Ten Open Graves: A Collection of Supernatural Horror

by David Wood

  The itching drew her attention back to the tattoo. She brought her forearm to within a few inches of her eyes. Whereas a short while ago only the head had poked through, now she could see a couple millimeters of the scaly neck sticking out of the laser treated patch of skin. The Ouroboros was still on the move, an ominous warning that her nightmare or prophecy might be coming true.

  Disgusted, she slipped her arm into the faux leather jacket. She passed by the coffee house window and caught her image in the reflection. Speaking of nightmares, she looked the living incarnation of one. The scars from all the torn out chains and hooks had collapsed, leaving pock marks across her face. The numerous piercings surrounding the scars lent them an air of authenticity.

  Not looking away from her haggard reflection, she wondered if it was time to ditch the Gothic Lolita outfit. The six inch chains dangling from her faux leather jacket seemed a little conspicuous for somebody trying to keep a low profile; not to mention her cropped hair and cadaver lipstick.

  Though it probably would be the wiser course, she couldn’t abandon her signature look. She remembered all the times the outfit had stymied her stepfather’s seedy compulsions. Plus, the additions of the chains commemorated the torment she had endured in the Shadowed Forest. With nobody to comfort her on the streets, Gothic Lolita proved to be her best companion.

  She waltzed out into the rain, her senses enlivened by the jolt of caffeine and the fact that she wore her dark outfit with pride. She passed a young man hand trucking kegs of beer into a restaurant. She tried to gain eye contact, but the vendor had his head bent to avoid the rain. He wheeled the kegs past her and into the restaurant, not even giving her a cursory glance.

  Kelly walked a little farther down the block and saw a lady in a beige overcoat shut the door of a taxi cab and open an umbrella. Kelly smiled, but the woman brushed by her, splashing through puddles on her way to a business meeting or lunch.

  Thinking it silly that she had just designated Gothic Lolita as her best companion, she had a sudden urge for human contact, even if it was only a meeting of the eyes or a smile reciprocated. She wanted to connect with humanity to prove she still existed in a reality that didn’t involve being chased by static-eyed wraiths or being harassed by tattoos that crawled on people’s flesh.

  Around the corner, she encountered a homeless man shambling down the street in a mud stained rain jacket and boots. Ripped strips of leather flapped from the worn boots as he walked. His crazed eyes met Kelly’s and they exchanged smiles. That simple contact, even from a derelict, gave her comfort and anchored her for the time being. It also triggered a memory.

  Last year she had done a report on community living for a class project and used Dignity Village as her subject. Dignity Village was a self-sustaining community of homeless people determined to improve their lives. Kelly had received permission to visit the tent city through its regulatory board and had been astounded at what the group of sixty or more had accomplished. Through charity and other resources they had managed to build several permanent living shelters and on the grounds there existed a communal kitchen, showers, a library, television and even a computer. A true sense of pride, lacking in most tent cities, abounded in Dignity Village.

  The shanty town thriving near the international airport would give her a place to hide from the pierced wraiths while supplying her with the human contact she needed to keep her sanity intact. Encouraged by the plan, she headed for the closest bus stop.

  As she passed a gas station on Burnside the drizzling showers turned into buckets of rain. She had lived in Portland all her life and thought she had seen the worst the weather could deliver. However, this deluge topped them all. The rain dumped on her as if she stood underneath Multnomah Falls.

  With the torrential downpour beating on her head, Kelly reached the bus stop. A stream of water cascaded off the bench so she chose to stand, lifting her fake leather jacket over her head as a makeshift umbrella. The roar of the driving rain muted all sounds and Kelly almost missed the hiss of air as the bus doors swung open. She boarded, shaking off water like a wet dog.

  A small number of passengers sat dripping water onto the rubber matted floors. She attempted to make eye contact as she wandered down the aisle, looking for a semi-dry seat. People looked up, gave her a quick glance and turned back to their paperbacks, iPods and laptops. The heavy rains had soured everyone’s mood. Nobody was generous enough to grant her a smile.

