bring out the darkness hidden inside. It had come to tempt me. I took the bait. And I liked it.

  Lisa Got Squashed

  “Lisa got squashed.”

  “Say what?”

  “I said, Lisa got squashed. Pay attention, kid.”

  Jordan let the words sink in a minute. “Who’s Lisa?”

  “Some chick.” Derek lifted the brown bottle, swigged, swished, and swallowed. “Have you ever felt like you lost it?” He twirled his finger against the side of his head. “Like really lost it—like gone insane?”

  Jordan shrugged. “Kinda, I guess.”

  Derek shook his head and melted into the lawn chair. “So did Lisa. Some chicks, you know, they have it all. They got the well off parents, the ideal job. They got the looks, which gets them the rich boyfriend, which leads to marriage and kiddies, then to divorce. In the end, the chick gets half the cash the dope worked his whole life for.”

  Glancing around at the strewn bottles, tipped lawn chairs, and rusty eighties trailer, Jordan slapped his thigh and laughed. “I guess that makes you the dope.”

  Derek pushed back his sunglasses. “Who you laughin’ at? You’re the dope with the busted ankle and flat tire. You don’t even have the sense to carry a spare."

  Jordan snickered. “Sorry, man, I guess I’m just mobility challenged.”

  Derek flipped up his sunglasses and sat up in his lawn chair. "You think using big words makes you better than me? You’re still just a grocery delivery boy.” He nodded at the ankle cast. “And a lame one at that.”

  Jordan quieted. "Sorry, man, I didn't mean to dis ya."

  Derek nodded, dropped his sunglasses back on his nose, and ran his finger around the rim of his bottle. “And then, there’s chicks like Lisa. She ain’t got the job, she ain't got the model looks…” He trailed off. “Kind of a plain Jane with great legs.” He glanced up. “And she sure as hell never had the guy.”

  Jordan closed his eyes, willing his hang over headache away. “Who's Lisa?”

  “I told you, kid. This chick that got squashed.”

  “Oh, yeah. Lisa got squashed as in smooshed?”

  “Yeah, hello, that’s what I said.” Derek sighed. “So anyway, she mowed lawns. It was her job, you know. She had enough cash to pay her Daddy rent. She had enough cash to pay the vet bill. She had enough cash to—”

  “Why’d Lisa pay a vet bill?” asked Jordan.

  “Because Slinky had leukemia, you moron,” said Derek.

  "Slinky?”

  "Slinky as in her cat, not as in the toy."

  Jordan formed an OH with his lips, then shook his head. “Take it easy, man. I don’t know Lisa. I’ve never known a Lisa. And the first Lisa I hear of is squashed and her Slinky has leukemia. That’s seriously spooky.”

  “Slinky had leukemia. He’s dead now... just like Lisa.”

  Jordan squirmed at the word dead. It was a message in the shape of a child’s toy and he was falling down the stairs. Damn this headache. Where was that tow truck? "Okay, man, so how did Lisa get squished?"

  "Squashed," Derek replied.

  A raspy voice interrupted, "You should know better than to throw this junk on my manicured lawn!"

  Jordan and Derek both turned to the old woman. Derek said, “Jordan the grocery boy meet Mrs.
Doober, my only neighbor.” Jordan lifted his hand in a half hearted wave. Derek pointed at her poodle. “And that’s Piddlewink.”

  “It’s Twinkerdoodle!” Twinkerdoodle yapped once in agreement. Mrs. Doober kicked a beer bottle and pointed her cane at Derek. “I’ve got half a mind to come over there and give you a good what for.”

  Derek smirked. "Sometimes, Mrs. Doober, my guests don't clean up after themselves. I'll get it later."

  Mrs. Doober stuck her cane back in the ground and leaned on it. "Don't you set a foot in my yard, Derek. I know about you."

  Silence.

  Jordan glanced from Derek to Mrs. Doober.

  Derek.

  Mrs. Doober.

  There was something he was missing.

  Jordan broke the silence. "Mrs. Doober, I'm sorry about the bottle, that must have been mine. Here, let me get it.”

  Twinkerdoodle yapped. Mrs. Doober bent over and clipped a leash on the poodle’s collar, then straightened. "Grocery boy, you'd do good to stay away from this guy." She turned her back to them.

