Shallow Graves (The Haunted Book 1)

by Patrick Logan

  He considered going out front, running to the car to quickly check on Amy, but he couldn’t.

  His fingers tightened on the wrapped end of the blanket, the former turning white while the latter was becoming progressively more red.

  What kind of—?

  He choked back a sob.

  What kind of father leaves his nine-year-old in a car, in the dark, during a thunderstorm? What kind of—?

  The sheet suddenly sagged as Ruth’s body shifted inside the cloth. He adjusted his grip, and then slung it over his right shoulder, continuing to hold it together with both hands. With his shoulder, he swiped at the tears that spilled down his face.

  A murderer, he thought. A murderer, that’s who.

  Robert shook his head and quickly made his way to the back of the estate, and then somehow managed to twist down to turn the doorknob before shoving the door open with his foot.

  Rain quickly spilled in through the opening, but he paid it no mind. He was already soaked, and was going to get even wetter, and the hardwood was still slick with rain from when he had first gone out looking for Amy.

  Robert was again forced to bow his head against the sheer force of the rain and wind, and did his best to simply trudge forward, his feet first moving sluggishly across the flagstones at the rear of the Harlop house, then sinking into the ever-softening mud.

  Having lived in the house for nearly two weeks now, and in addition to looking after Ruth’s most basic needs, he had gotten into the habit of grooming some of the landscaping out front. It was a near impossible task; he was no horticulturist, let alone a landscaper, but it had been something to do to keep his mind off things. And, besides, Amy had seemed to enjoy spending the time with him out in nature.

  That is, when it wasn’t raining.

  After tending the overgrown shrubs, he’d always made sure to put the lawn tools in the shed to make sure that Amy didn’t get her hands on them. So the shed was where he headed first. Despite being close to the side of the estate, it took him longer to get to it than he would have hoped, a consequence of the extremely soft ground and the fact that the sheet, now fully soaked, had become considerably more heavy. Perseverance and the fear of leaving Amy an orphan drove him onward. Eventually he came up to the large gray structure, and relief washed over him. Intent on giving his aching muscles a break, he twisted the sheet so that Ruth’s corpse would remain fully encased before gently laying her on the mud.

  With only the lights from the house behind him leading the way, he pulled the door to the dark, musty shed wide, thankful that he had elected not to lock it. It was pitch black inside, and without power, the last thing he wanted to do was enter. He waited, trying to give his eyes time to adjust, but with the rain dripping down over his lids, he could make out very little.

  Robert stepped inside and slowly, cautiously, started waving his arms in front of him like a blind man. He knocked over several items, which clanged loudly to the ground before his hands enclosed around the familiar broom-shaped handle of the shovel that he had placed against the side wall a few days ago.

  With a deep breath, he left the shed and reentered the rain. Part of him was hoping that the sheet with Ruth’s body wrapped inside would be gone, that it would have either been washed away in all the rain or that this horrible nightmare was coming to an end.

  But it was still there. In fact, the rain had somehow managed to peel back one of the corners, revealing a matted mess of gray hair. Just the sight of those thin strands soaked with blood-tinged rainwater was enough to confirm his reality. The urge to run was strong then, but thoughts of Amy in the car, alone, terrified, drove him onward. Robert laid the shovel against the exterior of the warped wooden shed, and then bent down and twisted the sheet closed again. With a grunt, he raised it over his shoulder and then stood, his back groaning in protest. Then he grabbed the shovel and started walking again.

  After what he had seen, the gleaming bone hand in the mud—exposed nearly up to the elbow now as the mud continued to melt away—seemed absurdly normal.

  Seeing Amy pushed off the roof and Ruth’s skull being bashed in, he doubted much could faze him now. Still, for some reason, he couldn’t find it in himself to unceremoniously plunk Ruth’s body down on top of the other skeleton, something that would have undoubtedly made hiding the body easier. It just seemed too callous, too unfeeling.

  It felt wrong.

