Ten Open Graves: A Collection of Supernatural Horror

by David Wood

  Please. For the love of god he prayed somebody would come in before he got drunk enough to do it. Please. Anybody.

  Nobody answered his plea. No customers came to get inked.

  No sense prolonging the inevitable. Time to stop being a coward and do what he should have done weeks ago.

  Stumbling like a hopeless drunk, he carried the drill and scalpel towards the back hallway.

  An intense wave of vertigo almost pitched him over. He steadied himself by leaning his shoulder against the nearest wall. Through the bourbon dementia he tried to reason with his mind, but his thoughts focused on one phrase, a phrase he was sure he had recently heard in a political platform speech.

  Just drill baby.

  He righted himself and steered his body in the direction of the bathroom.

  Just drill baby. Just drill.

  His hands sweated. His chest heaved. He felt short of breath, but focused on getting to the bathroom. Once there he would have to figure out some way to attach the drill to the ceiling as Kelly’s adored Apostle Peter had.

  Before he progressed too far down the hall, the entrance bell jingled. He spun around. A customer? Drilling bore-holes on his skull would have to wait.

  The man who entered the ink parlor moved in a frantic manner. He darted through the entrance and turned to push the glass door shut. His hands fumbled with the lock.

  “How do you lock this thing?” the man screamed, his voice laden with hysteria. Before William could answer, the stranger figured it out. Having locked the door he turned on his heels to confront William. He looked crazed, a man straddling the fringe of lunacy.

  William hesitated. Premonitions fluttered in his gut. The man looked capable of doing harm. Mist plastered his sparse disheveled hair to his forehead. Water, or sweat, beaded on his nose and cheeks, dripping off his unshaven chin. His narrowed eyes wept fear.

  “Don’t stand there you stupid jackass,” the stranger yelled. “We haven’t much time.”

  William took cautious steps towards the illustrated desk. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  The man flicked a wet strand of hair off his forehead. “We’re both about to die and you want to waste time with introductions.”

  “Look, man. I don’t know you from Adam and you come barging into my shop like a psycho. Forgive me but I’d like to know who you are and why I shouldn’t kick you out of my shop.”

  The man waved his hands in resignation while looking out the front windows. “Fine. It’s your place, your rules. I’m Alma. Don’t bother introducing yourself. I already know all about you.”

  William felt an immediate flash of anger. He lifted the gleaming scalpel in his right hand and triggered the drill with his left hand.

  Alma flinched at the whine of the drill. “What’s this?”

  “The funny thing is I know all about you also. You missing your little Goth Lolita?”

  He watched Alma’s eyes widen in surprise. “What do you know about that?”

  “Everything you sick perv. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t perforate your body with drill holes.”

  “Kill me and you’ll only have a bigger problem to deal with. That thing is not far behind. Once it gets here you’ll want help defending yourself. Believe me.”

  The ogre’s strange talk reminded William of their earlier phone conversation. He felt his bowels ache with dread. What if Alma wasn’t crazy after all? The image of two Perforators flashed in his mind’s eye like a warning.

  “Oh no!” he said. He didn’t care what happened to Alma. Let the Perforators have their fun with him. William, however, wasn’t about to stick around for the festivities.

  Before he could run a burst of power entered the shop, blowing out the front windows and overturning equipment trays. He ducked behind the desk to avoid flying shards of broken glass and tattooing needles.

  Jesus. What happened to floating through windows and doors?

  This new tactic alarmed William more. He cowered next to the office chair, his panicked mind trying to formulate a plan. He looked at the drill and scalpel in his hands; not the best weapons of defense against the pierced villains. He tossed them to the floor.

  Alma came around the desk, crouching down to look William in the eyes. His lips quivered. “What are we going to do?” Tiny glass fragments had embedded in his flesh, mimicking barbaric forms of piercing. A tattoo needle had lodged in his neck.

  “What are we going to do?” Alma repeated, shaking William by the shoulders.

