Ten Open Graves: A Collection of Supernatural Horror

by David Wood

  “I’ve got to get home but I don’t want to leave you.”

  “Go. Please. Nothing will be gained by putting yourself in danger.” Kelly took a look at Trish’s Trailblazer jersey and pink Nike shoes and realized Trish was not equipped for the madness of the Perforators. She had already beaten the odds once by surviving the Puddle Town incident with her mental faculties intact. Kelly was willing to wager she would not be as lucky a second time around.

  “Okay. I’m afraid you’re on your own.” Trish went to the bed, wiping a tear from her eye. She wrapped her arms around Kelly in a bear hug. “Be careful.”

  They separated and Trish went to the bedroom door. Before leaving, she glanced back over her shoulder. “Promise me one thing.”

  “Depends what it is.”

  “I know I can’t help you and I feel bad enough about that. I think William can, though. Promise me you won’t do this alone. Get the tat man over here to fight with you. You said his tats are all black magic, right? Well, the more weapons the better your odds.”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise me.”

  “Okay. I promise.”

  Trish pointed a finger in Kelly’s direction. “Good. Call me as soon as this is all over.”

  “I will. Bye Trish.”

  Trish disappeared out the door and Kelly listened to the creaking stairs as she descended to the lower floor. She felt remorse. This was possibly the last time she would ever see her friend and she had ended their conversation on a lie. She had no intentions of involving William. This was her fight and her fight alone.

  Chapter 22: Absence Makes The Heart Ache Stronger

  William perched precariously on the edge of a breakdown. He sat at his illustrated desk cursing the cold artificial light of the fluorescents. He much preferred the natural light from the sun, but a seasonal thick gloom of clouds and fog blanketed the city.

  He looked across the room towards the entrance. Almost noon and he still hadn’t flipped the CLOSED sign to OPEN.

  Reaching into the drawer he pulled out the Woodford Reserve and took a couple swigs. The liquor burned its way down his throat and warmed his stomach.

  He needed a break in a huge way, but not just from the parade of wannabes who requested little blip tats for the most superficial reasons. He also needed relief from frequent bouts of paranoia. Recently he had spent many restless nights at Inkenstein. When he wasn’t suffering Sleep Crusher attacks he had the foreboding feeling of being watched, as if something had hunkered down in the shadows of the ink parlor, patiently waiting as a hunter waits for a buck to enter the crosshairs.

  “Show yourself you filthy cowards!” William screamed. He took a swig from the Woodford Reserve flask. Whatever he thought was haunting his shop remained concealed, biding its time, tormenting him with the hint of its presence.

  Paranoia the destroyer! William now had a full grasp of the meaning behind those lyrics. He’d experienced mild marijuana induced paranoia in the past, but the paranoia he now felt threatened to unravel his sanity.

  Time to check into the closest mental sanatorium. He followed that thought with another lengthy swig of bourbon.

  A week had passed since Kelly’s phone call, adding another bullet point to the long list of excuses causing his mental debilitation. He tried calling her several times and received no answer. Visiting her house crossed his mind, but he realized he had never bothered to find out her exact address. Their relationship had mostly been limited to hanging out at Inkenstein.

  William had heard the phrase ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’. The Roman poet who originated that line had not taken guilt into account. Factor guilt into the equation and you’re left with ‘absence makes the heart ache stronger’.

  These days, he experienced more guilt than the illegitimate son of a Catholic priest. Every day that passed without news from Kelly felt as if somebody had hammered a railroad spike through his heart.

  Stale tainted air from the baseboard heaters, coupled with the smell of disinfectant and ink, made his head reel. Hoping to clear the dizziness, he exited the ink parlor and welcomed the biting chill of the December air out on Second Avenue.

  He leaned against the shop window, just to the side of the green Inkenstein beast. He pocketed the Woodford flask. It wouldn’t do his business any good to be caught in public taking sips of bourbon.

