Graveyard Games

by Sheri Leigh

  "Shane? Can you hear me?" She knelt beside him, ignoring a small squish under her right knee and not bothering to look at what she had kneeled on.

  He was breathing. Thank God for that. It was shallow though, and blood was streaked across his face, in his hair.

  "Shane," she said, shaking him. "Shane, are you okay?"

  He came to, his eyes losing their dazed look.

  "Oh, thank God," she breathed, tears welling up in her eyes. "Can you walk? Are you all right?"

  "M'okay," he said thickly, lifting his hand to his head and rubbing the back of it. "What am I laying on?"

  "Never mind," Dusty said, not wanting to think about the things that were beneath them in the darkness. Only a foot from Shane, Jake gaped at them, lifeless. "Come on, I'll help you up. I want to get the hell out of here."

  She stood up, offering him a hand.

  "Is it—?"

  "It's dead," she assured him, looking over at it. "Come on."

  He took her hand and got up, looking down.

  In the moonlight he was able to see more than she would have liked him to. He face twisted and he looked away, closing his eyes.

  "God," he said.

  Dusty squeezed his hand, pulling him out of the mausoleum. They went down the steps, out into the bright moonlight.

  "Jesus, my head," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Where are Chris and Billy?"

  "I don't know." Dusty looked at him, tears forming in her eyes. She couldn’t help them and they rolled down her cheeks in tiny rivers.

  "Hey," Shane said, seeing her tears. "Hey, what's this?"

  "You're a mess," she said and then hugged him fast and hard, pressing her cheek against his neck where that thing had almost sunk its teeth. He hugged her back, and they stood there, silent.

  "Leaving so soon?" a rasping voice asked from behind them. Dusty screamed, tearing herself away from Shane, looking to see it standing in the doorway.

  "Oh, shit! Dusty, where's the gun?" Shane grabbed her arm and backed them up as it came down the steps.

  "I shot it," Dusty cried. "I swear to God, I did. It was dead, Shane. It was dead!"

  "Where’s the gun!?” he bellowed. Dusty looked up at him, startled, and then pointed.

  "There," she said simply. He groaned as it advanced toward them, chortling, claws raised.

  "Damnit!" Shane rummaged through his pockets as he backed away. "Give me a lighter, a match, something!"

  "I don't think—" She began hunting in her pockets as they backed away. It didn’t seem to be in a hurry as it came toward them.

  "Here!" She handed him a lighter out of her jacket pocket.

  Dusty looked at the thing coming toward them, grimacing. Its hair was matted with blood, its clothes stained with it—god, what was it?

  "Get ready," Shane said, and she looked back over at him.

  He was holding an M-80, trying desperately to light the fuse. The...thing...had decided to stop fooling around and broke into a run. Dusty screamed, tugging at Shane's jacket. He looked up.

  "Come on, you mother," he said. The fuse caught with a hiss.

  "Run!" Shane yelled, pulling her arm. He threw the M-80 at the thing, hitting it square in the chest. She followed Shane, glancing back. It was bending to pick it up, examining it.

  "Shane," she gasped, tugging at his sleeve, still looking over her shoulder. "Shane, look!"

  He did. The M-80 had a long fuse and it still hadn't gone off. The thing was lifting it to it mouth. Dusty almost laughed.

  We win, she thought. We win!

  "Son-of-a..." Shane's sentence trailed off and he stopped, turning to watch as the thing tried to chew on the M-80.

  "It's gonna go off! It’s—"

  Shane groaned as it threw the M-80 to the ground, uninterested.

  "It's a dud," Shane said grimly.

  Dusty's heart plummeted. It looked back up at them, grinning with its pointed teeth, its mouth opening in an impossible yaw.

  "Come on!" Shane grabbed her arm and pulled hard, beginning to run.

  "Where are we going?" Dusty gasped.

  Shane didn’t answer, his fingers digging into her flesh. It was gaining. She didn’t know how, but it was gaining on them. Dusty glanced behind her, over her shoulder.

  "Don't look," Shane panted. "Just run!"

  She stumbled over a headstone and Shane caught her, slipping in the snow. He skidded down and Dusty slid next to him, groping for a handhold. There wasn't one, and she slipped until her hip hit another headstone. Shane was up already, pulling on her arm.

