Ten Open Graves: A Collection of Supernatural Horror

by David Wood

  “Who, Cassie?”

  “Jazy. Everybody knows about her and Jed.” Amos cackled. “Lord, his mama don't like it none. A preacher's son going around with the town mattress.”

  “Wait a minute.” Grant sat partway up, supporting himself with his elbows. His head swam, but he ignored it. “Jazy is Jed's girl? But she was the one who...” He shook his head, and pain lanced through his skull. “I don't get it. She practically begged me to take her away for a few days, and was really pissed when I didn't.”

  “Who knows why that girl does anything? I warned you she was trouble. Now, you need to get yourself some rest. You're bruised from head to toe and I wouldn't be surprised if you got a cracked rib or two.”

  “I can't.” He forced himself up to a sitting position and gasped as a new wave of pain shot through his body. “You know Cassie Brunswick, don't you?”

  “Sure do. Good girl, bad life.” His assessment was as accurate as it was succinct.

  “I think something's happened to her.” He drew a ragged breath. “I think her dad, Carl, and the Stallards are all in on it.” The pieces began to fall into place as he spoke. “Jazy's a part of it too. They tried to tell me Cassie had gone to stay with her aunt, and I thought it was bullshit until Jazy told me the same story. He pounded his fist on the bed. “That's why she wanted me to take her away. They were using her to keep me from looking for Cassie.”

  “What exactly do you think they've done to her?”

  “Amos, have you ever heard of Kaletherex?”

  The old man sprang to his feet faster than Grant would have thought possible, turned, and strode to the door. Before Grant could apologize, the light clicked on, blinding him for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, Amos was once again seated in a chair beside the bed.

  “Such things are not to be spoken of in the dark.” He sighed. “That's a dangerous question, boy. Wallen's Gap's darkest secret.”

  Grant waited as the old man's eyes took on a faraway cast.

  “Kaletherex is a religion. Nobody wants to talk about it, of course, except in whispers, because there ain't no telling who's in it and who isn't, but everybody walks soft around here.”

  “What are they about?”

  “Nothing good. I did some researching when I was younger, trying to figure it all out. Best I could tell, they get up to some nasty stuff-- animal sacrifice, sex rituals, evil things.”

  “What about,” Grant swallowed hard, “human sacrifice?” He didn't want to think that was the fate planned for Cassie, but he couldn't forget the pictures he'd seen in his father's book.

  “Two times, best I can tell. Both times, a young girl went missing and was found much later, all torn up like some wild animal done it. I don't believe it, though, because both times it happened was some of the darkest times in this town's history.” He ran a hand across his leathery brow. “People went plum crazy. Children kept having accidents, as they called them. You couldn't leave your house for fear somebody'd rob you blind while you was gone. Old feuds that died a hundred years before sprung back up. It's like all the evil in people's hearts just bubbled to the surface. It lasted until the next full moon, and that was the worst night of all.”

  “You talk like you were there.”

  “I was, for the last one. It was 1962.” He lapsed into silence.

  “What happened?” Grant urged.

  “They went wilding. Leastways, that's what some of us called it. All these men in white robes went through town howling at the moon, setting fires, laying hands on any man or woman who dared stick their nose out the front door. Soon as I saw it starting I got home and we hunkered down here and prayed they wouldn't come our way.”

  “Didn't you have a gun?”

  Amos laughed. “I was a black man in Virginia in 1962. A white man could have killed my whole family right in front of my eyes, but if I took a shot at him, I'd be the one going to prison. Yeah, I had a gun, and I would have used it if I had to, but it wouldn't have made much difference. There was too many of them.” He looked down at the floor. “Next morning, it was like everybody woke up from a bad dream. People pulled together and rebuilt what had been destroyed, and nobody talked about what had happened.”

  “You said there was another time this happened?”

  “Yes sir. Happened in 1899. Might have been other times in the past, but I couldn't find no records of it.”

  Grant considered this.

  “Was there anything special about those dates? Anything that ties them together?”

