A Grave Situation

by Zoey Kane

  “Since she was nonresponsive from loss of oxygen, and having been paralyzed from the neck down, with no family as an orphan of public record, we entered into a mercy pact by ending her life by way of her heart, finalizing her departure from this veil of tears within seconds.

  “This chapel no longer holds the happiness it did. The spirit of peace has left with the hanging; therefore, this chapel is hereby and forever locked—a mausoleum of tears. May she rest in peace. So sign we all, December, 3rd, 1889. Melvin Hall, James Boden, Michael Pierce.”

  They stayed crouching there, staring at the skeleton, taking deep breaths for thought on what to do next.

  “These townsmen just left her here like this? Like this church is her tomb?” Claire finally said.

  “This happened a long time ago, when things were much different, laws were much different. People were very superstitious back then, too,” Zo said. “It makes sense that this church would be shut down and locked up for forever.”

  “I feel awful for her.” Claire got on her knees and stared into the eye sockets once again. “I can imagine eyes in there filled with tears, Mom. Her groom never showed up for the wedding, and because of that she felt so much pain that she killed herself. And now her story has been morphed into some bizarre urban legend. The town is haunted by her tragedy to this day. So, so terrible.” She gently laid the sheet back over her, and slowly stood back up.

  “It is definitely sad. I agree with you about that. I think it would only be proper to notify the authorities about where she’s been lying to this day. They may have different plans for putting her to rest.” Zo stepped back and an old board squeaked underfoot. She yelped in surprise. “Woo, you gotta watch your step in here,” she said.

  As they were readying themselves to leave, there was a flash of light over the broken sheet-covered window.

  “Shhh.” Claire put a finger to her mouth. “Someone’s out there…”

  There was a squeaking sound accompanying the scare.

  Claire added, “And I hear bats.”

  “Don’t worry,” Zo whispered, “they can’t see us through those high windows.”

  Zo nodded, and darted her eyes around the small chapel. She spotted a narrow door behind the lectern. “Still, let’s go hide out in there for a bit,” she said, motioning for her daughter to follow.

  Inside was pitch black darkness. Reluctantly, they inhaled the decrepit scent of old—stale dust with a hint of mildew.

  “Turn your phone’s light back on,” Zo said, nudging Claire.

  Claire fished around for her cell phone in her pockets. Hearing nothing but the soft sound of their breathing, there was a loud smacking of what sounded like gum.

  “Mom,” Claire whispered, “you’re chewing gum?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Right here, right now?”

  “I’m bored. Be thankful for the minty whiffs I’m offering in this dank space.”

  Claire actually was thankful for that, she had to admit.

  POP.

  “Now you’re popping it?” Claire rolled her eyes. Not that her mother could see the expression. Unfortunately their eyes couldn’t light up like a cartoon character’s in the dark.

  Pop. Pop, pop, pop… POP. Pop.

  “How can you even do that?!” Claire whispered in disbelief.

  “It’s like rapid fire through my teeth. I’ll show you sometime. You know, when it’s not dark. Hurry and find that cell phone.”

  “Aren’t we supposed to be listening for other noises?” Claire felt for her mother’s arm and squeezed it. “We don’t want to be caught in here.”

  Silence.

  Pop…

  “That one was an accident,” Zo whispered.

  “Okay, no more,” Claire said. But then she got a whiff of something. “Oh, no. Ew!” She clamped a hand across her nose.

  “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “We’re too enclosed for that sort of stuff!”

  “Oh, like you’ve never had one slip by. So sorry.”

  “Open the door.”

  When Zo opened the door, Claire fanned the air with her hands. They turned to see what they had been huddling next to in the tiny space. They saw piles of books and ledgers stacked on top of files, covered in dust, like flour sifted over a baker’s table.

  She finally rooted out her cell phone and turned on its small but powerful light. “Look here … people who were buried, alphabetically and by year.”

  “Look up 1889,” Zo said, excited to see if there was any more information written about the “Stranger.”