  "Come on," he said, and she got up, stumbling after him, her hip throbbing.

  She didn’t look back. Ahead was the western fence. Maybe if they could get over it...

  "Here." Shane hopped a headstone. Dusty went around it, following him down a sloping hill to the asphalt. "Hurry!"

  They ran, their feet pounding on the pavement. Dusty's hair flew behind her and she had a dreadful thought, seeing that horrible thing, in her mind's eye, grabbing her hair, pulling her back—

  "Down here." Shane cut right, toward the back of the cemetery. There was another mausoleum rising in the dimness in front of them. She looked behind her and it wasn't in sight. They had lost it—for now.

  "Quiet," Shane urged, his own breathing heavy as he collapsed on the steps.

  Dusty sat beside him. He pulled something out of his back pocket.

  "What—?"

  "Shh." He hit the chrome and six inches of steel glinted in the moonlight. "Trusty switchblade. I don't leave home without it."

  "Kind of like American Express," she whispered.

  He smiled at her, examining the blade.

  "I thought that M-80 was our ticket," Shane said with a sigh. He spoke in a low voice. "I can’t believe it was a dud.”

  “Just our luck.” Her eyes were on the cemetery in front of them. It was out there—somewhere.

  He smirked. "Me and Nick used to go fishing with M-80’s. They go off under water, so we used to take one, tie a rock on, light it, and throw it in. The blast would knock the fish out and they'd just float to the surface. We could just pick them up with nets, or our bare hands if we really wanted.”

  "That’s awful," she said, disgusted.

  "And illegal," he added.

  She couldn’t help smiling.

  "What was that?" she asked. "Did you hear it?"

  "Shh," he said, standing up. There it was again, a low rustling from the right side of the mausoleum. Shane motioned for her to stay quiet, holding the knife in front of him. Dusty looked at his back, blood caked and drying on his jeans and in his hair. He moved toward the right side of the mausoleum.

  He edged around the corner and there were high-pitched screams, and CRACK—

  Six feet away a bullet lodged into an elm tree.

  "Holy shit, Chris, you nearly blew my fucking head off!" Shane yelled, still ducking.

  "Hey, I'm sorry, but Christ, I didn't know it was you!"

  Dusty sighed, closing her eyes when she heard the familiar sound of Chris' voice. She stood and joined them. Billy was holding the 12-guage, eyes wide. She smiled at him and he smiled weakly back.

  "Where’ve you been?" Shane asked.

  Billy shrugged. "Looking for you guys.”

  "Didn't you hear us?" Dusty asked him.

  "Well." Chris and Billy looked at each other. "We heard something."

  "Thanks a lot." Shane rolled his eyes. "We could have used a little help."

  Dusty touched Shane's arm, shaking her head. Chris wouldn’t meet their eyes, looking at the gun in his hands. Billy stared at the snow.

  "Well, the thing is still alive." Shane’s face was grim. "But Jake and Evan are dead."

  Chris gasped, sounding as if someone had hit him in the stomach.

  Billy stood wide-eyed. "Dead?" he repeated, looking at Dusty. She nodded.

  "Did you try to kill it?" Chris demanded. "Did you shoot it?"

  “I shot it,” Dusty said grimly. �
�Twice.”

  “And I threw an M-80 at it,” Shane told them. “It put it in its mouth. I think that would have done it, but it was a dud.”

  "What is it?" Chris turned to pace toward the back of the mausoleum. "And what the hell is it doing here?"

  He stopped and leaned against the wall.

  "I don't know, Shane," Billy said, sounding uneasy. "There's not much we can do if bullets can't stop it." He joined Chris.

  "Depends, I guess." Shane followed them toward the back of the mausoleum. "Depends on where it was shot." They stood there in the shadows and Dusty joined them, shivering. It was getting colder. "Bullet wounds aren't always fatal."

  "It was a head shot." Dusty raised her eyebrows. "Well…a neck shot, at least."

  "I don’t know," Shane shrugged. “Maybe you missed the artery?”

  She gave him a cool look. “That shot should have killed it.”

  "Then it can’t be human," Chris said. "Can it?"

  "I think it was human." Dusty frowned at the memory of the thing, the wild, white hair, the filthy, tattered suit. "At one time maybe. But now—?"

  Shane motioned her to be quiet and she gave him a strange look.

