Ten Open Graves: A Collection of Supernatural Horror

by David Wood

  Snickering, he asked, “So who’s the monkey banging on the back wall?”

  “Huh? No monkey. I already told you. The dead.”

  “Whatever you say boss.”

  Throughout the painful procedure the thuds continued, the shadows persisted on shifting and the ceiling tapestries fluttered in an undetectable breeze.

  None of that distracted William. He reflected on his obsession with black magic tattoos. Chung had reminded him in past visits that tattoos were used in ancient cultures to ward off evil, to protect the innocent. Was that it then? Were the mystical tattoos nurturing some subconscious desire on his part to be a protector?

  He didn’t think so. He didn’t see himself as someone with a Messiah complex, someone who fantasized about being a warrior or savior.

  William glanced at the seepage of blood and trickles of ink on his bicep. Chung kept manually pressing the needles rapidly and rhythmically into the dermis. Though the job would take hours to finish, a fact that William found exhilarating, he could already see the outline of Mary’s robed head.

  Tilting his head back, he absorbed himself in a release of endorphins. He loved it when the pain subsided and the adrenaline took over. It bolstered his conviction.

  Later, when he showed his new ink job to Kelly she would appreciate its beauty; praise him for his dedication to the world of tattooing. However, she wouldn’t know the secret of its origin. She wouldn’t guess in a million years that the blood of the Virgin Mary had been encapsulated under his skin.

  He thought of Kelly. Perhaps deep in his subconscious he was jealous of her puzzle box. Well, she wasn’t the only one with layers of secrets. He had a few of his own.

  Chapter 6: No Man Is An Island

  “I can’t believe we’re going in here,” Kelly said, curling her upper lip. “This is so not my kind of joint.”

  “It’s not my fault your tat man doesn’t want anything to do with piercing,” Trish said, standing outside the entrance to Fashion Tattoos & Piercing’s downtown location. “Fine with me. I’m comfortable with this place.”

  “Comfortable is the right word that’s for sure,” Kelly said, glancing through the large storefront windows into the cheery lit interior. The decor paralleled that of a dental office, everything planned to put one’s mind at ease. Even the flash on the walls played it safe, showcasing conservative designs such as romantic roses, cuddly puppies, cherubic angels and a slew of other benign art. “Welcome to Yuppieville.”

  “Sorry it doesn’t meet your Goth criteria. Well, are we going to do this or not?”

  Kelly loved Trish. Hanging out with Trish differed from palling around with the Emo and Punk kids at school. Belonging to the subversive clique didn’t make her feel special. Amongst them she didn’t stand out, merely blended in. With Trish she felt adored. Trish delighted in Kelly’s rebellious nature, was enthralled with her edgy and raw view of life, seeing it as a welcome change from her own tranquil existence. Opposites attract came to mind.

  Kelly had to admit, though, that she based part of their friendship on a longing to disparage what Trish enjoyed. A streak of jealousy for the stable middle class family life itched under her skin. Her devilish nature wanted to show Trish the other side of the coin, the one not so shiny and polished; the one that didn’t involve a newly constructed four bedroom three bath house in Beaverton and doting parents.

  Kelly felt dazed. Last night’s ordeal with the ogre had forced her to retreat to a dark empty space where feelings and emotions were void. It was no big deal. It helped her to cope with the ugliness of it all. Sometimes she would go so deep that it could take a day or two to return to her normal self.

  However, today’s funk was not a hangover effect caused by Alma’s unruly actions. It hinged on something quite different. Nobody had remembered the importance of this day. She didn’t expect a big fuss like a commemorative party or dinner, but a simple acknowledgment would have sufficed, especially from Alma. After all, the significance of this day affected him as well.

  The fact that nobody remembered amplified the emptiness she continued to experience since her mother’s death. She needed to mark that emptiness by adding another piercing to the assortment already adorning her body even if it meant doing so at a soccer mom tat parlor.

  She grabbed Trish’s hand. “Let’s do this thing.”

  Before they could enter Fashion Tattoos & Piercing, a young man wearing a navy blue dress shirt and candy striped tie stepped forward.