  She found a seat towards the back of the bus. She plopped down and sighed. An intense emotional weight landed on her, making her want to curl up into a ball. Her lip quivered as she fought back tears. She didn’t want to run anymore, didn’t want to continue living her life like a prey animal.

  She looked out the water blurred windows as the bus growled its way across the Burnside Bridge. Her resolve to seek shelter in Dignity Village wavered as she sat and shivered. By the time they crossed over the Willamette River her determination hit a brick wall.

  Before the driver turned towards the I-5 ramp, Kelly hollered at him to stop. She stepped off, relieved to see the rain lighten into an average autumn shower. She put on her jacket and passed a convenience store next to an adult fantasy shop. She walked to the top of the rise where Burnside and Sandy Boulevard crossed. She followed Burnside a little ways more then headed into the residential streets.

  It felt good to be returning home. She knew the risks, but the time had come for resolution. She would no longer hide in seedy hotels, greasy cafes and espresso shops. She would no longer hop from one place to the next, too frightened to stay put for any length of time lest her unearthly pursuers catch wind of her trail. It had to stop.

  She desired what little comforts her troubled home offered, even if it proved temporary. She would lie in her own bed, take a shower in her own bathroom and maybe the familiarity of her surroundings would sooth her tail spinning mind enough to figure out William’s black magic tattoo. If she could unlock its secret maybe she could put up a fight. If not, she would face whatever came, even if it meant fighting to her death. She craved resolution, one way or the other.

  She turned onto a maple lined street and saw her blue Victorian house a few doors down. She passed the evergreen hedge and turned through the arbor marking the path to her house.

  Kelly came to an abrupt halt. A figure slouched in the wicker chair on the porch. The hooded person sat with his or her legs drawn up on the chair, arms wrapped around the knees, head leaning forward as if asleep. She couldn’t see the face beyond the hood.

  “Hello?” No response. Bile rose in her throat. She had a bad feeling. She turned to walk away.

  “Hey!”

  Kelly spun back around and saw the figure pull back the hood of the rain parka.

  “Hey Kelly, it’s me.”

  “Trish?” She couldn’t believe it. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  “Sorry. I’ve been coming here for days after school. I sit here for hours hoping you’ll show. I didn’t know what happened to you. I keep thinking about those awful things we saw.”

  Kelly felt a lump form in her throat. She walked up the creaky porch steps. “I’m surprised you want anything to do with me after the scare you got at Puddle Town.”

  “Oh, I’m still going to kick your butt for that one. You can count on it.”

  Kelly felt the strain of the past weeks welling up inside. She stared at Trish.

  “What?” Trish asked, her black Honduran hair matted to her head from the hood of the parka.

  “You’re an angel, you know that?” Kelly answered. Everything about Trish clashed with Kelly; her Gap fashion, her suburban ideals, her naivety. Despite all that, she had cared enough to camp out on her porch every day, waiting to see if Kelly needed help; an angel indeed.

  “Oh Trish,” Kelly said, running forward, arms outstretched. “So good to see you.” A torrent of tears equal to the day’s earlier rain deluge broke loose. She collapsed in Trish’s arms and cried. It felt so good to just cry. />
  Chapter 20: Phone Call

  William had trouble concentrating on the task at hand. He could feel the importance and enthusiasm radiating from his client, but for William she was just another lovesick teen getting the name of her adored one permanently stained on her abdomen. His mind had more disquieting thoughts to ponder.

  November had practically come to an end and Kelly’s missing person act still resided at the top of his list of worries. Over three weeks and no word. His guts constantly ached at the thought of the Perforators and their relentless pursuit of Kelly. How much of a chance did she really have? Even armed with the Ouroboros tattoo the odds still favored the Shadowed Forest wraiths.

  “Ouch!” the girl reclining in the patient’s chair yelped. Her abdominal muscles constricted.

  “Sorry,” William said. “Went a little too deep. Won’t happen again.”

