“But what?”
“But the cemetery is haunted!”
Gusto laughed uneasily. “Come on now; I don’t believe in that stuff.”
“Oh yes you do! Otherwise you would have taken the short way home a long time ago! Everyone in town believes in that stuff, including you!”
“Well… ” Gusto’s words trailed off as he looked to the floor.
He had to admit, Hubert had a point. Neither of them had walked through the cemetery before now and both men knew why: the Castle River Graveyard had a bad reputation of being spook central. Everyone for miles around figured the land had turned rotten for some unknown reason, and most folk had a strange story to tell. Still, Gusto was tired of taking the long way home each and every night and tonight he wasn’t having it. He was drunk, his hump was aching and feeling extra heavy, and more importantly, his mind was made up. He was taking the short way home no matter what Hubert had to say about the matter, and that was final.
After rolling his right shoulder around in a circle once again, Gusto raked his fingers through his unkempt hair, and said, “I don’t believe in that juvenile, ghost-story crapola. Not now. I’m no longer a child, you know. I’m a grown man, for crying out loud. Besides, it’s foolish. Don’t ya think all that spooky talk is foolish, Hubert? It makes no friggin’ sense.”
“It ain’t foolish!” Hubert said, pleading with every syllable. “It’s haunted! The cemetery is bloody haunted! Everyone knows that!”
Gusto stood up, tossed a few coins on the table, and swallowed back his last swig of ale. He shook his head in mock disgust and said, “Ah, what do you know? You’re just a crazy old drunk with a shriveled-up arm and a shriveled-up leg. You want to be afraid of the Oogie-Boogie man, be my guest. But don’t talk to me about things that go bump in the night ‘cause I ain’t havin’ it. You don’t know nothin’ ‘bout nothin’. An old fool with a line of yellow running down your spine, Hubert––that’s what you are. Always have been; always will be.”
Now it was Hubert’s turn to shake his head in disgust, which he did, saying, “I know enough to stay clear of the cemetery tonight, that’s for darn sure… and I ain’t no fool. You’re the fool! Walking through the Castle River Graveyard at this time of night is insane, Gusto. It’s insane! You need to have your brain examined!”
“Ah, go stick your head in a bucket of donkey shit and tell me what you smell. I’m walking through the cemetery tonight and there ain’t an ass-lickin’, nose-pickin’ thing you can do to stop me.”
Gusto slammed his empty mug on the table, lurched towards the door, and staggered outside. He wobbled past a row of horses that were tied to a horse-post, and past the less-than-attractive ‘ladies of the evening’ that never felt compelled to offer their services to a man like him.
The night was dark and gloomy. A cold wind blew in from the north.
Holding his jacket’s lapels in his fist he made his way to the cemetery gates. The weight of his huge hump had him crouched over like Quasimodo. The pain in his back had him rolling his shoulder every few feet. After a nervous pause he stepped through the gateway. He followed the winding path over the roll of a hill and past a row of barren trees. There were graves to the left of him and graves to the right. Some of the tombstones were small while others were large. Some were new but most of the markers were old and weathered by years of abandonment. Statues and sculptures came in all shapes, sizes, and styles. Looking left he saw the Virgin Mary, forever frozen with her arms apart and a sad look carved upon her sculpted face. Looking right he saw a pair of gargoyles, twisted and wicked, endowed with long horns and thick hooves. When he looked towards his feet, which was the majority of the time, he couldn’t see anything more than a few dried out leaves blowing across his tattered shoes and the slight outline of the path he was following. When he looked towards the sky, which was no easy task, the moon seemed to smile upon him with a mouth curved like a sickle. And in front of him, in the area he was heading towards, he could see––plain as day––that something wasn’t right. There was an object in his path, odd and unusual, taking up a boatload of space. He felt drawn to it.
Gusto staggered faster.
The object began taking shape.
It was a tombstone, a huge tombstone––larger than any building in town. It was fifteen stories tall, maybe even twenty. But how can that be? Gusto wondered. Anything that large would have been sticking out of the Castle River Graveyard like a sore thumb. He would have known about it well before now. He would have seen it.
The monolith was impossible. Simply impossible!