  “I only come up with one thing. A conjunction.” Seeing Grant's confused expression, he continued. “A planetary alignment. Big ones happened in both of those years, right about the times the girls went missing. Of course, it don't make no sense. Kaletherex is about a bunch of crackers putting on robes and doing wrong. Ain't no need to believe in no supernatural.” He waggled his fingers as he said the last word.

  “Where are my pants?” Grant asked. “There's something I need to show you.” Amos nodded at a pile of clothes on the bedside table. Grant fished around and found the finger.

  “What the hell is that, boy? You been grave robbing?”

  “My father hid this along with a book that I think is important to Kaletherex. It... moves sometimes.”

  “Sure it does.” Amos nodded, as if indulging a small child.

  Grant wanted Amos to believe him. He remembered the first time the finger had moved, he'd been thinking hard about Cassie, wondering where she was and if she was all right. He concentrated on her face. Where are you? Where are you?

  “Jesus God Almighty!” Amos came to his feet, upending his chair, as the finger twitched and pointed. “What did you do?”

  “I didn't do anything. I don't understand much, but I can tell you there's more to Kaletherex than just a bunch of rednecks getting their jollies. They're up to something bad, Amos, and they've got Cassie.”

  Amos ran his hands through his snow white hair and turned on the spot. “Jesus Lord, I didn't believe it. I was sure it was over and done with.”

  “What?”

  Amos let his hands fall to his side. “There hasn't been a grand conjunction since 1962, but there's going to be another one tomorrow night.”

  Chapter 16

  “Amos, we have to find her!” Grant ignored his body’s screaming pain and jumped to his feet.

  “Now, calm down, son. Let's just think a minute.” Amos laid a hand on his shoulder and gently shoved him back toward the bed.

  Grant ignored him. “You said the other times this happened, young girls were found mutilated. If they're aiming to do the same thing again tomorrow night, it stands to reason they're going to use Cassie! Why else would they hide her from us?”

  Amos shook his head, his face pained. “You really think old man Brunswick would put his own daughter in the hands of them butchers?”

  In fact, Grant thought exactly that, and the sudden conviction made him dizzy. He sank back to the bed, one hand pressed to his ribs. “I've looked in his eyes. He's a cold bastard, sure enough. If these Kaletherex people are as crazy as you say they are, then maybe he would. He's one of them, right?”

  Amos nodded. “Yep, I reckon he is. And the Stallards. Hell, most of this goddamn town seems to be in on it sometimes.”

  “What made you think it was over?”

  Amos sank his face into his palms, shook his head. “It was fifty years ago. I thought maybe I'd half imagined the whole thing.” He looked up, his eyes haunted. “I've kept an eye on things and knew there was another conjunction coming. But everything ‘round here seemed to have settled into some kind of normal. I didn't see any signs like something was happening. Most of the people around back then in '62 are dead and gone. But I guess enough of their kids was old enough then and still around now. The Kaletherex thing has been mighty quiet for a long time. I guess I just hoped it was done with.”

  “Fifty years ago it was a lot easier to keep stuff covered up,” Grant said. “These days, news can spr
ead pretty quickly.”

  Amos nodded sadly and they sat in silence for a while, both lost in their own grim thoughts. Grant pushed the finger back into its tin and the tin back into his jeans pocket. What could they do? Thoughts of his father drifted through his mind. “Hey, did you know my dad?” he asked.

  Amos looked up. “Andrew Shipman? Yeah, I knew him a little bit. He was a nice enough fellow. But he started to hang around with the Brunswicks and Stallards and the others. I had a feeling he got pulled into the Kaletherex cult.”

  “He did. But I don't think he liked what he found. At least, I think he changed his mind about them.” Grant tried to order his thoughts, hard as it was with every inch of his body aching and throbbing. “I found that finger in a secret safe in his smokehouse. He had an old, leatherbound book stashed away in there too. I think the book was really important to them, because Mrs. Stallard came around asking about it, and then her sons busted in and stole it back.”

  “That right?”