  “No problem.” The girl smiled and let her head fall back against the headrest. Her eyes regressed back to a dreamy state, thinking about her beau.

  William’s mind wandered back to his recent failures. His attempt to get a white magic tattoo at the herb shop had been dismal. His black magic tattoos, besides the occasional itching, remained as dormant as the sleeping volcanoes in the Cascade Mountains. Even if he could use their power what good would it do? He had no clue as to Kelly’s whereabouts.

  If she was gone for good, he did not know how he would endure. He feared filling the emptiness with vengeance, especially against the man who had driven her to the edge. After all, Alma’s inflicted pain had been the driving force behind her desire to pierce through.

  William had already run the gamut of vengeful fantasies, but the one that delighted him most involved his love for tattooing. He pictured Alma strapped to the reclining patient’s chair. A tattoo gun rigged with highly concentrated hydrochloric acid in place of ink would be his weapon of choice. He would acid ink every millimeter of Alma’s flesh from head to toe. The ogre’s cries of agony would only punctuate William’s revenge.

  “Ouch! You promised.” The girl lifted her head and looked at her belly where the letters B and I had been inked in medieval font. “Only three letters to go and I’ll have my Billy on my belly forever.”

  “Yeah, we’re almost half way there,” William said, fighting an urge to ridicule her adolescent sentiments. Billy on her belly? It sounded so stupid. Oh how he missed Kelly’s sarcasm and wit.

  The cell phone on the illustrated desk chirped.

  “Excuse me one sec,” William said. He flipped the phone open. “Inkenstein. How may I help you?”

  “Can you talk?” Kelly asked, her voice breathy.

  “My god, so nice to hear from you. I thought you were dead, or trapped back on that horrible tower you spoke of. Where are you?”

  “I don’t have a lot of time.”

  William moved to the privacy of the rear hallway, out of earshot from his lovesick customer. “Are you still running?”

  “Can’t shake them no matter how hard I try.”

  “What about the tat?”

  Kelly hesitated, drew in a sharp breath and said, “That’s what I called about. The circle snake is no longer a circle. I swear it’s moving up my arm. What in god’s name did you do to me?”

  William smiled. “Sounds like it might be working. Great.”

  “What’s working? What am I supposed to do?”

  “Look, I really can’t tell you. These black magic tattoos only work through self discovery. All I can tell you is it will work. Remember after I inked you and then helped you escape into the alley? Well, I came face to face with the wraiths and I don’t know how it happened but my tats chased them away.”

  “Might as well be speaking in tongues for all the sense you’re making.”

  “I know. I haven’t really figured any of this out. You said yours is moving up your arm. More than I can say about mine. Must be a sign. Of what I don’t know.”

  “Great. First you give me the stupid tattoo and then you tell me you haven’t a clue how it works. What am I supposed to do?”

  He could sense the hysteria in her voice. “Just follow your instincts. Maybe the Ouroboros wants to be set free. It might be trying to figure out a way to get off your skin.”

  “Or maybe it wants to work its way towards my heart and take a nice big juicy bite. Did you think of that before you inked it on me?”

  William discerned a bitter tone in her voice. “Hey, I did my best. I’m sure the tat is getting ready to assist you somehow. They’re not meant to harm their owners.”

  “I hope you’re right. I feel this is my last chance. I can’t keep running from these wraiths forever.”

  “The Perforators?”

  “What?”

  “I call them Perforators. You know how they penetrate your flesh with pricks and static, trying to possess you.”

  “Hmm. Fitting name I suppose. Anyway, I’m going to make my last stand soon; victory or death.”

  “Hey, why don’t you come by the shop? We’ll do it together; Kelly Sage and William Hendricks’ last stand.”

  A long pause followed. He thought he heard a sob or two. If she was crying, she quickly regained composure.

  “I can’t involve you,” she said, her voice hushed to a near whisper. “I practically twisted your arm to help me pierce through. I’m not putting you in danger again. That’s final.”