  Claire sneezed from unsettling the dust, but soon enough came to a folder labeled “Stranger Burial.” There was one piece of paper inside with penned notes. “Male body washed from the ocean at Galley Cove. Six foot one, brown hair, Caucasian, teeth indicate approx. 26 years of age. Clothing—that of a mariner. This drowned man was from the shipwrecked Skipping Betty during the terrible storm of November 26th, 1889. Every dead crew member was accounted for except this poor soul. No known name. No known family. Articles of property—one gold wedding band, size 5. One Bible wrapped in paraffin paper.

  Miscellaneous comment: “The body was brought to me from the coroner, Edward Fulton, for a charitable burial, along with his belongings. I put the ring into a pants pocket and enclosed the Bible, with its wrappings, inside his coat at the chest. He was buried at Lot 126 in a decent casket.

  “God bless him and his family wherever they are. Pastor Hall, November 28, 1889.”

  “The Skipping Betty,” Claire said, repeating the name of the ship. “You don’t think this man could be the one who never made it to his wedding?” Claire asked.

  “Hm. Same year—1889.”

  “And the wedding band … men don’t wear size five bands.”

  “No, they don’t.”

  “I wear a size five,” Claire said with emphasis.

  “I always thought you should play piano, but you insisted on learning the clarinet.” Zo reminisced. “You have such long, slender fingers. You don’t even play the clarinet anymore.”

  “There’s a lot of things I haven’t done since junior high—band camp being one of them. But that’s not the point. The point is, he was carrying a woman’s wedding band. Do you think this is just too much of a coincidence? Am I jumping to conclusions here?”

  “No, I think you could really be onto something. Buried in Lot 126,” she repeated in thought. “One-two-six.”

  “Well, we should probably get going,” Claire said, shoving the folder back into its file. “We’ve already risked a lot sticking around the graveyard this long, this late at night.”

  Zo picked up a book that caught her eye. It was leather, with leather string wound through handmade holes in plain off-white paper. The first page said, “Pastor Hall’s Journal.”

  She read aloud a few passages that caught her eye: “I am compelled by conscience to dedicate myself to the care of Isobel Myer, within the chapel. Kids try to enter the church since I closed it down. I’ve run them all off, but I have had to go to extraordinary lengths to seal up the church tight. I’ve boarded up the windows and then followed with putting bars over all of them.”

  Next passage: “It is a good thing that I was a mason ever before I followed the call of the Lord. I have started building a mausoleum which will allow me to build a passage into the chapel. I am the servant of care to Isobel, a poor sweet daughter of God. I will protect her body by sealing everything out from her, till the resurrection or the will of God brings change.”

  Next passage: “Doctor Pierce says I have double pneumonia. I have talked to him regarding my concern about Isobel. He says I don’t have to worry. The mayor is closing down the cemetery from any other burials and the names of who is buried in what lot will be taken to the city hall for record keeping.”

  Zo placed the journal back where she found it. “What a story this is, and no one knows it. Amazing!”

  “We are the only ones, Mom. We have to be careful
on how to handle everything.”

  The duo decided to head back to the castle. Their search for Lacey left them dry, but they had found out more about the infamous Isobel.

  Zo walked ahead of her daughter, rounding a corner of the church, headed in the direction of the graveyard’s parking lot.

  Claire had stopped to wipe some doggie doo-doo off her boot when she heard a WHANG!

  Claire sprinted around the corner in worry, wondering what other accident her mother had gotten herself into. Someone darkly clothed was carrying a skillet, quickly dragging Zo’s limp body across the cemetery’s dank earth.

  “Hey!” Claire called out in panic.

  They continued on, faster.

  Claire quickened her pace, accidentally stepping on a shovel, causing its handle to pop up and hit her in the face. Claire grabbed her cheek in pain. Only angered further by the incident, she continued running harder, yelling, “Stop!” over and over. “That’s my mother you’ve got!”