  "She’s right." Shane’s voice grew louder as he motioned for Chris to give him his gun, still talking. Chris handed it over, puzzled. Shane was looking behind them. "If it was human once, it can be killed. "

  He put his finger to his lips after checking the ammunition in the gun and then pointed. They all turned around. A long shadow was growing on the snow in the moonlight on the other side of the mausoleum.

  A shadow with hooked claws.

  Dusty opened her mouth to scream but a hand was in the way—Shane's. He shook his head, turning her around, still talking.

  "Dusty shot it twice," he was saying. "It could be lying dead out there right now."

  She stared at him with wide eyes as he talked. He moved her behind him and motioned for Chris and Billy to do the same.

  The shadow grew longer and longer, and Shane kept talking, raising and quietly cocking the gun.

  "This damn cemetery is huge," Shane said.

  Dusty looked past his back, toward the western fence, and then at the growing shadow. Billy and Chris stood protectively on either side of her.

  "And it really could be anywhere by now."

  The thing sprang from around the corner, claws raised, teeth bared, and Dusty did scream then. Her screams mingled with its laughter and Shane's voice. Both Chris and Billy jumped back, crushing her between them.

  "But it's right here and it's going to die!" Shane began to pull the trigger.

  The first bullet caught its throat, jerking it back. The second went into its chest, the third into its stomach, the fourth, the fifth—Shane just kept firing, watching it stagger back toward the fence.

  "DIE, you son-of-a-bitch!" Shane screamed.

  He was pulling the trigger and it just clicked, empty. Dusty looked at the thing leaning against the fence, its breathing ragged, but it was breathing—

  "You fucker!" Shane yelled, the rage in his voice thick.

  He went after it with his bare hands and Dusty cried out, starting after him. Chris grabbed hold of her waist and pulled her back. Shane abandoned he gun, throwing it in the snow, and encircled the thing’s throat with his hands, screaming at it.

  "You killed my friends, you bastard!” Shane forced it backward and it seemed weak. It didn’t even raise its claws.

  “You’re—Going—To—Pay—For—It!" Shane cried, punctuating each word by pushing it farther back. It fought weakly and Dusty watched, horrified with herself when she felt pity as she heard it choking for air, spitting up blood.

  It was dying.

  Enough, she thought. Oh, that's enough.

  Its eyes rolled back into its head as Shane pressed harder, harder. It was up against the fence now, squirming and wheezing.

  Dusty screamed when a long spike pierced its throat, straight through Shane's hand. Shane cried out, cursing, pulling his hand carefully, painfully, off the spike. Dusty rushed toward him, screaming his name. He stood there, holding his hand, his eyes closed, something clenched tightly in his fist.

  "My God, are you okay? Shane, are you okay?" It was a stupid question, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  She repeated it over and over until he dutifully replied, "Yeah, I'm fine." But it was obvious he wasn't.

  They all looked at the thing dangling there. Its chest had stopped heaving. Dusty felt her stomach tighten, looking at the spike protruding from its throat.

  "Is it over?" Billy asked hoarsely, coming to stand beside them. Chris stood just behind Billy, staring at the body with wide eyes. Then he turned and vomited into the snow. Dusty looked away, her own stomach heaving.

  "It's dead," Shane told them.

  And that doesn’t exactly answer the question, does it? Dusty thought. Is it over?

  They had three bodies to explain and tomorrow to look forward to. Dusty thought of Nick. His killer was dead, but she didn’t feel relieved, or unburdened or even satisfied... she just felt sick. She tried to imagine her brother's face and found she couldn’t. It frightened her. She couldn’t remember just what he looked like, couldn’t remember the exact tone of his voice, the exact color of his eyes. She looked at the body on the fence. It was dead.

  But so was Nick.

  "Can you guys do me a favor and take the guns back to my car?" Shane sat in the snow. "I'm not feeling so hot."

  "Sure." Chris picked up the forty-five. Billy was still holding tightly to the shotgun.

  "I'll be there in a minute or two. I'm gonna rest here," Shane told them. "I'll meet you at the car."

  "No, you won't." Dusty knelt beside him. The blood was running freely from his hand. There was an actual hole right through it, the flesh parting in an odd, jagged way. She reached into her pocket and flipped open her phone. “No service. Damnit.” She glanced up at Chris and Billy. “Can you get service?” They had their phones out already, but both of them shook their heads.