  Instead, he moved to just below it on the hill, and again laid the sheet on the ground.

  Lightning flashed in the night sky, and Robert’s eyes instinctively flipped upward. It was a tremendous burst, one that branched like an ancient, luminescent oak tree. Robert was momentarily lost in its beauty, and as the rain dripped into his open eyes, he felt his grasp of reality slipping away. Thoughts started pinballing in his skull, memories starting as far back as first meeting Wendy, through Amy’s birth, to everything that had happened since the police officer’s visit, all in dizzying fast-forward motion.

  It was the thunder that brought him back; a horrific crack that sent a shiver up and down his spine.

  With a heavy sigh, Robert let the tears that spilled down his cheeks mix with the rain.

  Then he gripped the shovel in both hands and started to dig in the loose mud.

  Chapter 25

  It could have been an hour, or it could have just as easily been three. With the rain continuing to fall, the sky remained unchanging as time bled from early evening and into night. But eventually the hole was completely dug out, a pathetic three-foot square in the muddy landscape that was only a hair over two feet deep. As Robert finally allowed himself a moment to catch his breath and to try to slow his racing heart, he witnessed some of the mud that he had shoveled slowly begin to slide back in again. He had to hurry; it wouldn’t surprise him if by morning the hole was completely filled in again.

  Hands split and blistered, the muscles in his arms and back burning despite the cool, wet air, Robert couldn’t even muster enough effort to lift Ruth’s body. Instead, he got on his knees and with the last of his waning strength, he managed to roll the sheet and body into the makeshift grave. It was a blessing that Ruth had been so small, so emaciated, as he doubted that in his current state he would have been able to move an ounce more. The result was far from glamorous, but it would have to do. And it was better than piling it on top of another body, whoever it was.

  Robert couldn’t ever remember his parents taking him to church, so he had no idea what sort of prayer was appropriate in a case like this. He wasn’t even sure if any prayer would be appropriate. Nevertheless, he felt compelled to utter a few words.

  Scooping a handful of mud in his ravaged hands, he leaned over the sheet and said, “I’m sorry for what happened, Ruth Harlop. I can only hope that where you are now, you are with those that truly loved you.”

  Then he dropped the mud, and it landed on the sheet with a surprisingly audible thunk. He knew that he should finish the job, completely cover the evidence, but for now, however, his hands were too shredded, too soaked with rain, blood, and burst blisters to do anything else.

  The rain would do the rest.

  With a heavy sigh, Robert picked the shovel up gingerly between two fingers and flung it over his shoulder, wincing at the spark of pain that radiated across his entire back. He was about to turn, when he heard a voice and he froze.

  “Hello?” The voice was soft, sweet, barely audible over the rain. It was a woman’s voice.

  Robert resisted the urge to turn.

  It’s not real. No one is out here in the rain. No one saw.

  He shut his eyes tightly and tried to focus on the sound of the rain pelting off of his jacket.

  Nothing—he heard nothing.

  He had just let out his breath out in an exasperated sigh when the voice returned.

  “Hello? Is that you?”

  Robert opened his eyes and slowly swiveled in the mud, his hand instinctively tightened on the shovel.

  Just in case.

/>   But what he laid eyes on was anything but threatening.

  “Wha—wha—wha—?” he blubbered.

  There was a woman approaching, a beautiful woman dressed in a white lace undergarment, her long blonde hair perfectly manicured as if she had just stepped out of the salon. Robert wiped the rain from his eyes. Even though the woman had no umbrella or covering of any kind, her hair seemed perfect. Perfect and dry. In fact, the rain that still poured from the sky didn’t seem to be falling on her at all.

  With the hand not holding the shovel, Robert, mouth agape, held it out palm up, to the rain. As expected, he felt the rain bouncing off his shredded skin.

  What the fuck?

  The woman was smiling as she moved toward him, her feet seeming to slide over the mud rather than sinking into it. Robert felt his muscles seize, and his ability to move went the way of his speech. It was as if he was locked in place, unable to do anything but stare.