  Rolling up the sleeves of his Inkenstein denim jacket, he took a long look at his forearms. The Maltese Knight and the Ouroboros tattoos sat in their respective positions, one on each arm. Try as he might, he couldn’t unlock their secrets. He prayed Kelly fared better.

  A figure approached, wearing a black wool trench coat.

  “Hey, Tat Man. I was just coming to see you.”

  “Well here I am,” William said, scrutinizing the kid. The boy looked in his late teens. Despite the cold, he wore no hat and his close cropped ash brown hair glistened from the misty air. The knot of a midnight blue necktie speckled with snowflakes stuck out of the unzipped area near the top of his coat.

  What was up with the outdated threads? He looked like a member from the dying breed of door to door vacuum salesmen or bible thumpers.

  “Thanks for the tat. I love it.”

  “Which one?” William asked, racking his brain for a clue to the kid’s identity.

  “Blue Oyster Cult. Smashing.”

  “Oh yeah. Good tattoo. I remember. The cross with the upside down question mark.”

  The All-American boy nodded. “I’ve showed some of my church buddies, only the ones I can trust. My church Elders would flip if they saw it. After all, the bible forbids tattooing.”

  “It does? I’ve never heard that and I was raised Catholic.”

  “Hate to say it but most of you Catholics don’t know your bible.”

  William laughed. “And you do?”

  “Leviticus 19:28. ‘Do not cut your bodies for the dead or put tattoo marks on yourselves. I am Adonai’.”

  “Adonai?”

  “Most bible translations would read ‘Jehovah’ or simply ‘Lord’. But we use our own translation.”

  “Cripes, kid. You’re from another galaxy.”

  The boy’s enthusiasm deflated. He bowed his head, dejected. “Yeah, so I’ve been told.”

  “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. You know, my friend Kelly spoke fondly of you and she’s an exceptional person. She doesn’t fit the norm either. For that matter neither do I. Being different is a good thing.”

  “Really?” The boy seemed genuinely pleased that Kelly had mentioned him in a favorable light. “Kelly’s cool. That’s the reason I came to see you. She hasn’t been at school at all last month and she never returns my phone calls. Have you seen her lately?”

  William’s lip quivered and he turned away. “Nope. I’m afraid I’m of no help in that department. I’ve been wondering the same myself.”

  “I wonder where she could be.”

  William did not want to drag this innocent bystander into the insanity of his hunches. “Tell you what. Leave me your phone number and if I hear anything I’ll give you a ring.”

  “Yeah. I’d appreciate that.” The kid rattled off his digits and William concentrated on committing them to memory. “Promise you’ll call if you hear something?”

  “Promise. Hey, what was your name again?”

  “Justin Vandermeer. William, right? Well it was good seeing you again.”

  William watched the boy turn the corner. A feeling of nostalgia descended. He remembered the religious tract Kelly had given him, published by Justin’s religious group. She had been intrigued with the art, telling him the Armageddon depictions might inspire new flash designs to draw on his wall. It was just like her to gravitate to art created by an obscure apocalypse cult. That was Kelly in a nut shell. She had a multitude of layers, making her all the more fascinating.

  Oh, how he missed her. She was gone, possibly lost for good because of his ineffectiveness. The thought heaped on more self-blame, mor
e guilt.

  He couldn’t deny it. Absence does make the heart ache stronger.

  Chapter 23: Final Stands

  The skin on her breast bone itched. Kelly looked in the dresser mirror, lifting the black blouse. The head had slithered another couple inches, resting just above her sternum. It was progressing at a faster rate, covering as much territory in the past hour as it had in days.

  Irritated flesh marked the dragon’s path, the red skin leading like a marked trail back to the laser treated patch of skin where the faint, almost invisible image of the circular Ouroboros still remained. Kelly grimaced. She couldn’t wait for this to end.

  A little over a week had passed since her phone conversation with Willy and the ensuing goodbye with Trish. At first she had struggled over an excuse to explain her prolonged absence to Alma. However, she couldn’t come up with any realistic explanations that didn’t involve the truth.

