by Brian Hodge
Peter stepped forward and leaned over his father. “I’m sorry, Pop,” he said before firing his own gun three times.
The two brothers stood in the darkness over their father’s corpse. The wind had stopped and the only sound was their heavy breathing.
“This doesn’t feel as good as I always hoped it would,” Fred whispered. “Two people are dead because of me.”
“I’m sorry, Fred,” Peter said, tucking the gun back in his pants. “We better get to digging. We only have a few hours before the sun comes up. You better give me that gun back. I’m gonna clean them off and throw them with the bodies. They can’t be tied to me anyway. Daddy’s the one who gave them to me in the first place.”
Fred picked up a shovel and started digging. “How do you feel about it?”
“Heh. I’m not even sure yet. I wanted that bastard dead for a long time but I can’t say I feel great. Daddy was good to me sometimes.”
“Did you love him?”
“Not at all. I don’t think he loved us, either.”
Fred thought about that. He had tried his whole life to be the opposite of his father. Within a space of hours he had come to see a part of himself he had always fought.
Fuck you, Daddy, he thought as he continued stabbing the earth with his shovel.
Undenied
Dark Hollow: Fall
Carverton — 1890
“There he goes,” William Bryerly whispered, watching the cloaked figure.
The man’s shoes clicked as he walked across the wet cobblestone street, his shadow looming impossibly big by the gas lamplight. His dark coattails sounded like the wings of a bird as they fluttered in the cool breeze. A horse and carriage could be heard off in the distance, the hooves clapping in steady rhythms.
“We should follow him into the cemetery this time,” Joseph said, his breath fogging off into the cool night air.
The boys watched until the man vanished around the corner and then broke into a run. The fog-covered streets of Carverton were often quiet by this time of night, most of the townspeople retiring for the evening. William and Joseph had escaped from the windows of their bedrooms and into the massive oak tree that separated their houses. On most nights, they could be heard talking to each other from their rooms—the windows only yards away.
“We better hurry up or we’re going to lose him,” William said, already walking ahead but hiding in the shadows.
The night watchmen were everywhere in the last few weeks. A young doctor by the name of Ryan Harker had been found murdered in his home, his throat cut from ear to ear. Local prostitutes had also been found murdered recently. The boys knew if they were caught, they would most likely be grounded for months.
William and Joseph had been following the mysterious man for weeks. They had been lurking outside the gates of Dark Hollow Cemetery looking for ghosts one evening when they heard the footsteps from (in?) the darkness. Not wanting to be caught, they climbed a tree near the iron fence and waited.
The figure had come out of the night, fog trailing behind, his tall frame covered in black clothing. William could see the man wore a goatee and was bald, although it was impossible to tell how old he was.
The man stopped at the arched gateway of the cemetery, studying the twin angels that resided on both sides of the stone entrance. He sighed and entered, the wind whipping his long coat as if on cue. William was afraid of the wind, as he and Joseph had discovered that it always rushed you the second you entered the graveyard. Even in the daylight, it frightened him considerably. Although Joseph laughed when he suggested it, William was convinced the wind gusts were ghosts.
William found himself thinking about cemetery ghosts as they followed the enigmatic man down the shadowy streets. If anyplace was haunted, it was Dark Hollow. Only weeks ago, a popular poet by the name of Jacob Atherton hung himself within the gates of the graveyard. Earlier that month, they had also buried a murdered prostitute there as well, guaranteeing the cemetery would be haunted as far as William was concerned. If you added all the dead children that had turned up on the lake shore last summer, one could consider the cemetery the center of a ghostly universe.
As predicted, the man left the street and turned down a dirt road that led toward Dark Hollow. The boys followed, moving through the damp night. They watched as the man entered the cemetery gates and vanished into the fog.
The boys climbed the gate and entered the graveyard. Headstones jutted out of the fog, the marble glowing in the milky moonlight. Crickets heralded their arrival loudly. William was terrified, for he could not see the ground, and kept imagining the skeletal hands of the dead reaching from their graves and clutching at his feet. Joseph did not appear scared, his thick eyebrows arching as he looked around for signs of the mysterious man.
“I don’t see him,” William whispered, shivering as he pulled his coat around his tiny frame.
“The windows of that mausoleum are glowing.” Joseph pointed into the misty darkness. “See it?”
William let his gaze follow his friend’s finger and saw a gleaming window off in the distance. It was one of the larger mausoleums, a relatively recent one. Moving stealthily, the fog surging around their tiny forms, they approached the large tomb.
A light flickered in the mausoleum window, indicating a single candle flame. Soft voices came from inside.
William put his ear up to the thick door, eyes widening above his open mouth.
“I love you, Nathan,” a young female said from within the mausoleum, her voice reverberating and echoing around the stone walls.
“You have no idea how much I missed you, Anna,” a man said. “I see you every time I close my eyes. I hear your voice in every sound.”
“I do not like this place, Nathan. It is cold and lonely. I want to be with you.”
“I will take you from here soon, my love. It has to be done very carefully. If we are caught, they may not let us stay together. Sunday evening would probably be the best.”