  "Don't mind the hag, she's been putting her nose where it don't belong. Like I was saying, Lisa got squashed, not squished. There's a difference."

  "Huh?" Jordan watched Mrs. Doober and Twinkledoodle trudge to the road. The poodle pulled her old bones along. "Oh, yeah, well, squish, squash, smoosh? They all sound the same to me."

  "Kid, you’re forgetting, she went insane. Cuckoo. Checked out to la la land. And in the land of crazy clowns and roving daisies, there's a big difference between squish, squash, and smoosh."

  "So why'd she go insane?" Jordan asked.

  Derek finished off his beer. "You liked my party, kid?"

  Jordan flinched at the change in Derek’s voice. He nodded and shrugged simultaneously, unsure of what to reply.

  "Sure as hell you did.” Derek’s voice deepened. "How did she go insane, you ask?" He tightened his grip on the bottle, stood up, and smashed it on the barbeque grill.

  “Woah!” Jordan stood, knocking over his lawn chair.

  “Where you going, buddy?” Derek lifted the sharp edge of the broken bottle. “Get back here.”

  Jordan limped towards his pickup. He felt Derek’s big hand grab his shirt; yank him backwards. "You’re not going anywhere… yet."

  "I swear I wasn't going..." Jordan’s voice trailed off and his eyes grew huge when Derek brought the glass close to his face.

  "Just shut up, kid." Derek screwed up his face like he had just gotten a whiff of his own breath. "Lisa went insane, the way we all go insane. Someone hurts you, hurts you real bad. We all have our ways of coping. Some choose drugs, women, smoking, some..." He tilted the bottleneck head down, like he was guzzling. "Booze. Lisa chose schitzo. In the end," Derek’s pupils dilated, "the pain always comes back to get you."

  They stood there.

  Eye to eye.

  Silent.

  Jordan finally adverted his gaze and willed himself not to piss his pants.

  Derek let loose of Jordan’s shirt. Forced a smile. “Sorry, buddy. Didn’t mean to frighten you. Why don’t you go have a seat? I’ll fetch you another beer.”

  Jordan thought of making another attempt for his pickup, but even if he could make it, what then? His truck wouldn’t make it far on the flat. He glanced at the weapon in Derek’s hand and made a decision. Jordan limped back to the lawn chair, turned it upright, and sat.

  "This'll help." Derek handed him a cold one.

  "Uh, thanks."

  "You see," Derek flipped his sunglasses up. "What caused her to go schitzo is not what's important. What she did about the pain between the reality checks in la la land is what really matters. She took some sharp glass," he held out the razor shard of the bottle, "and she cut her wrists." He made a slicing motion over his own wrists.

  Jordan, in the middle of a gulp, choked, and spit beer into the wind. It sprayed back in his face.

  Derek twisted his thin lips into a smile. "Kid, get a grip."

  Jordan coughed again. He pulled his tank top up and swiped it over his face. "So did she die?”

  "No." Derek's voice softened. "Unfortunately, for her, she lived."

  "So when did this all happen?"

  Derek shrugged. "Couple months back about the time when..."

  "When Sandra left you."

  Derek's eyes reflected heat; the vein between his bushy brow and receding hairline pulsed in full swing. "You don't need to remind me."

  Jordan gripped the arms of the lawn chair. "Derek, I don't know what any of this has to do with me. I... I..."

  Derek spat at the ground. "I heard Sandra telling Rosie all about her cute grocery boy. He delivered every time."

  "What are you talking about, man?"

  Derek leaned in close. "How many deliveries did you make, kid?"

  "Groceries? Heck, all five of us took turns. We'd flip for who got what side of town that day. The south side, the north side, the east—"

  "Shut up and stop screwing around. You know what I'm talking about."

  "Fine, man, fine. Let's play it your way and let's just say someone was you know." Jordan made hand gestures. "How could you know that I'm the guy?"

  "Cuz, Jordan. I saw you plenty of times since then in the delivery truck on our street." Derek rubbed the sharp edge of the bottle along his arm hair. "I just have this... intuition it's you."

  "Look, man, you have the wrong guy."

  "Shut up! Just shut up, kid. You want me to take this glass to your throat now? Or are you gonna tell me the truth about fucking my wife behind my back."

  Jordan opened his mouth to blurt out a string of senseless words, then shut it. He covered his face with his hand, thinking.

