people what it did to the buildings. Or maybe it wasn't the soil. There, at night, it seemed easy to believe the stories told by the villagers, that the marsh was filled with a necrosis that saturated soil and atmosphere, putrefying both the homes and their occupants until they bore only the slightest resemblance to the modern town.
At last we spotted the gates of the cemetery. They stood open, though their quantity of rust suggested that they had not been used in over a hundred years. Beyond them, a thick mist shrouded the graveyard. My headlights bounced off the cloud, making it look like a solid, whitewashed wall; we couldn't even see the nearest headstones. Pulling off to the side of the road, I parked, but left the motor idling. I turned the headlights off so that we could look for our customer, and blackness descended, as if a blanket had been thrown over the jeep.
After a moment our eyes adjusted to the change, though little more than the gate and the nearer houses could be seen. Unfortunately, there appeared to be no one around to greet us and neither Michele nor I wanted to get out and start knocking on doors. Yet we were not willing to leave. So we simply sat there, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Suddenly, a light appeared deep inside the graveyard, piercing the inky blackness like a laser beam, and it began to slowly swing back and forth. Michele motioned me to go on and we drove through the gate. I left the headlights off, relying on the parking lights to see our way. As a result, my range of vision was extremely limited and I was forced to drive at a snail's pace. The tiny gravel road twisted around blocks of monuments and tombstones like the corridors of a labyrinth. We could have become lost if the swinging light hadn't been there. The mist and the weak, yellow lights combined to create a sickly phosphorescent corposant that gave every object the appearance of bleached bones. Occasionally, I thought I saw a shadow move across a glowing gravestone, but I assumed it probably came from an interposing marker otherwise hidden from my lights. Even so, the thought of being stranded there until dawn scared me witless.
As I negotiated our way towards the light, Michele produced a taser and inserted two electrode blocks. I had heard of these security devices, but had never seen one before. They consist of a powerful flashlight mounted in a housing equipped with two electrode darts. The darts can be fired into a target, and while they cause little physical harm, they are attached by wires to the housing. Upon impact, the taser discharges a current strong enough to knock a person unconscious.
I said nothing. Though it was Michele's policy to forbid a driver to carry weapons or protective devices, for their own safety, she had every right to disregard it if she felt it necessary.
We continued driving for at least a mile before we came to a crypt set on a low hill, surrounded by a circular drive. The mist had thinned somewhat by then, making it possible to use the headlights again, but they still bathed the structure in a pale white aura. Our customer stood in the shadows of the building's entrance, silhouetted by a kerosene lantern sitting on the ground behind him. He gestured for us to approach, but I couldn't take the jeep any closer. So we stopped, I switched off the motor, and we each took a hot box from the back. Michele kept her taser ready at her side as we ascended the hill.
We came to within six feet, then stopped, and set the boxes down. Michele peered intently at the man, trying to discern his features, but the gloom made that impossible. "Mr. Caldwell?"
He nodded and gestured again for us to approach.
Michele ignored it. "There's something we have to settle first. That coin you gave us was made of gold. Your order only comes to about half of its metallic worth. If you want the remainder, I can get it for you in a few days. All I need is an address to send it to."
The man ignored her in turn, and gestured again, more curtly.
"I don't think he wants his change," I said. "Either that, or he doesn't want to give us an address."
"I can't just keep the money."
"Why not? Maybe it's suppose to be our tip. In any event, I think we should just give him his order and get the hell out of here." I looked around with some trepidation. "This place is giving me the creeps. I keep getting the feeling we're being watched. Besides, so far he's been a good customer, if eccentric. I don't think we should keep him waiting any longer."
I almost took step forward, but Michele caught my arm. She held it so tightly she cut off the circulation. The muscle remained sore through all the next day. Her hand trembled, though, and it felt ice cold.
"That's it!" she hissed in my ear. "I remember now. It was two years ago. A student named Mike Caldwell ordered pizza from us every weekend, occasionally several for a party. Then he abruptly stopped, for no apparent reason. Only later did I learn that he had dropped out of sight. Though the police assumed he had simply run off, they never did find him, alive or dead."