  Turned out she didn’t have to worry. The ogre had not come home any of the nights since her return. Maybe he had shacked up at another woman’s house. Maybe he had keeled over in an alley from siroccos of the liver. Maybe he had been crushed by a falling tree; one of the job hazards associated with logging.

  Whatever the reason for his absence, Kelly delighted in having the place to herself. The fact the Perforators had not found her yet added to her delight. They would find her eventually. They always did.

  Looking at the flicking dragon tongue on her sternum she knew she had to hatch a plan sooner than later. The creepy dream of the tattoo munching on her heart still tormented her every night.

  She thought back to her conversation with Willy. He had suggested that the tat might be looking for a way off of her skin. It was the closest thing to real advice she had managed to pry out of him. Building upon that notion, an idea began to form.

  Excited to have some sort of strategy, she put on her vegetan jacket and boots. She entered the hall, glancing through the open door of her stepfather’s bedroom; empty, as it had been all week.

  She reflected on the cold and empty demeanor the house had adopted since her mother’s death. Should she survive the upcoming encounter with the Perforators she would leave this place and find a home conducive to healing, somewhere where she could forget the past and start anew.

  Kelly took the stairs two at a time. On the main floor she stopped in the kitchen. She heated two slices of leftover pizza in the microwave, removing the greasy slices of pepperoni.

  The food filled the void of her hunger. As the last bit of oily crust slid down her throat she heard the front door open.

  Startled, she jumped off the counter stool, threw the back door open and ran onto the rain slick cedar deck. Her black boots failed to find traction. She slipped and slid into the patio furniture with a loud crash, landing on her ass.

  Her mind panicked. Surely the Perforators had heard her clumsy fall. They would be upon her in seconds. She thought about her only defense, the Ouroboros. As she sat on the wet deck with her legs entangled in a toppled folding chair she focused on the black magic ink, pleading for its protection.

  “Kelly?”

  The voice sounded familiar; not the Perforators. She should have known. She had heard the front door open. The pierced wraiths never opened doors. They floated right through them.

  As the realization set in she groaned. She didn’t know which was worse, battling the wraiths or encountering her stepfather.

  Alma took a hesitant step out the back door. He looked a mess standing there with his usually tousled hair plastered to his head by driving rain. Mud stains smeared his Hanes T-shirt and lumps of sodden earth clogged the soles of his logging boots. Obviously, he had suffered through another rough day of logging in the rain.

  He moved in slow steps as if any sudden movement would dissipate the mirage he saw as his daughter. He righted the lawn chair and sat down, not offering to help Kelly to her feet.

  “You’re back.” He reached out a calloused hand and touched her cheek, confirming that she was more than a wishful vision. “You look different. You cut your hair. And what’s up with your Gothic Lolita look? It’s harsher. I like it even less now.”

  Kelly didn’t answer. She couldn’t even get to her feet. She sat on the wet cedar, cowering at the ogre’s feet.

  “I said I don’t like the new look, Kelly.”

  She kept her head down. “I don’t care.”

  “So that’s how it’s going to be. You never did care about what I wanted, or needed, did you?”

  “No. And I never will.”

  Alma sneered. “All I want is a normal child. One that wears the cute flower print dresses you used to wear to church. What ever happened to that sweet little girl?”

  “Screw you.”

  “How brutal. You disappear for a month and then have the audacity to talk to me like that.”

  Kelly summoned the nerve to look up at her stepfather’s leering face. “Don’t turn this around on me.”

  “Okay, let’s just back up a moment. What I’m trying to say is that I missed you. After losing mom I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you too.”

  Kelly saw a hint of remorse flash in his eyes. It was far too late for sympathies. She refused to give him an inch. “How convenient for you to say after all you’ve done to screw up my life.”

  Alma’s face contorted and his eyes narrowed. “For god’s sakes it hasn’t been exactly a cake walk for me either. Losing mom has left its mark. I’m doing the best I can.”