“But that is still five days away.”
“I will come and visit you every night, Anna. I promise.”
“Let’s get out of here,” William hissed.
The boys exited the arched gateway, their eyes darting back into the fog. It was as if they feared the older man was going to leap from graveyard and drag them inside.
“Who was he talking to?” Joseph asked.
“I don’t know. You think it was a ghost?” William asked, running his hands through his blonde hair.
“It sounded like it. It sounded like she stays in there all the time. She said it was cold and lonely. Why can’t she leave?”
“I’m going home. We can talk about it there. What if he comes out while we are standing here?”
The next morning the boys felt much braver. They stood before the gateway of Dark Hollow, staring up at the twin angels with wide eyes, as if the statues would swoop down upon them. The graveyard looked much friendlier by day—most of the menace devoured by the light of the blazing sun.
“Are we really going to do this?” William asked, his chubby cheeks flushed as he stared into the rows of chalky tombstones.
“Of course we are,” Joseph said. His dark hair stuck out from his scalp in unruly points.
Taking deep breaths, they walked through the archway. William could not help but notice the way the wind promptly rushed through his hair like ghostly fingers.
In front of the mausoleum was carved the name:
Anna Wilde
1871-1891
Sadly missed by her husband, Nathan Wilde
It was a newer structure, but green lichen had already begun to grow around the base of the stone. Dead flowers surrounded a walkway that led to the entrance, some of them brown with decay, just a hint of the color of their former glory. A thick door, melancholic angels carved deeply into the dark wood, loomed ominously.
“That’s the name we heard last night, Joseph. He called her Anna.”
“Are we going to go in?” Joseph
asked, though it was easy to see he did not want to go in at all.
William grinned, feeling much more courageous than he had last evening. “I don’t think we have a choice. This is a mystery even Sherlock Holmes would be proud to solve.”
Reaching out tentatively, William pushed on the door, surprised when it opened with a reluctant groan. He was certain it would be locked. Frowning, he turned back to face his friend. “We better hope Nathan doesn’t come while we are here. If it’s unlocked, he may be lurking about.”
“If you keep lingering like this, he will,” Joseph said, pushing him forward.
The stone crypt smelled of mildew and decay. A sliver of sunlight sliced over the room and directly across the cherry oak coffin that rested on a pedestal in the center. Dust motes swam through the sunlight and over the wooden chair that sat next to the casket. A table, a single lit candle on its smooth surface, sat against the wall. William shivered as he imagined the older man sitting in the chair by candlelight, talking to his ghostly wife.
“Are we going to open it?” Joseph asked, staring at the casket as if he expected it to fly open and spring forth a corpse.
“I suppose,” William whispered, walking ahead, happy he could feel the sunlight burning into his back. He knew he would never be able to do such a thing by the light of the moon. He stepped on the chair as he was too small to open the coffin from where he stood. Reaching out carefully, William pulled at the lid.
A rush of foul air blasted into William’s face, and he would have fallen from the chair had Joseph not steadied him. The corpse of Anna Wilde was well preserved, her porcelain face gleaming with an oily sheen. Her lips were blood red. Dark hair surrounded her face and rested over her shoulders in silky strings. A white dress covered her small frame, the folds fitting perfectly to her lithe figure. Her hands were crossed on her chest, long red nails protruding out from delicate fingers.
Though he wanted to leave, William reached out to touch her face, his hand shaking.
Anna’s skin was hard and cold. Though she looked as if she could sit up at any moment, she was most definitely dead.
“You want to see her?” William asked, jumping down from the chair.
Joseph climbed up and studied the corpse for a few seconds before turning away, his face pale. “Let’s get out of here.”
Before leaving the crypt, they closed the coffin, dust motes swirling violently in the sunbeams. They retreated to the back of the cemetery to speak, sitting on the gravestone of a woman by the name of Lydia Rose.
“It had to be a ghost,” William said, watching a crow from where it perched in a nearby tree.
“Maybe he met a woman in there,” Joseph suggested, his eyes betraying his fear.
“And her name was Anna, too? The way she talked to him it sounded like it was her. And you know what is even more terrifying?”
“What?”
“Nathan is going to take her corpse out of there on Sunday.”
“I think we should go to the authorities. Let them know what is going on.”
“Would Sherlock Holmes go to the authorities?”
Joseph grinned. “Breaking into a mausoleum and overhearing a conversation does not make you Sherlock Holmes.”
“I feel like Sherlock Holmes. Aren’t you just the least bit curious? If we get any adults involved we won’t be able to find out what happens. We could always contact them after we find out what he’s going to do with the corpse. What if he can somehow bring her back alive?”
“Nonsense. I’d believe it was a ghost before I would believe he can bring her back from the dead.”
“She sure was beautiful. She was young, too.”
“Hello, boys,” a man said from behind them.
Nathan Wilde’s goatee was sprinkled with gray. His dark eyes glittered above his hollow cheeks. Smiling grimly, he removed his black derby, revealing his bald head.
“Why do you lurk about in the cemetery on such a nice day?” Nathan asked, rubbing his long fingers over his skull. “One would think you would have something better to do.”
