Ten Open Graves: A Collection of Supernatural Horror

by David Wood

  The Shipman place lay at the end of a narrow dirt road that wound through a hollow at the foot of Clay Mountain. Last time she'd gone up here was two years ago with a boy from school, but she’d lost her nerve when his hands wandered too far. She hadn't been back since, but the way remained familiar. Things didn't change much in Wallen's Gap.

  She rounded a curve and had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting an old Ford F-250 that was blocking the road. The Honda skidded to a halt inches from the truck, sending up a cloud of dust.

  “What in the holy name of Jesus?” Who would park their truck sideways across the road? There couldn't be more than two feet on a side to spare. She looked up at the empty cab. Whoever it was had abandoned the vehicle. Where had they gone? The dark thoughts in her mind manufactured all kinds of deadly scenarios. Had something happened to them.

  Someone rapped on her window and she shrieked in fright.

  “Sorry bout that, Cass. I didn't mean to scare you.”

  She turned to see Cliff Stallard leaning down to look through her window, his bulk straining the buttons of his faded chambray shirt. His grin said he was anything but sorry.

  “Why are you blocking the road?” She managed to put some heat into her words despite the fright he had given her.

  “Run out of gas. Saw I was on fumes, tried to turn around, and, wouldn't you know it? Died right here in the middle of the road.” He paused. “What are you doing up here?”

  “Oh. I needed to talk to Grant.”

  “Grant, is it? You already know him so good that you come see him in the middle of the night?” He leered, his tobacco-stained teeth gray in the dim light. “That ain't a good idea, Cass. What if people found out?”

  “No, it's not like that.” She was suddenly flustered. Even at midnight she couldn't get a modicum of privacy in this town.

  “Daddy's gonna be here in a few minutes to bring me some gas. I think it would be a good idea if you was gone when he gets here, him being the pastor and all.”

  Cassie looked again at the big truck blocking the way, and nodded. “I suppose you're right.” She turned the Honda around and headed back down the road, shame and impotent rage welling inside her. She wasn't going to give up. She had to find out the truth, and she believed Grant held the key.

  At the end of the dirt road, Clay Mountain silhouetted like a sleeping giant behind her, she paused. Where the dirt met the tarmac there was nothing but trees to left and right. But on the opposite side of the road, about fifty yards to the left, was a turnoff. One of those places for people to pull over and rest if they were too tired to continue on their journey or something.

  Cassie drove to it, pulled up close to the trees and parked in deep shadow. She killed her engine and lights and sat there, waiting. Why had Cliff been up at the Shipman cabin? And who runs out of gas like that, halfway through a three-point turn? Ten minutes passed, then twenty, and still no sign of Pastor Edwin and the gas he was supposed to be bringing. It shouldn't take this long. After thirty minutes, Cassie's nerves began to jangle like a cold hand creeping up her spine. She thought about walking through the woods to get up to the cabin, but that was a long way and she was likely to get lost.

  After forty five minutes her nerves got the better of her and she was about to start up the car and go home when headlights lit the distance, coming from Wallen's Gap. The lights blinded her as they swelled up, painting the trees in bight greens, before zooming straight past the turnoff to Grant’s cabin and barrelling on down the road. Cassie let out a breath she’d been unaware she was holding and fired up the battered Honda to head back home. Something very strange was happening and it scared her to think what it might be.

  Chapter 6

  Grant sat hunched over a steaming cup of coffee, scowling. It wasn't the coffee that had him in a foul mood. In fact, that was the only good thing about the day so far. But he was tired, annoyed and, if he was honest, more than a little scared. He'd endured a terrible night's sleep, his dreams plagued with screaming girls tied to tables, and strange rednecks with faces that kept morphing into twisted, demonic visages as he tried to escape from them along darkened corridors, his legs like lead. Several times during the night he had woken himself crying out, the sensation of pursuit still fresh in his adrenalized, sweating body.