As he tried to wrap his senses around the thing that towered over the necropolis the air turned bitter and cold; the wind all but died. Still, he staggered on, over the roll of another hill, towards the gigantic headstone.
Then something incredible happened: a creature - not of this world - stepped out from behind the stone column. It stared at Gusto with eyes wide and teeth long. To say the beast was huge would be an understatement. The monster was almost as large as the tombstone itself. It was a hundred feet tall, if not more. It had arms and legs that bulged with muscle and hands designed for crushing. The beast must have weighed a thousand tons.
Looking down at Gusto, the monster said, “WHAT? IS YOUR NAME?”
Gusto’s chin started quivering, his knees shook, and for a moment he thought he would faint. He said, “Uh… uh… my name?”
“YES!”
“Oh my goodness! My name? Why, uh… uh… my name is Gusto!”
“AND WHERE? DO YOU LIVE?”
Gusto pointed left; then he changed his mind, shook his head, and pointed right. He started dancing around in one spot with his mouth opening and closing. He was trying to string some words together and having a difficult time achieving his goal. Finally he managed to say: “I live… I live that way! Over there, by that store with those things in it! You know the one, don’t ya? Boner’s, they call it! I live on Humpback Road next to the guy who runs the whorehouse!”
The monster leaned in, breathing hot breath onto Gusto’s body. It said, “AND WHAT? IS THAT! ON YOUR BACK?”
“My back?”
“YES!”
Gusto rolled his shoulder in a circle. His fear made room for his shame and indignity. A tear found life in his eye and he quickly wiped it away. As his line of vision fell towards his feet, he said, “Uh, why… it ain’t nothin’ special. It’s just my hump-a-lump… that’s all.”
“YOUR HUMP-A-LUMP?”
“Yes.”
“GIVE IT TO ME!”
The monster lowered a massive hand, grabbed Gusto’s misshapen back and squeezed. Gusto screamed but that didn’t change anything. The monster kept squeezing and squeezing until its work was complete and the hump was ripped from Gusto’s body.
Gusto fell to the ground face first, kicking his feet and waving his arms. He figured his head would be pounded into the earth while his guts were splattered in every direction. He cried and begged and when he looked up he was surprised to find that the giant tombstone was gone. The monster was gone, too. Stranger than that, the hump on his back was gone and he was in no pain whatsoever.
For a moment he just laid there, shocked; his eyes were wider than wide.
He rolled his shoulder in a circle and realized that he felt better than he had in twenty-five years. He said, “Well, unleash the chocolate hostages from my backdoor prison! What just happened to me? Where did my hump-a-lump go?”
He reached around and touched his back, but the hump wasn’t there. It was gone! He was cured! Somehow––someway––he was cured! There was no blood, no broken bones––his back was in perfect working order. Even his clothing was damage-free.
Gusto jumped to his feet and stood up straight. “Holy beating my trouser snake with my fist of passion,” he said. “It’s a miracle!”
He ran forward. Then he ran back. Then he ran in a circle: he didn’t know what to do. “I’ve got to tell someone,” he said to the empty cemetery. “O
h boy!”
Gusto ran out of the cemetery and returned to the bar as fast he could, which was a hell of a lot faster now than before, thanks to the monster in the graveyard tearing his deformity from his body. When he entered the tavern he was glad to discover that Hubert hadn’t left for home yet. He ran to his friend, laughing, crying, and saying, “Hubert! Hubert! It’s a miracle!”
Hubert turned. “Gusto… what’s going on? Why are you here? Are you all right?”
“Yes! Of course I’m all right! I’m better than all right! I’m cured, Hubert! Look! I’m cured!”
Gusto turned, showing Hubert his back.
“Holy jackin’ the beanstalk!” Hubert said, astonished. “What happened to your hump?”
“It’s gone!”
“I can see that it’s gone, but how? Where is it? What happened?”
“I don’t know where it is but I know what happened!”
“Well don’t just stand there, tell me!”