  His eyes, however, were free to wander up and down her body.

  The lace outfit was closer to lingerie than a nightie, he realized. The woman’s breasts were large and full, the dark nipples just visible enough through the fabric for him to make out their outline. The lingerie was short, barely reaching her mid-thigh, and it seemed, as strange as it was, that with every glide it hiked up a little more. Before long, his eyes were locked onto the ‘v’ between her legs, watching and waiting as it slid up a little more…then a little more…

  Despite everything, despite the horror of his daughter being shoved off the roof, despite crushing Ruth’s skull with the poker and burying her in the mud, he felt the front of his rain-soaked jeans tightening. He tried to will this feeling away, but the woman’s swaying movements were hypnotic, locking him in an erotic trance.

  Robert didn’t want to admit it, but he was aroused. After everything, he was suddenly overcome with a desire for this woman, this beautiful woman who seemed impervious to rain.

  The shovel slipped from his hand and fell to the mud, but Robert didn’t even notice. For the first time in what seemed like forever, his mind suddenly felt less muddled, less overburdened with the need to work out the details of a reality that didn’t make sense. The singular powerful desire that gripped him then was liberating. And there was nothing he could do but give in to it.

  When the woman made it to within a foot of him, she stopped, and her beautiful, full lips started to part.

  “My name is Jacky,” she said softly, and although the name was oddly familiar to Robert, for the life of him, he couldn’t quite place it.

  And then it happened.

  Jacky took him by surprise and leaned in and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. The move was so unexpected that Robert actually fell backwards, landing in the mud with an audible plop.

  In an instant, she was on him, straddling him, hiking her gown up high enough to give Robert an eyeful of the soft, smooth mound beneath. A gasp escaped him, which was promptly cut off by another kiss. Only this one wasn’t a peck on his check, but full on his mouth, her tongue probing. Robert’s hands instinctively went to her breasts, pushing them together, reveling in their firmness.

  How long has it been? he wondered absently. How long has it been since I had sex with Wendy?

  Jacky sat up and leaned backward, and as she rhythmically rubbed her lower half against his tight jeans, she started to moan.

  Robert squeezed her breasts hard and pulled her back down to him, kissing her with a hunger that was so unlike him, so foreign, that it threatened to take him out of the moment.

  He wouldn’t let it.

  Jacky wasn’t shocked by his aggression; if anything, she seemed to become lost in it. Taking control, Robert rolled her over so that now he was on top, oblivious to the rain and mud that coated nearly every square inch of his body now. The only thing he could feel was her—all of her—warm and inviting beneath him. His hand slipped to between her legs and he gasped again when his cold, nearly numb fingers felt the warm wetness there. He frantically went to his zipper, desperately trying to free himself from his jeans that had gone from uncomfortable to painful in seconds.

  As he pulled the zipper down and reached inside, his lips moved from her mouth to her chin, then to her neck. He closed his eyes and breathed her in, the sweet smell of her skin like…like rot.

  Robert’s eyes snapped open.

  “What the fuck?”

  The golden-haired apparition was gone. Beneath him was a decomposing face, the eye sockets empty, the decayed lips revealing a row of perfect, white teeth. He recoiled, his eyes locked in horror on the maggots that rooted in and out of the hole in the cheek, following perfectly in the wet tracks his lips had just made.

  “What the fuck!” he yelled. As Robert shoved the rotting corpse away and bounded to his feet, he wiped desperately at his mouth, trying to get the taste of maggots off his tongue. Then he gagged and spat.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he repeated as he stared down at her.

  What the fuck is wrong with me!

  Robert ignored his aching muscles and ran toward the house as fast as his legs would take him.

  Chapter 26

  Insane. I have gone completely and utterly insane.

  Robert didn’t go into the house first; instead, he went around the side of the Harlop Estate, legs and lungs burning as he ran.