“And why are you here, then?” Joseph asked boldly in the same tone as the older man. “One would think the park would be a better place for a walk.”
Nathan studied the boys for a few seconds before speaking, ebony eyes glimmering in the sunken confines of his face. “I’ve come to see my wife. She passed, God bless her soul. I come to see her every day.” He paused and stared sadly. “You have no idea how much I miss her.” He moved forward and leaned into Joseph’s face. “You should enjoy your youth, my friend. The world gets much uglier with age. The cemetery is no place for the young—even in death.”
Joseph backed away, nearly stumbling over a headstone. “Let’s go, William.”
“Take care, boys,” Nathan called after them, placing his derby back upon his head.
Later, the boys sat on the shore of Lake Angel, watching the sun as it slowly vanished into horizon. Golden colors shifted on the surface of the water in dancing sparks. A warm breeze gently rushed through their hair, sending a pleasant smell of decaying flowers into their noses. William took a deep breath, enjoying the moment.
“I think we should follow him Sunday,” Joseph said, his face glowing in the orange light of the setting sun.
“Two things can happen—both of which will leave me scared out of my mind,” William said. “One, he can leave the crypt with a ghost. Two, he can leave the crypt with her corpse. Either way, I’ll have nightmares for the rest of my life. I’m already starting to have nightmares as it is.”
“Nathan Wilde was strange. When I was five, I saw a man in the city get taken to the asylum. Nathan’s eyes looked like his.”
On Sunday night, the boys went to the Wilde mausoleum, hiding in a tree only yards away from the stone steps. Dead leaves fell around them, dragging against the bark as they dropped to the ground in dry whispers.
William concentrated on the full moon through the skeletal branches of the tree, watching his breath fog up into the starry sky. He wondered if this was the same tree the local poet had hung himself from.
It was just past midnight when the old man arrived on the steps of the crypt, his heels clicking the stone steps as he approached the door.
“I have come, my love,” Nathan said, pushing the door open with a creak and walking inside.
“Let us leave immediately, Nathan,” a female voice said from inside the crypt.
William and Joseph froze where they perched within the branches, both of them wanting to scream. They had checked the mausoleum when they arrived, and the only thing inside was Anna’s corpse.
“We must be careful, Anna,” Nathan said, his voice echoing from the stone structure and out into the graveyard. “If they should find us before we get home, I fear we will never see each other again.”
When Nathan walked outside of the crypt doors, Anna clutched stiffly in his arms like a piece of wood, William had to swallow the squeal that threatened to fire from his throat. Rigor mortis held Anna straight, her body rigid and stiff. Black hair flowed down from her head, waving behind her in the chilly breeze. The rancid smell of decay wafted upwards, stabbing into their nostrils in sickly sweet waves.
“Say nothing until we get home, Anna,” Nathan hissed and vanished into the looming tombstones, the wispy fog swirling around his form as if he had been consumed.
The boys waited almost a half-hour before they found the nerve to climb down from the tree.
For the rest of the week, the boys were assailed by mountains of schoolwork and had little time to follow up on the doings of Nathan and Anna Wilde. Truth be told—they really were too scared to return to their mystery. William dreamt every night of Anna’s stiff body clasped tightly in Nathan’s arms.
They learned from some of the local gossip that Nathan Wilde, an older doctor, had married young Anna only a year ago. They had been very much in love. Nathan was devastated when his wife had died of pneumonia only six months after their wedding.
It was almost two weeks later when William and Joseph found themselves watching Nathan stroll across the walkway of his home and down the road toward the town. When they could no longer hear his footsteps, they crept into his backyard and tried the door. It was open.
The kitchen was clean and modest. A large bowl of fruit sat in the center of the table. Joseph snatched an apple as they passed, ignoring the withering look he got from William.
The rest of the house also appeared normal, almost religiously clean. The only place they had not looked was the closed bedroom door on the second floor. William looked back at Joseph before opening the door, his body tense and ready to run away at the first sign of movement.
Turning the handle cautiously, his breath held in his lungs, William pushed open the door.
Anna lay in the center of the bed, her round face protruding from her dress like a meticulously created doll, an odd smile on her thin lips. Dark hair flowed from her head, making her pale face loom like a moon within the folds of her red sheets. Her eyes were open, but stared upwards to the ceiling, focusing off into nothing.
The boys circled the bed with soft footsteps, eyes wide above their open mouths. They stopped only when they were inches away from her curiously fake metallic face.
“She’s smiling,” William whispered.
“If she moves I will die. I swear it,” Joseph said, his voice trembling.
His hand shaking, William reached out and touched the corpse’s nose. Anna’s entire face shifted downwards as if it was collapsing, and he squealed and pulled backwards.
“Her face moved!” William hissed.
“I think it’s a mask,” Joseph said, pointing at the side of her head. “See?”
William placed his finger on the edges of Anna’s face and pushed it upward. Underneath was the real Anna Wilde—her skin gray and mottled, her eyes sunken deep within her face.
“You really think she talks?” William asked, putting the mask back.
“I don’t know. We both heard her.”