“I’m trying! I went into the graveyard, right? And I came across this huge tombstone. It must have been a thousand feet tall! And this big monster came out and said, ‘Hey little man, what’s wrong with your back?’ and I told him that I had a hump-a-lump on my back and he said, ‘I’ll take that’ and he snatched it from my body. Can you believe it? I can’t believe it! He cured me, Hubert! The hump-a-lump is gone! He cured me and then he disappeared!”
Hubert’s mind was racing. He said, “That’s incredible, Gusto! How do you feel?”
“I feel terrific! I’ve never felt better!”
“Are you in pain?”
“No!”
“Holy fudge packing honeymooners! If I went into the graveyard, do you think the monster could cure my shriveled-up arm and my shriveled-up leg?”
“I don’t see why not! Look at me! I’m perfect now! It’s an ass-huffin’ miracle!”
“So, the monster is a good monster. Is that what you’re saying?”
“It sure seems that way to me! Don’t you hear what I’m telling you, Hubert? I’m cured!”
Hubert took a good, hard look at his shriveled-up arm and his shriveled-up leg. His heart started pounding in his chest like it was trying to escape. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He said, “Do you think I should go there and… well… you know?”
“Of course I do! You should go to the cemetery right away and look for the huge tombstone. Maybe it’ll return. Maybe you’ll be cured!”
A moment passed before Hubert released a nervous chuckle. He said, “Well then, what am I waiting for?”
He reached into his pocket, grabbed some change and tossed it onto the table. He waved goodbye to his friend and hobbled out of the bar as fast as he could manage. He made his way past the horses and the prostitutes without giving them a second glance. When he reached the cemetery gates he paused, looked over his shoulder and wondered what to do. Truth was, he didn’t want to enter the cemetery: it was haunted. Everybody knew that. But maybe, he thought, it was haunted in a good way. Was that possible? Was that the situation?
Hubert swallowed back the bulk of his fear, deciding: Yes. It was possible.
If Gusto could walk into the cemetery with a hump on his back and walk out of the cemetery with no hump, then it seemed quite possible that he could walk into the cemetery with a shriveled-up arm and a shriveled-up leg and walk out of the cemetery with no shrivels.
Hubert closed his eyes and stepped through the gateway, hoping the monster was a nice one.
The night was dark; it was gloomy. A cold wind blew in from the north causing the barren trees to sway. There were graves to the left of him and graves to the right. Some were small and some were large. Looking left he saw the Virgin Mary carved in stone. Looking right he saw gargoyles with long horns and thick hooves. Scattered leaves blew across his shoes as the moon smiled upon him with a mouth shaped like a sickle. And over the roll of a hill, there it was: an object that seemed much too large to be in any necropolis. He felt drawn to it.
Hubert hobbled faster.
The thing standing before him began taking shape.
It was a tombstone, a huge tombstone––larger than any building in town.
As his eyes gazed upon the monolith something incredible happened: a creature - not of this world - stepped out from behind the stone column, staring down at Hubert with eyes wide and teeth long.
It said, “WHAT? IS YOUR NAME?”
Hubert, terrified, said, “Uh… my name?”
“YES!”
“Oh sweet butter fingers up my poop shoot! My name? What’s my name?”
“YES!”
Hubert was so scared that he began slapping himself in the face with his shriveled-up arm. He said, “Uh… my name is Hubert!”
“AND WHERE? DO YOU LIVE?”
“Why? Do you want to come to my house and get drunk?”
“NO! JUST ANSWER THE QUESTION!”
“Uh… uh… The question?”
“YES!”
“Umm… I live at 26 Liverstool Drive. It’s a nice place. I’ve got a shithouse big enough to sleep in and sixteen pigs ready for slaughter. The shithouse has two crunch-holes: one for me, and one for the misses. We can drop a loaf at the same time if the mood strikes us. The shithouse doesn’t smell bad, not compared to most. Sometimes it smells kind of nice, like knuckle children on a pillowcase. One of my pigs is pregnant. Her name is Puffy. She’s got a––”
“I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR SHITHOUSE OR YOUR PIGS!”
“You don’t?”
“NO!”
“Oh. Sorry, giant monster. Most of the folk around here are jealous of my shithouse and are fond of pigs. Chickens too.”
“I DON’T LIKE PIGS!”