  Eventually he dragged himself from bed and brewed coffee, resigned to the fact that he would get no more rest anyway. He had an appointment in Kingsville at ten a.m. to sign off on a bunch of legal paperwork and figured he might as well get an early start. It wasn't like there would be much in the way of traffic, but he had to somehow justify his rising close to dawn.

  Grant finished his coffee and chewed his way through toast that tasted like cardboard and sawdust on his tongue, then gathered the papers he needed. Two hours on his cell phone the afternoon before and several more hours through the evening had finally revealed that he needed to go to his father's attorney in Kingsville and then find a notary and the county courthouse, to file the numerous, frustrating forms. At least once this was done, he would have nothing left to worry about but his father's personal possessions and cabin. A part of him was tempted once again to just give up on it, keep driving once he was finished in Kingsville and have a real estate agent deal with selling the cabin and everything in it. Did he really need the hassle of all this garbage and these hillbillies? But with Suzanne gone, what did he have to go back to? An apartment as empty and pointless as this cabin.

  His eyes roved the spare furnishings and something like nostalgia drifted over him. He had not known his father well, but he felt there was a certain closure to be found here. He owed it to himself and his dad to make the right decisions with all this. And besides, he might turn up something valuable or personal that he could treasure. Some connection to the man. The train of thought led Grant back to the strange book in the smokehouse and he shook his head, clearing his thoughts quickly before he ruminated on that too much. It made him intensely uncomfortable to even picture it in his mind's eye. He had seen that picture move, heard the girl's scream and the chant and the drum.

  “The hell with this,” he muttered, forcing the thoughts from his mind. He grabbed his keys and left as the soft pink of dawn began to give way to the blue of a clear, bright day.

  As he climbed into his car the sensation of being watched washed over him, prickled up his spine and gently gripped the back of neck. Why did this keep happening? Half in the car door, he paused, looked around. Trees shifted in a soft breeze, birds sang. No person anywhere to be seen. He walked away from the car a few paces and looked deeper into the forest, down the driveway, up towards the smokehouse.

  “Anyone there?” he called out. “I'm about to leave for the day, so if you need to talk to me, now's the time!”

  He felt like a fool calling out to the woods. His heart hammered ridiculously fast, but no one answered. He didn't know what he would have done had anyone actually replied. Probably jump right out of his shoes. With an annoyed grunt, he climbed into the car and turned the key. The sound of another engine barked and rattled over his own the moment his fired. With a curse, he killed his again. The distant sound of a diesel motor drifted through the air. He opened the car door and hopped up on the hood, peering down where the drive wound through the forest. The diesel sound was almost gone, receding down the dirt road leading away from the cabin. He caught a glimpse of a truck snaking through the twisting mountain road before it vanished down the hollow.

  “What the fuck?” He slipped back into the car, restarted it and roared around in a wide U, spraying gravel up against the front of the cabin. With no regard for his shocks, he hammered down the rutted drive to where it met the paved road and skidded to a halt at the intersection. Nothing. No vehicle in either direction until the road curved away through the trees.

  Maybe he had been hearing things. Hardly any sleep, his nerves in tatters, perhaps it had only been his own engine echoing through the forest. Was that even possible? But he'd seen the truck! Regardles
s, there was nothing to see now. He turned towards Wallen's Gap and was soon cruising through the main street.

  Even this early there were people moving about, a smattering of cars gliding slowly by. He caught sight of a young girl, maybe sixteen, weirdly out of place in old-fashioned clothes, standing on a street corner as he passed. Her bonnet half-shaded her face, but her expression held such a deep and terrible sadness that Grant hit the brakes, twisting in his seat to look back. The girl was nowhere to be seen. He stared at the empty pavement where she had stood. She had definitely been standing right there. He ground his teeth. This fucking town.

  Impotently angry at just about everything, he revved the engine and drove on. A block further, a flash of jeans and a white shirt caught his eye as he passed the park. Was that Cassie or was he seeing things again? Rather than risk a wreck, he hung a right, went around the block, and cruised by the park again. It was her. She sat alone on a swing, gently swaying back and forth, head down. Her hair obscured her face, but she seemed sullen, sad.