  Dusty began digging in Shane’s pockets.

  "What are you doing?" he asked when she pulled out his keys.

  "Chris, take the car,” Dusty said. “Drive toward town until you get service or find a phone. Call an ambulance. And the police. I'm going to bandage his hand the best I can and I'll wait here with him."

  Chris hesitated, looking at Shane.

  "He's not driving my car," Shane told her, standing up. “Last time he drove my car—"

  He swayed unsteadily and then sat heavily back down.

  Sighing, he looked at Chris. “Take my car."

  "Okay," Chris said, looking worried. He glanced over at Billy, who was also frowning. "We'll be back."

  They started away and Dusty watched them for a moment.

  "I feel drunk," Shane said, looking at her and Dusty turned back to him.

  "You're losing too much blood," she said, taking off her coat.

  Shane watched as she unbuttoned her blouse and took it off. He stared at her then, at the flesh of her breasts over the top of her bra.

  "Now?" He grinned.

  "Pervert!" Dusty laughed, pulling her jacket back on and starting to tear strips of her blouse. She unclenched his fist and frowned at what he had clasped there. “Where did you get this?”

  It seemed like a million years ago when she took off the talisman, leaving the “dream-eater” Sam had given her at home before taking Nick’s gun with her to Shane’s, but here it was in Shane’s hand. How—?

  He looked down at it. “That thing was wearing it.”

  She held it up, frowning. On closer inspection, she saw wasn’t an exact replica of the one Sam had given her to wear, but it was close. Tossing it aside, she turned her attention back to Shane’s wound, wrapping the strips around his hand. He winced and shut his eyes. When she finished, he opened them and looked at her.

  "I'm cold," he said. She moved toward him, putting her arms around him and sitting nex
t to him in the snow.

  "My ass is still cold," he murmured against her hair. Then he said, "I'm tired."

  "So'm I," she replied, snuggling closer to him against the wind.

  He stroked her hair with one hand, his bandaged hand resting on her thigh. The moon was sinking behind the trees. Behind them, the body dangled quietly, lifelessly, and Dusty didn’t look back at it.

  But she wanted to. She was afraid it might be moving.

  "We're gonna be okay." Shane said it as if he could not believe it. "We did it. We really did it."

  "Yeah," Dusty breathed, a sadness settling somewhere inside.

  Nick was still gone.

  "Now what?”

  She didn’t answer him. She honestly didn’t know. It had grown darker, the moon moving away from them, behind the trees. She could only see his outline.

  "My hand hurts, Dusty." He sounded like a child. She kissed the top of his head, closing her eyes and snuggling in closer to him.

  "NO!"

  Dusty looked behind her, gasping.

  "NO! NO!"

  "Sam!” she gasped. “What are you doing here?"

  Sam looked behind her, beyond her, his jaw dropped, eyes wide. Puzzled, she stared at him. In one hand he carried a gun and a flashlight. In the other—Sarge, that’s Sarge!—he held a dog by the scruff of its neck. It hung limply.

  "Yuh-yuh-you b-b-bitch!" he spat, looking at her, flicking the flashlight on and shining it in her face. She tried to shield her eyes. The light was so bright, she couldn’t see.

  "What do you want?" Shane shaded his own eyes with his bandaged hand.

  "Yuh-you k-killed huh-him!" Sam cried, distraught.

  The dog thudded in the snow and Sam looked behind them with wide, frightened eyes. Dusty stared at him, thoroughly confused, questions coming and going in her mind faster than she could keep up.

  "Yuh-yuh-yuh-you kuh-kuh..." Tears began to fall down Sam's cheeks. "Yuh-yuh-yuh-yuh..."

  "Sam, what are you doing here?" Dusty asked him, her voice gentle. "What's the matter?" She motioned for Shane to be quiet. "I don't understand what you're—"

  "Yuh-You k-k-KILLED huh-him!" Sam swiped a hand across his eyes. "Huh-he was m-m-my fuh-FATHER!"

  "Your…what?" Dusty whispered.

  Sam narrowed his eyes at her. "Yuh-you said you wuh-were m-my fruh-friend.”

  "Sam, I am you friend, but you're not making any sense."