  “Oh my god it’s Justin.” Trish pushed Kelly behind her, blocking the young man’s view.

  “Vandermeer? Justin Vandermeer?”

  “Yeah. The Jesus freak himself. Don’t let him see you. He’s hot for you, don’t you know?”

  Trish’s efforts to conceal Kelly failed. Justin cocked his head, peering around Trish’s shoulder. “Kelly. I thought it was you.”

  “Hey. How are you?” She stepped out of Trish’s shadow and shook his hand with a polite smile.

  “Didn’t see you in chemistry today. Thought you might not be feeling good.”

  “Feeling great, actually. Just wanted to cut class. Had a lot on my mind. What are you doing down here?”

  “Oh, just something my parents want me to do,” he said with a sheepish grin. He lifted a small leather book bag. “Every Wednesday after school we come down here and pass out literature.”

  “Sounds fascinating,” Trish said, a sarcastic lilt in her tone.

  Kelly jabbed an elbow into Trish’s rib, warning her. She couldn’t find it in her heart to belittle Justin although she had done so plenty times in the past. On one such occasion she recalled walking on her knees behind him, hands clasped in front of her breasts, proclaiming, “Oh dear Adonai, bless me for I am so holy. Bless me, dear Lord.” The fellow students crowding the hall had burst into riotous laughter.

  Now she wished she could rewind that moment and do it over. In many ways they shared a connection; her and Justin. They both fit into the classification of social outcast. In many ways, he suffered more. At least she could assimilate herself into the small minority of misfits who rejected the popular crowd. However, she could not think of a single group at her high school who would invite Justin into their fold. Even the small percentage of religious students judged his beliefs too unconventional. She remembered a line from a poem read in literature class stating ‘No man is an island’. Obviously the poet had never met Justin Vandermeer.

  With genuine sympathy, she asked, “Do you really have to do this, passing out religious propaganda? I mean couldn’t you not do it and say you did?”

  “Fat chance,” he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “The sweet couple you see down there in Pioneer Square is my dear old mom and dad.”

  “Where?”

  He turned and pointed to a woman in an ankle length floral print dress and a man wearing a black three piece suit and red bowtie. “Down there, by the umbrella man statue.”

  “Watchdogs, eh?”

  He nodded. “You could say that.”

  A twinge of sadness passed through Kelly. Justin exhibited the All American good boy look with cropped ash brown hair and steel blue-gray eyes. His height was a solid good six feet complimented by a slight athletic build. A good guess at his weight would put him between 150 and 160. He exhibited all the physical traits to fit into the preppy and popular crowd; could just as easily make a name for himself as a superstar jock. Instead his inflexible parents had him handing out religious tracts. What a pity.

  “Nice talking to you, Justin, but Kelly and I have places to go, people to see.” Trish grabbed Kelly at the elbow, attempting to escort her away.

  Kelly couldn’t believe her ears. It reminded her of when Trish had ditched her at the movies. At the time she had a crush on Aloha High School’s all-state quarterback, Tommy Musgrave. She had spotted the school hunk at the front of the line purchasing tickets and flirting with the cute booth attendant.

  “I’m feeling sick,” Trish had muttere
d, her face immediately turning red as she hurried around the corner.

  Kelly knew it wasn’t the flu that had chased her off. Trish had not wanted to be seen with her. She had feared Tommy would not approve of her choice of friends. Most jocks despised the alternative and subversive peers, preferring conventional girls who pursued homecoming queen dreams.

  Once again Trish’s judgmental nature reared its head as she pulled at Kelly’s arm, trying to create distance between Justin and them.

  “Stop, Trish.” Kelly pulled free and turned to Justin. “So what are you selling anyway?”

  “Not selling. Everything is free, but you’re welcome to make a donation if you wish. I don't think anything I have would interest you.” He paused. She saw him check out her ear loaded with piercing jewelry. He also glanced at her Waking The Cadaver band shirt. His gaze fixed there for a few beats. He seemed entranced by the shredded thorny appearance of the band’s written name, as well as the macabre portrayal of a gun wielding creature and explosion of body parts.

  “You like my shirt?” she asked, trying to break his fixation.