  Grant pulled up to the curb, wound down the window. “Hey, Cassie!”

  She looked up with a start, dragged one forearm across her face. “Oh, hi.” Her voice was tight.

  Grant frowned. Had she been crying? “Everything okay?”

  She nodded, forced a smile that was totally unconvincing. “Sure, everything's good.” She glanced left and right, almost as if she was afraid to be seen talking to him.

  “You're up bright and early,” he said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

  Her shoulders hitched and dropped.

  “You usually up so early?” He felt like a fool the moment the words left his mouth. What kind of lame ass thing was that to ask someone, especially a cute girl? As her face creased in a frown he hurried on. “I'm not. I hate early mornings as a rule. But I have to go to Kingsville today. Got to deal with some stuff about my dad.”

  Cassie's face slipped through a few quick changes of expression, surprise to thoughtfulness to something like hope. She nodded again. “Long drive,” she said.

  “Not as the crow flies but, with these winding roads, I figure a couple of hours, right?” There was suddenly something unsaid hanging in the air between them.

  “About that,” Cassie said. “You know, I...” She thought better of it, stopped abruptly.

  Grant's heart did a two-step with nerves and he took a leap. “You need anything in Kingsville? I'd be happy to pick something up for you.” Her eyebrows lifted, lips parted like she wanted to say something. “Or I could, you know, I could give you ride up there if you need it.” Was he being a complete douche? Who offered such a long ride to someone they hardly knew?

  Cassie looked around again, furtively. She chewed at her lower lip for a moment, clearly trying to come to some decision. “Actually, yeah, that would be really good. I do need to do something in Kingsville and I hate making that drive on my own.”

  Grant grinned, pleased with himself. Maybe there was something worthwhile in Wallen's Gap after all. He couldn't believe this cute girl had just agreed to a two hour each way trip with him. Suzanne’s angry face flitted through his mind and he pushed the thought away. She had left him, so he had no time for guilt. He gestured with his head towards the passenger side. “Great. Hop in.”

  She hurried over and slipped into the seat beside him. “Thanks, this is nice of you,” she said with a tight smile. “I don't want to be any trouble.”

  “No problem. Do we need to swing by your place to pick anything up?”

  “No, let's just get going, okay?”

  Grant's elation waned at her tense nervousness. She seemed strangely agitated. “Sure thing,” he said, trying to keep his voice light and casual.

  He pulled away from the curb, wondering what else he could say to ease her tension. As he made the turn up towards the highway he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the tall, gangly boyfriend, Carl, standing outside the still closed hardware store, staring after them. Carl did not look happy at all.

  Chapter 7

  Cassie's heart raced as Grant gunned the engine and they left Wallen's Gap and Carl behind. Carl was going to be mad. She looked down at a hole in the thigh of her jeans and plucked absently at the thread, trying to decide where to begin. Now that she was alone with Grant, she couldn't seem to summon the courage to be honest with him. From the corner of her eye she saw him looking at her. She told herself not to blush, but she could feel her cheeks heating. He was cute, and not at all like the losers who populated her town.

  “Can I say something?” Grant broke the silence so suddenly that she jumped. “About your boyfriend or whoever he is to you?”

  Cassie nodded, not eager to hear whatever he had to say. She knew she should dump Carl, and her inability to do so embarrassed her. He was like an unsightly blemish.

  “I've tried to be cool because I don't want to cause trouble for you. But I'm tired, and I'm fed up with the creepy ass people in Wallen's Gap, and if he steps to me the wrong way, or lays a hand on you where I can see him, I'm going to beat his ass.”

  Now she did look directly at him. She saw resolve in his eyes and, when he directed his gaze back toward the road, looked him up and down. Cassie almost felt like she was at a livestock show as she sized him up. He wasn't bulky, like Cliff Stallard, but he was tall and lean with whipcord muscles. He looked like he could handle himself.