  Derek let out a deep breath. "Looks like your memory is kicking in. Come on now, let's have it out."

  Jordan sat up straight and opened his eyes. "Ok, I'll tell you the truth, Derek. First, tell me about Lisa. What squish... I mean," he gulped, "squashed her?"

  Derek looked towards the woods looming behind his dirt lawn. "She was squashed by a gravestone."

  "What? A gravestone as in a headstone?" Jordan forgot his fear and watched Derek. "But how does that happen? Gravestones don't just plop over and squish people. Besides, you'd have to be in a cemetery for that."

  Derek nodded. "Lisa mowed the grass for the local graveyard down at All Saints with Grace Memorial Lawn. She volunteered mowing at local parks and businesses. It kept her busy." Derek paused. "Damn, that chick was hot."

  "Hot?"

  "Well, not really hot, but I was hot. And drunk. And she was there..."

  "At the cemetery?"

  Derek glared at Jordan. "No, Jordan, not at the cemetery." Derek rolled his eyes. "Anyway, you'd think she'd have a couple guys hanging around with her, but she was mentally unstable, to be politically correct, and everyone knew it. Even horny kids like yourself wouldn't touch her."

  "So Lisa got squashed in the cemetery by a headstone while mowing the lawn?"

  "Yes. I mean, no." Derek dropped the broken bottle on his lap and grabbed his head. "It's complicated, kid. More complicated than that."

  Jordan leaned forward and gazed down the road, praying to see the tow truck, or even Mrs. Doober's small frame walking towards him. No luck.

  "You see, I heard Sandra on the phone with Rosie one day, after I came home from work early," said Derek.

  “What does Lisa getting squished have to do with Rosie and Sandra?"

  "It's squashed, kid. Now shut up and you'll find out." Derek sighed. "I guess you know that Rosie and Sandra are best friends? Rosie lives right next door." Derek nodded at the trees on the property that separated Sandra's fancy farmhouse from the shitty trailer that he now called home.

  "Yeah, I know they're neighbors."

  Derek's face grew red. "Of course, you'd know that. You know a hell of a lot more than geography about those women."

  Jordan blushed. "What did you hear Sandra say?"

  Derek mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "Oh,
Rosie, that delivery boy you recommended? Yeah, he delivered right on time today. Uh... huh... several times."

  "What did you do?"

  "I confronted her with it. What the hell? I said. How long has this been going on? Sandra tells me to settle down cause he's just the grocery boy. She'd never do something like that to me. I couldn't prove it. Rosie wouldn't say anything. So I did what any decent guy would do. I went to the bar, drank, and stewed about it. I took a couple sick days off work, sat in the backyard, told her I was building a deck. But I didn't build no damn deck. I drank. I counted the grass. I stared at the headstone under the willow." Derek frowned and stopped. "I need another beer. You want one?"

  "Um, no thanks."

  The sun climbed the sky to its afternoon throne. It had already dictated their punishment: today was going to be hotter than hell. Jordan swiped the beads of sweat dripping from his brow. “Was it her grandparent's grave?"

  "Ah, nah, they used to be buried out there in the trees. After Sandra inherited the farm, we had them dug up and reburied in the cemetery. It was Rookie's grave."

  "Rookie a grankid or somethin'?"

  "No, Rookie was Sandra's giant mastiff," said Derek.

  Jordan shook his head. "You gotta be kiddin' me."

  Derek nodded. "I loved Sandra. Sandra loved the mutt, so I agreed to let her do it.” He paused. "You want to see it?"

  "See what?"

  "Rookie's grave," said Derek.

  Jordan laughed. It came out sounding funny. "Well, isn't the grave across the woods there at Sandra's?"

  "Aw, nah. I moved it here. Behind the trailer."

  "Well, um, I probably should stay out front for the tow truck." Jordan glanced down the road. He saw a dark shadow hobbling along attached to a sprightly mutt. Both were caught up in shimmering waves of a mirage.

  Derek stood. "Yeah, well, I think you should come on back here. I didn’t call no damn tow truck anyways." He pointed the jagged edge of the bottle towards the back of the trailer. "Come take a look at this baby. I mean, do you know the hours I've spent digging up this grave, just for a stupid mutt?"

 

‹ Prev