  “It had to be them. But they didn't find the finger.” Grant pointed to the pocket of his jeans. “I can't really explain why, but I'm pretty sure that thing is important, might even help us somehow. I think my father was collecting information, trying to find out how to stop them and they killed him for it.”

  Amos nodded sadly. “That is entirely possible.”

  Grant paused. “They said my dad died of a heart attack.”

  Amos barked a bitter, humorless laugh. “They can say whatever they like, son. The doctor, the sheriff, the city council. They're all either in that cult or controlled by them. Ain't nothing in this town happens without their say so.” At Grant's raised eyebrow, Amos flapped one hand. “Oh, you can live your life here peacefully enough if you stay out of their way. They need goods and services and all that same as everyone else. A whole bunch of people live peacefully enough in Wallen's Gap and never cross paths with the cult of Kaletherex. But people disappear if they cause trouble and there ain't many crimes in this town that get investigated like they oughta. Everything gets explained away nice and easy like.”

  “How can they get away with that?”

  “They's all kinds of things can happen to a body in these hills. Hunting accidents, bad falls, snakebites, wild animals, accidental fires, drunk kids running off of winding mountain roads. Everything just common enough to be believed.”

  Grant stared disconsolately at the floor between his feet. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn't just walk away and leave, he owed Cassie more than that. Suzanne’s words echoed in his mind, You never finish anything! Well, he fully intended to finish this, one way or another. But he was scared and not too proud to admit it. And he had precious little to go on. Dark shadows flitted around the edges of his vision. A tugging pulled at his chest, seemingly from the inside. He imagined a black stain trying to push its way out through his ribs. The sensation was nauseating and disconcerting.

  “You okay, son?” Amos said, leaning forward. “You look kinda pale there. You should lie down, you took quite a beating.”

  Grant shook his head. “It's not that.” He took a deep breath. Crazy hillbillies doing evil things in the name of their wacko religious cult was weird, but it still fell within the realm of expected human behavior. What would Amos think about what he was about to tell him? “That finger I found, it has an effect on me that I can't really explain. Like it's trying to guide me.”

  Amos stood, paced a small circle around the room. When he finally looked at Grant, there was no scorn, amusement, or disbelief in his eyes. Strangely, Grant found himself thinking he would have preferred that to the old man's sober expression.

  “My Jesus, I could have done lived this lifetime and another without ever seeing that accursed thing and been happy about it.”

  “Me too,” Grant said. He stood, pulled on his clothes, wincing against aches and stabs of pain. “But it's all we have. Maybe I need to find out more about it.”

  “Was that thing...” Amos swallowed, shook his head, tried again. “Was that thing pointing the way somewhere?”

  “I think it's guiding me to Cassie. Whenever I think hard enough about her, it... points, like that. Part of me just wants to go now, follow it and save her. But we have no idea what we might be walking into.”

  “We, boy?” Amos's eyes were wide.

  “Please, Amos. I'm alone in all this. I need some help. I don't know anyone else.”

  “I'm an old man, what can I do?”

  “I don't know.” Grant slipped his shoes on, rose with difficulty, and stumbled toward the door. “Maybe you can help me learn some stuff. Stuff that can help us?”

  “That conjunction happens tomorrow night,” Amos said, offering him a helping hand as he guided Grant out into a single room with a small kitchen and dining area to one side and a living area on the other. “Hell, it's nearly tomorrow already. You've probably only got the day time to figure out what you're going to do. Maybe you need to consider that there ain't nothing you can do.”

  “I refuse to accept that! I at least have to try.”

  “I'm sorry, son. I don't know what else to tell you. There's maybe one person anywhere near here that knows more about this stuff than me, but she's...”

  Headlights cut across the front window, setting the tattered curtains aglow. Grant stood, but Amos made a calming motion.

  “It's just my son,” Amos said. “Back from town. He went to get some more bandages and such from the store while I kept an eye on you.”

  A rill of fear tickled along Grant's spine. “We're not in town?”