  Zo woke up in the back of an unfamiliar car. The scent wasn’t that of new leather, like Claire’s Volkswagen. It instead smelled like cats and pine deodorizer. Twenty cats, if she had to guess. She groggily sat up, trying to recall her last memory. “Hello?” she asked.

  “Oh, good, you’re awake!” said the woman driver. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I could use a Tylenol. Who are you? What’s going on? And where is my Claire?”

  “You will find out soon.”

  Zo’s eyes now focused on the face in the rearview mirror. Its eyes were black rimmed over a white chalky face, with bright red lips. A mask?

  Claire finally gave up running, watching the car speed away too fast around a bend and out of sight. Why hadn’t she thought of dashing to her car when she had the chance, for a proper chase? She pulled her phone out of her pocket, dialed, and said breathlessly, “I’d like … to report … a kidnapping.”

  NINE

  If it were thirty years prior, and Zo was at a themed sorority mixer, this would all make so much more sense. And she’d actually enjoy it. Maybe even be the wildest one there. But this was so not her college years. Now, nearly everyone had tattoos, some even up their necks. And the choice of makeup was different—white cover up and exaggerated eyeliner.

  Lying there in the middle of everyone, the smarting bump on her head slightly throbbing, Zo thought about tattoos. She concluded washable colored ink pens would work better ‘cause she could change the artwork to go with what she was wearing. It made total sense in her confused state.

  The darkness in the dungeon, or wherever they’d dragged her to, mixed with the scent of cheap cologne, was pressing on her already aching head. She went to touch her nose, but found she was bound with duct tape on some sort of altar.

  “Sheeero shee … Sheeero shee…” was being chanted in a low drone by the mega-fanged crowd swaying in unison.

  One creepy-looking not-at-all handsome vampire was holding up a balloon that bobbled around as if filled with Jell-o. He lowered the balloon and held it out in the center of the group, where Zo lay. “Brethren, and sister-en, we come together tonight with a new sacrifice,” he said, moving a hand toward their captive, Zo. “May the new blood quench our thirst.”

  The crowd began to take places around Zo. Lacey stood to her right, rolling her head around, showing her bite marks with pleasure, while holding hands with a guy whose obsession with zippers made Zo want to unzip them all in a fury.

  The sacrifice interrupted the festivities: “I should warn you … my blood tastes like garlic. I bought some potato chips that were laced with the stuff. Maybe if we wait a couple days for my body to cleanse—”

  “Silence!” the head vamp warned, then resumed his instructions. “As part of our tradition at our Midnight Feast and Dance, we each place the blood balloon under our chins, squeeze it firmly against our neck, like so, without touching it with our hands, and pass it from neck to neck, going counter-clockwise. When we have completed a full circle, I will burst it over the neck of the one who has been chosen, then we shall enjoy our feastly festivities.”

  “I object!” Zo wriggled her wrists, trying to loosen herself from the binds that tied her. “I just had my hair done, and I really need to go. I have a daughter to go home to, and a date tomorrow … whether or not he is in denial of his feelings for me, or the rest of the female race. This is all just bad timing!”

  Someone turned on heavy metal music and the proceedings began despite her plea. She watched in disgust as one person passed the balloon to the next, the recipient arching their neck, then squeezing the balloon to the point it would surely burst right there, all over their emo ensemble. But it didn’t. After Lacey finally had a turn, Zo decided to go right ahead with her warning from Dracula: “Your head Volturi Dracula told me to give you this message: You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, waltzing around town, showing off your bite marks.”

  Lacey put her face close to Zo’s with an arched eyebrow and curled lip, showing off a fake fang. “What would you know?”

  “I know that what goes around comes back around with dents. Writing fake emails to the newspaper and dressing up like Isobel to frighten the town shows the desperate desires of a shallow girl. It’s not doing your reputation any favors.”

  Lacey laughed. “That just shows how much you know.”

  “Yeah, I know a lot. I know an attention-seeker when I see one. But these tricks are going to get you hurt. It’s serious now. This isn’t a message coming from just me—both Kellen and Drac told me to pass it to you.”