Raising her voice, she addressed the man. "You are Mike Caldwell, aren't you!"
He shook his head, but stepped backwards apprehensively and stumbled over the lantern, extinguishing it. He fell against the door of the crypt as he tried to regain his balance. Seizing the opportunity Michele raised the taser and switched on the flashlight.
Caldwell threw up his arms to cover his face, but he wasn't fast enough. In those three seconds what I saw became indelibly etched in my memory. His features appeared canine, though of a breed found only in nightmares. The hat sat high on his head, revealing a broad, squat muzzle like a boxer. He had opened the coat, and we could see his humanoid chest and belly, the skin of which was dark brown, with patches of mold and lichens clinging where hair should have been. From the waist down, however, the legs appeared bestial, with backward knees and huge, thickly padded feet with only two short, clawed toes. Their resemblance to cloven hooves seemed too close to miss.
Michele instinctively fired. The electrodes hit Caldwell in the chest and the battery discharged its current, but his only reaction was a surprised gasp. He lowered his arms and pulled the darts from his rubbery hide, then looked us straight in our collective eyes as he derisively tossed them aside. In the cone of light that surrounded his head, his own human-like eyes glowed like hot coals. His lips pulled back from his snout in a leer, revealing great ivory lupine teeth. Saliva flowed from his clenched jaws. Slowly, he stood to his full height, then looked down at us and chuckled.
At that moment, whatever spell that held us insensate broke. Michele and I screamed in unison and she threw the taser at Caldwell. The latter caught it easily and crushed it with the same hand. Neither of us cared, for we ran for the jeep in blind panic. I seem to remember us tripping over each other and rolling down the hill, but I cannot be sure. Behind us, Caldwell loudly gibbered a cry, which was answered from every corner of the cemetery.
Upon reaching the jeep, we threw ourselves inside, locked the doors, and rolled up the windows. I tried to start the motor. Naturally, in my panic I inserted the door key. As I pulled it out and fumbled for the other, we were quickly surrounded. Screeching fiends pounded on the jeep with their fists and rocked it back and forth as if they tried to overturn us. They quickly broke the windows with lengths of pipe and reached in to grab us. A tombstone sailed through the front windshield, showering us with glass granules. And when I finally had the right key, a hand reached in and tore it from my grasp before I could insert it into the ignition.
At that moment we were helpless, totally at their mercy. Yet, astonishingly, they calmed down and let us go. They gathered around closer, putting their faces right up to the frames of the smashed window, peering in at us expectantly. They all looked like Caldwell, down to the leer, but they did not molest us further. Instead, they seemed to be waiting for something. Michele and I glanced at each other (I must have been as pale as she looked), but neither of us had a clue as to what they wanted. Then two of them stepped away from my window, only to be replaced by Caldwell. He looked around inside, quickly spotting the last two hot boxes and the cartons of beer in the back seat. He carefully sniffed the air, and then favored us with a glare.
"I believe you sti
ll have part of my order." His breath smelled abominable, but I recognized the voice from the store.
Apparently, so did Michele, because she fainted dead away. For my part, I managed to stay conscious as I blurted out, "Take it, take it!"
Caldwell nodded to his "friends", who removed everything, except us. They broke open the hot boxes and one of them pulled out a carton, presenting the pizza to Caldwell. He removed a piece and consumed it in one gulp, smacking his lips. A moment later he nodded, then turned towards us. "Good. Very good. I am pleased."
With that, his companions erupted into a frenzy, and with much vocalization each grabbed a carton and a bottle before disappearing into the darkness. Caldwell waited for them to leave, taking the opportunity to strip off the coat and hat. He then presented me with my keys. I accepted them mindlessly.
"You have done well. And Ms. Horne is correct. I am, or rather was, Mike Caldwell. While I was still human, I had been a regular customer, but when my transformation began I felt obliged to join my true people in their cemetery warrens. Thus I was unable to continue to give her my business. However, I did miss her pizza and after awhile the craving became too strong. So, before I lost all ability to act
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