  “Back off you lunatic.” William slapped the ogre’s hands away. “I’m as clueless as you.”

  “Oh no you’re not. You’re responsible for Kelly’s disappearance and you’re responsible for that thing that hunts me. I can’t keep running from it. Do something.”

  Kelly had said the same thing. The Perforators were relentless, untiring in their pursuit. Plus, they seemed highly aggravated at the moment. They had set aside their usual stoic approach in favor of a more theatrical entrance. William heard equipment slamming into the walls, stainless steel trays being overturned and furniture scattering across the floor.

  No sense cowering like a sniveling coward. William prepared to match their bravado. He begged his black magic tattoos to join the cause, doubting they would. True to form, they remained as silent as pictures in a magazine.

  He sucked down a couple deep breaths and stepped out from behind the desk. His mouth dropped open. He stared in awe at the beast flinging itself around the room. It looked ten feet in length, its girth eating up a lot of space in the small ink parlor.

  William crouched low as a large scaly tail passed over his head. So much for Perforators. This was an entirely different sort of creature. He watched the dragon head shoot forward and tear a large section of flash designs from the wall with its fangs.

  As he watched the beast damage his shop, a sense of pride enveloped him. He stared after the serpentine creature with the adoration of a mother fondly gazing upon a newborn infant. In many ways he was the mother of the floating miracle wreaking devastation in his shop. After all he had been the one to needle the design on Kelly’s arm. He had been the one to infuse the ink with blood stolen from the herb shop. This was his baby and he stepped forward, full of admiration.

  The Ouroboros swooped low and opened its mouth wide. Beyond the dripping fangs William caught sight of dark ooze swirling in the serpent’s gullet. It smelled like blood and ink. The dark substance crackled and hissed like magma.

  Recoiling in fear, he managed to lunge out of the way as the dragon’s mouth snapped shut, almost taking off his head. Apparently the Ouroboros was hell-bent on committing patricide.

  William ducked back behind the desk. Alma groveled in fear. He clutched at William with squirming fingers.

  “You did this, didn’t you?” the ogre screeched. “Where the hell is Kelly? Did you sick this thing on her too?”

  “Shut up. Let me think.”

  “Think? You have to think about it? So you don’t know what to do anymore than I do. Stupid jerk.”

  Ignoring the insult, William wondered what the presence of the Ouroboros meant in relation to Kelly. She must have discovered a way to activate the tattoo, something he repeatedly failed to do with his own tats. But why was it in his shop chasing Alma? Why wasn’t it protecting her from the Perforators?

  William peeked around the edge of the desk just as the beast swung its tail with enough power to send the desk hurtling to the other side of the room.

  With nothing to hide behind, William and Alma found themselves exposed to the full wrath of the Ouroboros. It roared and the stench of blood and ink washed over both of them. However it didn’t attack. Hovering above its prey, it curled into a circle and bit its tail, adopting the classic Ouroboros pose.

  The serpent devouring its own tail. The cycle of life. One life ends, another begins.

  “What does it want?” Alma screeched.

  “Beats me. Go ahead and ask it. I dare you.”

 
Both men watched the beast floating in front of them. Why didn’t it attack? It kept its unblinking eye fixed on them as if it waited for a response or signal.

  He wondered if this was Kelly’s way of revenging her father’s abuse. If so, how could she defend herself from the pierced wraiths? She might still be in danger.

  “I’m out of here,” Alma said, breaking William’s train of thought. He began scooting backwards on his butt, keeping a cautious eye on the beast.

  “Oh no you don’t,” William said, scrambling after the ogre. He grinned, knowing what he needed to do. He grabbed Alma, wrestling him to the ground. Alma struggled valiantly, fighting with all his might like a bear in a trap.

  Alma’s logger toned body physically outmatched William’s wiry French poet’s physique, but William still managed to drag him across the floor, thoughts of Kelly fueling his determination. He wasn’t about to waste this opportunity.