  Doing the best he can? Kelly wasn’t buying the same tired excuse every deficient parent uses when confronted by an angry child.

  “If you really want what’s best for me just stay away. Keep out of my life.” Kelly surprised herself with the sudden boldness. She refused to live in fear of the pathetic ogre any longer. She had survived imprisonment on a living tower of flesh and battled pierced wraiths. What could her poor excuse of a dad possibly do to top that?

  Breathing a lungful of the wet Oregon air, she made a move to get to her feet. Alma thrust out a hand, pushing down on her shoulder to keep her in a subservient position. His eyes filled with hatred.

  “Don’t do it!” Kelly said, directing a frigid stare in his direction.

  Alma looked at her warily as if trying to figure out to what degree his generally

  compliant daughter had transformed. His aggressiveness went flaccid like a rose withering in desert heat.

  “I don’t know what’s happened to you but I don’t like it.” He removed his hand.

  Kelly stood, squaring her shoulders. “What’s happened is that I’m finally not letting my fear of you mask what an asshole you truly are.” She scrunched her eyes.

  “What’s with the look? You threatening me?” Any brief period of regret he might have felt surrendered to rage. Rain dripped off his face. His nostrils flared.

  “Don’t do it.”

  Alma didn’t listen. He lashed out with a logging boot and struck her in the knee.

  Kelly collapsed to the wet deck, grabbing her leg. She threw her hands protectively around her head, bracing for the next blow. It never came. She heard the stomp of Alma’s boots as he stormed away. The door to the house slammed behind him, leaving Kelly curled into herself on the soaked wood.

  The rain slowed to a tolerable drizzle. She made no move to get out of the dampness. She lay with her face touching the deck, thinking she was now quite capable of committing murder. She had restrained Willy’s desire to do so weeks ago but regretted it now. The ogre would never change. He would always be a beast and as with any animal that bites the hand of a human, he must be put down.

  Itching skin claimed her attention. She reached under the collar of her fake leather jacket and scratched an area near the top of her left breast. The Ouroboros had progressed another few centimeters.

  Knowing time was of the essence, she made her way across the wet grassy yard.

  She had just taken a firm stand with her dad, but there were bigger stands soon to come.


  Chapter 24: Removal

  A yellow painted pre-fabricated storage shed had been constructed in the west corner of the back yard, next to a barren apple tree whose late autumn produce had been reduced to a handful of fruit rotting on the wet ground. Kelly kicked through the apples littering the grass, wincing as a bolt of fiery pain shot through her damaged knee.

  She cursed Alma under her breath and entered the small shed. She had taken too many blows recently. His reign of terror would soon end.

  An extension cord leading from the top corner of the nearby garage ran through a hole drilled near the roof of the shed. The cord led to a portable light hanging from the center beam of the ceiling. She pushed the button on the handle to activate the light.

  A lawnmower, rusting tool chests, abandoned lawn chairs, camping equipment and other riffraff made it nearly impossible to stand within the crammed vinyl storage structure. It took several minutes of digging through the assorted junk until she found what she was looking for.

  Kelly pulled the compact portable camp grill from beneath a metal ice chest. Though the rain had slowed to a drizzle, she didn’t want to be outside. She removed a bunch of objects out of the shed, depositing them just beyond the entrance, creating enough room to set up the grill on the ice chest. She grabbed a small propane tank and screwed it onto the grill. She depressed the button, hearing the click and release of gas. A bright blue flame shot out of the burner.

  It might be trying to figure out a way to get off your skin.

  Kelly’s slim hopes hung on those words. She prayed silly Willy was right. She removed her jacket and pulled down the collar of her black blouse. The head of the encroaching dragon had curled onto her left breast. The black tongue flicked in and out.

  What was the matter with the stupid tat? Couldn’t it find its own way off of her body? Did it need a little assistance?

  She looked for a sharp tool. She found a hacksaw half eaten away by rust. No good. The camp grill flame would not effectively sterilize it. No sense giving herself tetanus.