  “Oh sure. Not so unusual though.” He reached into his book bag and pulled out a thin brochure. “This might actually interest you. Looks like you enjoy disturbing imagery. Check out the Armageddon illustrations in this. Right up your alley. Buildings collapsing, the earth cracking open, fire raining from the sky, people dying. Great stuff.”

  She laughed, snatching the brochure. “I’ll definitely give it a look through. We Goths can’t get enough death and destruction, right?”

  “Oh sure. Well, I better get back to the watchdogs.”

  “Yeah. Hey, thanks Justin.”

  He flashed an ivory smile and headed back to Pioneer Square.

  “Dear Christ, what was all that?” Trish asked, disapproval lacing her voice.

  “Give the guy a break. I know he doesn’t fit into your materialistic view of the world, but come on.”

  “You don’t necessarily fit into my view of the world either.”

  “Really? I didn’t see that coming. Finally your true colors shine through. Well go screw yourself.”

  Trish’s lip quavered. Her eyes glistened with tears. “Oh that’s super cool, Kelly. I’m leaving. I don’t really need to watch you punish yourself with another weird piercing.”

  “Punish myself?” Kelly placed her hands on her hips. “Are you really that ignorant?”

  Trish walked away, her back rigid. She called over her shoulder, “I just think there are better ways to deal with the ogre, that’s all.”

  Not knowing if she was still in earshot, Kelly yelled back, “Easy for you to say. We don’t all have June and Ward Cleaver for parents.”

  She let Trish go. Who needed her anyway? For the most part, she took solace in being alone. Her disquieting thoughts made it hard to be in the presence of others. Maybe she had more in common with Justin than simply being social outcasts. It seemed she too was an island drifting alone in a sea of crap.

  Taking along her angst, she entered the aesthetic ink parlor. She scanned the shop. Three private booths sat against the left wall. From behind the curtains she heard the buzzing bee sound of tattoo guns. A mother and daughter waited in black easy rider vinyl chairs, both emitting palpable jitters associated with first timers.

  The shop exuded cleanliness that far exceeded most tattoo parlors. She could not picture any scratchers working here. She was positive Lorenzo, the owner, would make sure anyone practicing their work in his place was up to par. It made perfect business sense and for him business was the bottom line.

  The man at the counter leafed through an issue of Entrepreneur magazine. Great. Lorenzo. She had hoped he would be working one of his other five locations.

  He recognized her, taking note of the Waking The Cadaver shirt, her spiked faux leather bracelets and vegetan Goth boots. The look he gave her was so full of blatant disdain she considered leaving. She decided to have some fun instead.

  “So, Lorenzo, I was hoping you could personally pierce me today.” She ran her tongue across her lower lip ring. “I need one in my special place. You get my drift?”

  Lorenzo tossed the magazine aside and glared at her. “You disgust me. Aren’t you William’s little pet? Go have him do your dirty work.”

  She felt the frustration of last night’s confrontation with the ogre and the recent fight with Trish forming a knot in her stomach. Her cheeks flushed. Her mind seethed.

  “William is a man of principles. He won’t pierce me because be believes piercing and tattooing should be kept separate, something a greedy hound like yourself can’t possibly understand.”

  Lorenzo picked up a terry cloth rag and began wiping the counter top. “Just go away, Kelly. It is Kelly, right?”

  “Okay loco Lorenzo, I really need this piercing. How about it? My cash is as good as the next person’s.”

  Lorenzo lifted a large sandstone paperweight, wiped under it, and sat it back down. “Like you need another piercing. I mean, look at you.”

  She flinched as the knot in her gut tightened. She hated people who presumed they knew what others needed. She needed a commemorative piercing more than anything at the moment.

  Fighting back an onslaught of tears, she clenched her fists and said, “Oh I get it. You only service jocks, cheerleaders and corporate whack jobs. Is that it? Somebody like me, though, who understands that piercing is about more than making a fashion statement is beneath you. I don’t get pierced just because it’s the cool thing to do, dorkweed. I’ve got real reasons.”

  “Still, I have the right to refuse service if I choose.”

  She longed to wipe the arrogant smirk off his face. She imagined raking her spiked bracelet across those fleshy lips. “William was right about you. You really are a sack of dung.”