  “Why are you telling me? I'm not the one you want to beat up.”

  “In case it's going to cause a problem between you and Carl. You could...” He cleared his throat. “If you needed somewhere safe to go, you could stay at my dad's place. I guess it's my place now. I've got room.”

  “There's already plenty of problems between me and Carl. Your fists won't make it better or worse. Besides, he wouldn't fight you. It's the Stallards you need to worry about. Those boys love to brawl, and they don't fight fair.”

  “I met those three yesterday afternoon. They dropped by the cabin, claiming they wanted to see if I needed any help, but they were up to something. It was weird. I could almost hear the banjos playing in the background.”

  She giggled and he laughed too.

  “Do you think all their ancestors were brother and sister, or just the last few generations?”

  “Hey now!” she protested, still laughing. “We're not all inbred hillbillies, you know.”

  “Just the Stallards.”

  “Right.” The moment was gone as soon as it had come, and they lapsed back into silence. Then something Grant had said rang a bell. “Hold on. You said the Stallard boys came by your place yesterday afternoon?”

  “Yep.”

  “Cliff Stallard was back up there late last night. He said he was driving around and ran out of gas.”

  Grant snapped his head around and gave her a sharp look. “What does he drive?” She described the truck and Grant spat a curse. “He was still there this morning. When I went to leave, somebody cranked up a truck and drove away. I only caught a glimpse, but it's got to be him.”

  Cassie didn't know what to say. Clearly, Cliff had stayed there all night for some odd reason. What was he doing? Keeping people away, or keeping Grant in?

  “Wait a minute.” Grant arched an eyebrow. “How do you know he was at my place late last night?”

  There it was. Cassie might as well tell him the truth.

  “I came up there to talk to you, and he turned me away. I wanted to ask you about the book.”

  Grant flinched and his face went ashen. “You know about the book?”

  “I saw you reading it at the Cup of Joe, remember?”

  Grant's features relaxed. “Yeah, sure. What about it?”

  Cassie wasn't buying it. She could tell when someone was hiding something. Perhaps it came from her childhood, when her daddy was still bothering to try to hide his drinking from her mother. Or perhaps it came from dating guys like Carl, for whom deceit was so ingrained in their character they no longer knew how to tell the truth. In any case, Gran
t wasn't being honest with her.

  “What book did you think I meant?”

  “What?”

  “I want to play poker with you sometime. I'd have your money, your car, and every stitch of your clothes, cause you can't lie for shit.”

  “That last part sounded pretty good. Maybe later on tonight? I think I saw a deck of cards in the cabin.” He was trying to keep things light, but she could tell he was rattled.

  “You've got a secret, Grant Shipman.” She swallowed hard. “And so do I. I've got nobody else I can trust, so how about we both come clean, and maybe we can help each other?”

  She watched as he chewed on that for a minute, his jaw working and his grip tightening and relaxing on the wheel. Finally, he nodded.

  “Okay, but not here. After the attorney's office, we'll find somewhere quiet and I'll tell you everything.”

  Grant left the attorney's office and made his way to the cafe he and Cassie had agreed on. He felt marginally better about his father's affairs now that everything official was taken care of or in process. Red tape and bureaucracy were infuriating, but better than the worry of leaving something unfinished or some obscure law unheeded. Cassie sat in a window booth, staring worriedly across the street, playing with the straw in a big, empty milkshake glass. She looked the other way, hadn't seen him yet as he stood across the street. She was cute, but troubled. A part of him really wanted to get to know her better, but another part, maybe his sane side, screamed at him to pack up his father's stuff and get the hell out of this redneck, backwater hole.

  Cassie tipped her head to one side and brushed a hand across her cheek. Was she crying? His desire to run away turned quickly to shame. This was a hole, but she was stuck here too, through no desire of her own. Cute or not, she needed his help. And, if he was honest, he needed hers. Perhaps she could help him learn more about his dad.