  He balled his free hand into a fist. “Don’t do this, Kelly. Come to the shop. It’ll even the odds. Two against two.”

  She burst into tears that crackled and hissed through the tiny cell phone speaker. William pulled the phone away from his ear. He waited for a response.

  “Kelly?”

  “Wish me luck, silly Willy. Goodbye.” The phone went dead.

  “Damn it!” He slammed his fist against the wall. He pulled her number up to the tiny cell phone screen and hit the call button. His call went straight to voice mail. She had already turned off her phone.

  He pulled up the sleeve of his Inkenstein denim jacket, exposing the beautiful inking of Mother Mary clasping her hands in supplication. Although raised Catholic, he had never made room for prayer and even in this most desperate of times, he could not bring himself to invoke the higher powers of the religious institutions.

  Instead, he kissed the middle and forefinger of his right hand then delicately touched Mother Mary with the two fingers. It was the best he could do.

  Chapter 21: Goodbye

  “He doesn’t know anything. Some help he is.” Kelly turned the cell phone off and tossed it to the side. She fell back on the red bedspread with an exasperated sigh.

  Trish sat at the foot of the bed, massaging Kelly’s feet.

  “You don’t have to do that. Feet are so gross.”

  Trish laughed. “Your feet don’t smell nearly as bad as the rest of you.”

  “Not funny. I can’t help it. I don’t know what is going on anymore.”

  “So William was of no help? What are you going to do? Do you really think those black magic tattoos work?”

  “I don’t know.” She let out another heavy sigh, rubbing her tired burning eyes. “All I know is that I’m in a real fix.”

  Trish ran a thumb up the arch of Kelly’s left foot. “You must have some idea.”

  “I’m going to end it one way or the other the next time those Perforators show their ugly faces.” Kelly sat up and pulled down the corner of her black blouse, exposing her collarbone. “Look. It keeps moving.”

  Trish crawled on her hands and knees up the bed to get a close look. “Yeah. You’re right.”

  The Ouroboros tat had moved off her forearm. Three-quarters of the scaly dragon’s body now perched on her upper bicep. The other quarter, including the macabre head with its tongue flicking in and out had curled around to the skin below her collarbone and just above the start of her right breast. Creepy how the tongue darted out of the mouth the way a cat licks its lips before diving into a can of tuna. The Ouroboros couldn’t wait to s
ink it’s fangs into the meaty flesh of her heart.

  “What is this, seriously?”

  Trish shrugged, her face frowning. “Look, Kelly, I’m glad you’re okay and all but…”

  “I know. Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t planning on you being here in the first place. I was glad to see you sitting on the porch, but I’m definitely going to have to finish this myself. I won’t put my friends in danger.”

  “You still haven’t told me how you plan to fight them.”

  “Because I don’t know. I’ll just hang out here until they find me. Then I’ll hope to heaven William knew what he was doing. I’m just going to lay it all on the line and hope for the best.”

  Trish stared at Kelly with her big Honduran eyes. Guilt swirled in the brown pupils. Kelly placed a reassuring hand on Trish’s cheek.

  “Don’t work yourself up about this. I don’t expect you to fight for me. I brought this on myself.”

  Trish bit her lower lip and nodded. “Sure. But...”

  “Hey, this is what I get for kissing the hand of the devil.”

  Trish laughed. “Thought you didn’t believe in the devil.”

  “Maybe I do now after all I’ve been through.”

  Trish looked over the edge of the bed to the swirling dark patterns of the area rug. She pointed at the gold pentacle in the center. “If you now believe in the devil why do you still have that?”

  Kelly looked at Trish, a twinkle in her eye. “Because even if I really did believe in him I’ve already seen the worst he can do, or so I hope. I’ll get through it. I’m a fighter.”

  Trish left the bed and sauntered to the edge of the room, looking out of the second-floor window at the gloom of clouds blanketing the sky. Her shoulders tensed up.

  “What’s wrong?”