  “Time to pay the piper.” He hauled the ogre to his feet.

  The Ouroboros watched their approach. The two men came within five feet from the beast. Using two hands to grip the back of Alma’s shirt, William spun in a circle, dragging the ogre with him. As William came near finishing his circular movement, he used the momentum to fling Alma forward. It looked similar to a track and field athlete performing in the Shot Put event.

  “Have at him,” William said, inviting the Ouroboros to do as it pleased.

  The Ouroboros responded by pulling its tail out of its mouth. It uncurled its body, its head thrusting forward, mouth opening wide.

  Alma screamed and raised his hands in front of his face. The Ouroboros chomped down, swallowing him to the waist. It threw its head back, lifting Alma’s feet off the ground. It jerked its head back and forth like a shark with a sea lion locked in its vice-like jaws. Alma’s legs dangled from the beast’s mouth, kicking and twitching.

  The Ouroboros took another swallow, pulling the ogre entirely into its inner cavity.

  The beast jerked in William’s direction. He inched backwards.

  Dear Mary Mother of God. He knew full well his invocation would fail to reach any of the imaginary divinities. It didn’t hurt to try, considering the beast that had just devoured Alma now directed its focus on him.

  Guessing that any attempt to flee would be pointless, he stood his ground and allowed the floating serpent to approach. It opened its mouth but didn’t attack. Deep in the serpent’s gullet a scene unfolded that fit perfectly into Dante’s vision of the seven circles of hell.

  Smells of burning flesh stung William’s nostrils as Alma struggled in the thick viscous ooze deep in the belly of the beast. Alma’s flesh melted off his bones like a corpse in a crematorium. The blood and ink gurgled as the corrosive liquids consumed their victim. The dragon’s mouth snapped shut, cutting off Alma’s cries of agony and cutting short William’s view of the spectacle.

  The floating worm again adopted its classic position, its mouth devouring its tail. It hovered in the air, silent and motionless.

  Taking a couple deep breaths, William summoned courage and stepped closer. He wanted to examine his creation. He ran his hands over its body. The scales were less pronounced than he would have imagined, feeling like paper skin that had been drawn upon; the same with its eyes, nostrils and horns. Its three dimensional appearance testified that this was the living embodiment of his ink job.

  He beamed with pride. He now had proof that the black magic tattoos worked. Soon his enthusiasm gave way to concern for Kelly. If she had ordered the Ouroboros to attack her father what protection did she have against the Perforators?

  The Ouroboros unfurled its body and floated through the broken glass window as if it had grown weary of its creator’s adoration.

  William followed it out of the shop but he could not match the creature’s speed. It elevated itself over the buildings fronting Second Avenue, floating towards the Willamette River. He knew Kelly lived across the river on the east side of Portland. He hoped the Ouroboros planned on returning to help her fight the Perforators. He prayed that her instructions to kill her stepfather had not come at her own expense.

  Even if it was too late to rescue her, at least she had been able to get vengeance on her cruel abusive father. He hoped that would give her some sense of peace and resolution no matter what fate awaited her. However, when he thought about the Perforators and what they were capable of doing, it didn’t exactly conjure visions of peace and resolution.

  William watched the Ouroboros disappear. He sighed and went back inside his demolished shop. A sense of uneasiness crept over him. Perhaps Kelly had received what she wanted; permanent escape from her stepfather’s cruel dominance, but the same couldn’t be said for himself. Vengeance didn’t solve everything. He still felt Kelly’s absence.

  Absence makes the heart ache stronger.

  He could personally vouch for that. It felt as if a hole had been rammed straight through his left ventricle.

  Not knowing how to settle his disquieting thoughts, he set about putting his shop back in order.

  As he swept up glass and straightened overturned equipment, he often paused to look at the Mother Mary tattoo on his right bicep. He started doing something he had never done before in his entire life. Every time he glanced at the eternal Virgin he made the sign of the cross by tracing its shape in the air just over his chest, his thoughts never straying far from Kelly Sage.