  “He said that, did he? I warned him earlier today to keep his nose clean. For his sake I hope he does.”

  “Are you threatening him?”

  “What if I am? What are you going to do about it? You and your scrawny ass.”

  She heard enough. She hefted the sandstone paperweight, holding it with both hands in front of her like a baseball player preparing to throw a pitch. She imagined how good it would feel using it to pulverize Lorenzo’s nose. She would enjoy watching the blood splash his preppy green shirt and white Dockers.

  Lorenzo’s wary eyes focused on the paperweight in her hand.

  “You’re such an ass.” She spun on her heel and hurled the paperweight. The seated mother and daughter ducked and screamed in unison as the object sailed over their head, crashing through the front window. Glass shattered, sprinkling onto the sidewalk.

  She bolted, noticing with glee the terrified look coming from the Stepford mom and her revolting daughter. She ran past them into the sun bleached streets. She did not look back to see if Lorenzo pursued. Keeping her head tucked, she sprinted down the brick step benches that formed a semi-circle around the east side of Pioneer Square.

  She ran past a shocked Justin Vandermeer walking with his parents. She waved as she flew by them and up the steps leading to Starbucks. As usual, a crowd milled about with steaming cups of coffee. Even on a sunny day Portlanders couldn’t pass up a caffeine fix.

  Expecting the banshee howl of police sirens, Kelly bolted to the nearest bus stop with no interruptions. She couldn’t relax, however, until the doors swished shut and the bus turned onto Burnside, carrying her across the bridge.

  On the far side of the Willamette River, she exited just past the junction of Sandy and Burnside. Not feeling in the clear just yet, she hurried behind her favorite vegetarian restaurant and took comfort in the tree lined streets of her neighborhood.

  Her heart beat slowed and her erratic breathing returned to normal. She made a left turn, her blue Victorian house just a few doors down.

  No cop car parked on the street. That didn’t mean they weren’t stationed in the alley. She pictured a cop perched on the porch. She just couldn’t imagine Lore
nzo letting her get away with smashing his window.

  She poked her head beyond the edge of the evergreen hedge and risked a furtive peek beyond the white gouged and flaking arbor.

  “Hi Kelly.”

  “Trish?”

  Kelly didn’t know who she wanted to see least, Trish or an officer of the law. At the moment, both left a smear of distaste she longed to spit out of her mouth.

  Her friend waited on the white railed porch, exuding uncertainty and vulnerability.

  “I thought you’d be heading home already.” Kelly leaned against the unsteady arbor and sighed

  “Yeah. I was all hell bent on leaving, but then I realized what day it is.”

  Kelly felt a swell of emotion. A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed. “You remembered?”

  “Of course. You going to be okay? I just wanted to make sure. If you’re still pissed…”

  “Aren’t you still pissed?” Kelly turned her face into the crook of her arm, hiding her struggle for composure.

  “I don’t know. I mean, no. Back there what happened was just stupid. I guess I want to, you know, apologize.”

  The levee restraining Kelly’s feelings broke. Sobs and tears quivered her body. Her knees buckled. She clutched the arbor, trusting the rickety structure to give much needed support.

  “Kelly, I’m so sorry,” Trish said in a hushed voice. “Not just about what happened outside Fashion Tattoos, but you know, your mom and all.”

  Kelly nodded, her face still buried in the crook of her arm. She looked up, hearing Trish’s footfalls on the creaking porch steps. As much as she wanted to rail against Trish’s sympathies, she couldn’t.

  No man is an island.

  With the tenderness of a nurturing mother, Trish pulled Kelly’s arm away from her nesting head. She stretched it out and gently rubbed her fingers up and down the four large diagonal scars marring her forearm.

  “Do they hurt, like before?”

  “Every year,” Kelly said through sniffles. The scars were a visible memorial to her mother’s untimely death. Two days after the metastasizing tumor claimed her mom’s life, the tornado of emotions became unendurable. At the time, the only way she could think to cope was to take a kitchen knife to her pain, carve it out in a furious round of cutting. Each following year, on October 23, the scars flamed to life.