  “No, we're on the edge of the woods, a couple of miles from town. After spending all day working in the diner, I like me some peace and quiet.” Amos went to the door and pulled it open.

  A young man stood there, tall and lanky with light brown skin and amber eyes, a rifle cradled in his arms. “Sorry about this, Pops, but we want Shipman.”

  “What are you talking about, Elijah? Who is we?” He glanced over his son's shoulder and whoever or whatever he saw there made him gasp, his eyes wide.

  “Come on out!” another voice yelled. The unmistakable burr of Jesse Stallard. “We got unfinished business with Shipman. Give him over and we'll leave you alone, Amos.”

  Through the front door, Grant saw several silhouettes out front, stark against the headlights of a truck.

  Elijah gave his father a shove and Amos staggered backward, colliding with a small dining table. He turned to Grant, and pointed at the back door. “Run!” he gasped.

  Grant took a step toward the door and froze as Elijah leveled his rifle at him. His son distracted, Amos grabbed a wooden chair and swung it with surprising strength.

  The upswing caught Elijah's forearm, knocking the rifle barrel upward as he pulled the trigger. The shot went off with an ear-shattering report, and the ceiling light exploded in a shower of sparks, plunging the small house into darkness.

  With a grunt of fear and frustration, Grant turned and groped for the door handle. He cried out as a hand grabbed his upper arm and dragged him to one side. “It's me,” Amos hissed.

  The headlights of the truck outside arced through the door, casting long, confusing shadows. People pushed and shoved to get into the house. “Fuckin' shoot 'em both!” someone yelled.

  Rather than coming after them, Elijah turned and stumbled toward the door, cradling one arm in the other. “Not my Pops!” he shouted.

  Two gunshots rang out and wood chips exploded from the wall by Grant's face. He jumped aside, half-pulled by Amos, and cracked into the door Amos pulled open. They tumbled through with the sounds of scuffling behind them. Three more shots barked out in the darkness accompanied by fiery flashes. Amos yelped, but pushed on, slammed the door behind them. “There!” He pointed across the small yard to a Yamaha trail bike parked up near the tree-line. “Key's in it. You can ride, right?”

  Crashing noises came from the house as they ran across the scrub and dirt, ducking into shadows.

  “You have
to come with me,” Grant said. “They'll hurt you if you stay.”

  “My own goddamn son.” Amos's voice dripped pain.

  “I know, but it was me he was giving up, not you. He tried to protect you.” Grant jumped onto the bike and turned the key. His thumb found the starter and it roared into life.

  “I didn't raise him to fall in with fools like that!” Amos said.

  The back door burst open and gun barrels swung towards them.

  “Get on!” Grant screamed and the old man swung a leg over the pillion seat. As soon as his weight hit the bike, Grant opened it up and fishtailed across the dirt, wincing at the sound of rifle shots. He headed for the trees, Amos hanging on valiantly, one arm tight around Grant's waist.

  The bike slipped and skidded, tires spinning for grip on the loose earth. With sheer force of will and more than a little luck, Grant managed to control it and speed into the woods. He was thankful for the half a dozen sessions of mini-motocross he’d insisted on as a kid. He flicked on the headlight and tipped left and right as guns fired and bullets bit chunks out of the tree trunks by their heads. Hoping he could out-run and out-maneuver their shooting, he powered through the forest, up the mountain.

  Chapter 17

  The gunshots stopped as they barrelled up the steep incline behind Amos's house. There was no way the Stallard's truck could follow them through the dense woods, but Grant had no idea where they were or where to go. “You okay?” he shouted over his shoulder, slowing to a safer pace to navigate the trees.

  “Those bastards got my son.” Amos said weakly, barely audible over the bike's engine.

  “I know, I'm sorry. But if we stop them, you'll get your son back.” Grant felt terrible laying his own agenda over the old man's grief, but it was the truth.

  “I should kill every last one of those Stallards and Brunswicks,” Amos said. “Those families are the heart of all this. Always have been.”

  “So we need a plan. Where to?”