“Okay then. Well… now I know. I won’t tell you about my pigs, my chickens, or my shitter. Your loss, if you ask me, which of course you didn’t––”
“SHUT UP!”
“Okay, okay. I’ll shut up. But just remember––”
“I’LL REMEMBER WHAT I CHOOSE TO REMEMBER! NOW SHUT THE HELL UP!”
“Well, don’t freak out, Tall, Dark and Scary. I’m just trying to be helpful!”
“ANSWER THIS QUESTION BEFORE I SQUISH YOU WITH MY FINGER! WHAT? IS THAT! ON YOUR BACK?”
“My back?”
“YES!”
“Uh… nothing! I don’t have anything on my back.” Hubert turned. “See? Got nothing there.” The monster leaned in, breathing hot breath onto Hubert’s body. It said, “YOU HAVE NOTHING! ON YOUR BACK?”
“That’s right. Nothing at all!”
“THEN… HERE! HAVE A HUMP!”
* * *
CURSE OF THE BLIND EEL
The two men stood at the door, looking each other in the eye. Jonathan was terrified; they both were. But Jonathan ignored his fear and put his hand on the doorknob. He twisted his wrist and pushed. The unlocked door opened with a long squeak that sounded like a moan and Jonathan stepped inside.
William grabbed his brother by the shoulder, and said, “Wait.”
“No,” Jonathan snapped. There was no hesitation in his voice, no uncertainty. William may have been older but Jon was the dominant one, always had been. Plus he was thirty-one now, old enough to appreciate the importance of the situation. “We don’t have time to wait. You know that.”
“You don’t understand.
“Of course I do, you’re scared. I get that. I’m scared too. But the sun is coming down and it’s coming down fast.” He lifted the stake high and cringed as he looked at it, wondering if he’d have the mental strength to pound the tool into a vampire’s chest. “If we don’t do this soon the Count––”
Lightning cracked and both men turned towards the sound.
The sky was darkening.
“Hold this.” Jonathan said. He handed William the wooden spear, reached into his pocket and pulled out a stubby candle. With a long wooden match he lit it and forged ahead.
William reluctantly followed, gripping the stake tightly.
; “There!” Jonathan said, pointing at a hallway. “The devil’s spawn sleeps down there. At the far end of the hall we’ll find a large door that leads to the cellar. We must go now or others shall suffer the same fate as… ” Jon’s words trailed off. His eyes wavered. He didn’t want to think about his wife or his two children. Not again. He wanted to lie to himself and pretend that his family was safe at home, alive––not beheaded and buried in the yard next to the others. Memories of the days past made him tremble.
“But––”
Jonathan focused his thoughts. “But nothing! Give me that!” He snatched the stake from his brother’s grasp and handed him the flickering candle. “Hold this and stay close. The cellar is dark and thick with shadow. Night is nearly upon us.”
Jonathan walked quickly and his footfalls echoed off the stone walls.
William tried to keep pace but he was having a difficult time; he kept clutching his stomach and crouching.
Jonathan reached the door; turned and said, “Hurry up man! What’s taking you?”
William clamped his teeth and approached his brother slowly, like an old man getting ready to die. Then he stopped walking altogether.
“What is it William?”
“I’ve got…”
“Yes, yes… go on!”
“I need to clip a biscuit.
“What?”
“You heard me. My dumpster keeps opening and a sewer loaf large enough to sit on is threatening to pop out. I’ve had the back door dribbles for five minutes now and I desperately need to bust a grumpy, lay cable, fire a log on the poop deck. Do you hear what I’m saying, man? I’m ready to chuck the football in my crunch catcher!”
Jonathan rubbed his free hand against his temple. “Oh God, that’s not good. Will it hold?”
Lying, William said, “It’ll hold.”
“Then let us kill the beast as it sleeps. Time is short.”
Jonathan dismissed his brother’s dilemma and pushed open the large wooden door. He made his way down the stairs two at a time. The men reached the bottom of the staircase, Jonathan first, William a few seconds later. With only one candle between them they saw the coffin together. It was long, black and very old. Silver handles gleamed in the candlelight.
13 Drops of Blood Page 16