  Chapter 27

  Nine months later William still hadn’t heard from Kelly. He did not know whether she had survived or not. Even if the black magic Ouroboros had helped her thwart the Perforators she still could have succumbed to the rot progressing outwards from her viscera.

  Trish had introduced herself a few days after the ordeal with the Ouroboros and through her William had found out where Kelly lived. He visited there every day for three months, always finding the place vacant.

  He would search every room, taking his time, going over every inch, looking in every corner for some kind of sign. The closest he got to any substantial clues came from the back yard. A collection of camping equipment, yard gadgets and tools sat outside the tiny tool shed’s entrance.

  Inside the cramped structure proved more confusing. He studied the overturned grill, the scattered briquettes and convinced himself something ominous had transpired here. Every time he entered heaviness overcame him as if an invisible weight had dropped on his shoulders. The air emitted a taint, feeling clogged the way Portland’s underground tunnels did, the way haunted places often felt.

  Though he spent countless hours trying he couldn’t fit the clues to form a complete picture. He always left the shed frustrated, and no closer to solving Kelly’s disappearance. After three months, he tired of the routine and stopped his visits to the lonely Victorian house.

  However, other clues had surfaced of late.

  William paced the ink parlor, fretting over the latest rumors. Reports of a feminine deity rising amongst the ranks of the piercing zealots surfaced in his shop. In the past week several of his tat customers had spoken of it.

  Some said this deity, this Goth Lolita symbol, amassed an army of wraiths. When asked details about this strange army the replies were eerily familiar; hooks, meat, pierced flesh and an uncanny ability to pass through solid objects.

  All William could be certain of was that the lines between piercing and tattooing were no longer blurred. He had always preached to Kelly that piercing and tattooing should remain separate but he never expected it to manifest into such a distinct division between the two sides. William wondered what powers could be responsible for causing the drastic divisive attitude taking over the city. Friendly debates fell into full blown verbal abuse, often followed by bouts of violence.

  William felt the gathering forces and made his own preparations for the upcoming epic war, a war that the journalism and political elitist labeled ridiculous and petty.

  Ridiculous? Petty? Bloody wars have been fought for millenniums over whose fabled god should rule t
he masses. Is it any more fickle for a battle to be fought over the purity of two opposing art forms? Not in William’s opinion.

  As strange as it sounded, the escalating debate between piercing and tattooing was uniting formerly opposed factions in the subculture in a way never seen before. Japanophiles worked side by side with Skinheads in the name of tattooing. Grungers worked alongside of Hip Hoppers to further the cause of piercing. Punks, Emos, Hippies, Ravers and the like were all being summoned into two groups. A line had been drawn; no room for shades of gray.

  William knew which side of the debate he represented. He looked at his left forearm where his Ouroboros tattoo once sat. Now there was only circular pink pigmentation like the fresh skin of a newborn.

  No longer in the shape of a circle, the tail eating serpent had elongated into a straight line. In the past two days it had slithered a couple inches up his bicep, threatening to cross over into the region of his pectorals.

  Maybe the Ouroboros wants to be set free.

  His last bit of advice to Kelly now seemed prophetic. However, he was having trouble letting it go. The serpent tattoo was still his favorite. Yet everyday it progressed closer to his heart. He remembered Kelly being in the same boat. He wondered how she had handled the situation.

  The creeping tat was the least of his worries. If the rumors floating around the subculture society were true, then he had his hands full. The Goth Lolita’s army of Perforators grew by the day and it wouldn’t be long before the pierced deity unleashed her vengeance.

  If the deity turned out to be Kelly, William wondered what could be leading her to such drastic measures of revenge. Could all of it be traced back to the moment he had sacrilegiously tainted her skin with the Ouroboros? After all, his intentions had been good.

  Whatever her motive, the threat was real. He could taste it on the summer breeze wafting through the open door of the parlor. He swallowed three large gulps of Woodford Reserve and sterilized the scalpel.