  It seemed impossible that the rain could increase in fervor, but it seemed to be the case. It was coming down in sheets, and Robert could barely even see his car. He slowed as he neared what he thought was the dark outline of his Mazda, but he didn’t stop quickly enough and he banged his shins against the door.

  The pain simply added to the agony that encased his entire body.

  Gasping from both fear and the exertion, he fumbled with the door, the blisters on his hands making it difficult to feel anything specific. Eventually he found the handle to the rear door and pulled it wide. Wiping the rain from his face, he leaned in, expecting the worst.

  “Amy?” he whispered.

  Relief washed over him when he saw his daughter lying on her side, her head nestled against Mr. Gregorius as a pillow. Despite the rain and thunder, which sounded like a warzone inside the vehicle, Amy appeared to be sleeping soundly.

  Robert wasn’t sure what to do next, so he simply pulled himself inside the car and closed the door behind him. The dome light immediately clicked out, filling the interior with an unwelcomed darkness.

  After what he had seen, he didn’t so much feel like being in the dark right now.

  Or maybe ever again.

  Robert’s blistered and torn fingers went to the ceiling and he pressed the dome light, turning it back on. He held his hands out in front of him for a moment, examining the damage he had done in good lighting for the first time.

  His palms were shredded, thick hunks of skin hanging like uncooked pork rinds, revealing a mucousy, red and raw layer beneath. He gently curled his fingers and looked away.

  “What happened?” he whispered, careful not to wake Amy.

  But his query wasn’t directed at his hands. He knew what had happened to them.

  He was asking about the encounter with…with the woman with the golden hair, with Jacky. But already the details were becoming fuzzy in his mind, accosted by extreme fatigue.

  His first inclination was to just drive, to crawl between the front seats and drive as far away from this fucking place, from Aunt Ruth, the Harlop Estate, and everything that came with it, real or imagined—and just head elsewhere. North, maybe. Neither Robert nor Amy had been to Canada, but he heard that Montreal was especially beautiful.

  They could change their names, start all over again.

  Forget all of this—the foreclosure, Ruth, her husband, fuck, forget even about Wendy and Landon.

  Move on. Literally.

  But as Robert’s gaze moved from his wounded hands to the rain outside the window, he realized that this wasn’t a real option. For one, he was an accountant—an unemployed accountant—not an internat
ional criminal.

  But he would leave here, of that much he was certain. Whatever Ruth had told him about Patricia’s death and her husband, she was either mistaken or lying. And he had no desire to become any more involved than he already was.

  Had—had been lying. She’s dead now.

  A shudder ran through him. The certainty of that state—of being dead—was something that Robert suddenly had a difficult time understanding.

  “An accident…” he whispered. “It was just an accident.”

  Lightning lit up the sky again, and Robert turned his gaze upward.

  Is this what you felt like, Wendy? Before you died, trapped in the car in the rain? Were you confused? Exhausted? Is this what it is like to die?

  Amy moaned softly and shifted her head on Mr. Gregorius.

  “No, I’m not going anywhere tonight—not in this rain.” Robert’s eyes darted to the Harlop Estate. “But there is no way I’m sleeping in that place, either.”

  He shivered, then managed to wriggle his body so that he was half on top and half beside his sleeping daughter.

  In the morning…in the morning I’m going to get the fuck out of here. I’m going to take Amy and leave this terrible place forever.

  And then, despite everything, exhaustion gripped him and he fell into a deep slumber.

  Part III – The Marrow

  Chapter 27

  Robert Watts awoke with his entire body in pain. His hands were throbbing, his back and shoulders burning as if they had been set alight. With a groan, he opened his eyes slowly, tentatively, worried that even his eyelids might ache if he moved too quickly. Then, still groggy with sleep, he wondered where in the world he was.

  Then Amy opened her eyes and he remembered; he remembered everything.

  He wished to God that he could just forget, but he had never been lucky.

  Ignoring his body’s persistent protests, he forced himself to an upright position. For Amy, he tried to keep a straight face, while inside he just wanted to collapse into a heap.