  The vampire cultist placed a hand to her ear and said, “What? I don’t speak ‘old lady.’”

  That infuriated Zo. She imagined gripping her hands around the girl’s holey little neck. Unfortunately, the duct tape wouldn’t allow that fantasy to come true.

  Then the balloon burst, and Zo’s neck was doused in the red stuff. She was rushed by the circle of vampires and they began licking, not biting, at it.

  “Ewwwww!” Zo cried out.

  Some onlookers cheered over the spectacle.

  The music’s tempo changed and the dance began. Drinks came out on trays served by maids with white aprons, in short skirts with black stockings. One of them came over to Zo, asking, “Would you like a cherry 7-Up, you being a pure, although not virgin, sacrifice and all?”

  “How do I drink it?” Zo was thinking, Duh!

  “I can get a bendy straw for you.” She smiled a cute wide smile with extra pointy cuspids that hung over her bottom lip.

  Before things went any further, a couple cops burst through a door from some alley. With guns drawn, they yelled, “Hands up!”

  “Finally!” Zo said to herself in relief. She could hardly wait to be rescued from this surreal dream.

  Somebody yelled, “The cops!”

  Batman theme music suddenly played over the speakers and the two officers put in their fangy teeth and started to dance, peace-sign fingers being drawn horizontally across the eyes. They were doing the Batusi.

  Oh, crappers! It just got worse. This was the first time Zo didn’t feel at least somewhat in control. A clown vampire walked past her and honked his rubber-bulbed horn at her. Where’s my gun when I need it?

  The door opened again and another officer, older, paunchy, walked through. “Okay, Bob? Marv?” he called out. “We have a kidnapping and injury this time.”

  The dancing policemen stopped, pulled out their teeth, and put them in their shirt pockets.

  “Okay, okay. You know the drill. Load up into the riot wagons parked outside.”

  It turned out to be two yellow school buses. Zo was untaped and rode with the captain to the police station.

  *

  “It was just strawberry syrup!” Lacey cried.

  Zo and Claire stood in a hall at the police station, watching the girl’s interrogation through the room’s window.

  “She is in deep doo-doo,” Zo said with a satisfied smile. “An arrest and jail time should teach he
r a lesson. It will be good for her. Plus, we’ve done our job of keeping her safe in the meantime.”

  Claire nodded in agreement. “How dare she and her henchman come kidnap you. Thankfully, I have perfect vision and a great memory, so I could call the cops with the plate number.”

  As they stood there, waiting for it all to play out perfectly, smiles faded. Lacey’s eyes were so pleading; she sniffled with a tissue permanently in her hand, making gestures like she was innocent … and the big lug of a cop actually went over to give her a tender hug of consoling.

  “This is so not right.” Claire put a finger up in retort. “How can this be happening?”

  Zo blew out in exasperation. “Small town cops. Everybody knows everybody, and it looks like this particular cop would rather play daddy to her.”

  Claire went up to the glass and knocked tersely. The cop glanced over his shoulder, still holding Lacey, as a finger waved at him in heated disapproval. All that came in response was a half-hearted shrug of “oh well” from him.

  The cherry on top was when Lacey finally came out of the room, continuing to sniffle on his shoulder, until she could pass a private little smile to the duo, rubbing her release in their faces.

  When Zo and Claire were alone, Zo asked, “Is it evil of me to not care if a mob of townspeople tar and feather her, after all?”

  “What do you say we go back to the castle and pretend this whole fiasco never happened? We have three more days left to what is supposed to be our ‘vacation,’ and then we can run out of here. Since you can’t identify the masked person who hit you with a stainless steel frying pan, and the car turned out to be stolen from a used car lot…”

  “It would be nice to leave tomorrow.”

  “It would,” Claire agreed, wrapping her arm around her mother’s and strolling down the hall, back to the lobby. “Only, Jim would be so disappointed if his fun was over. And you have an appointment with a handsome dance teacher.”

  “You’re right.” Zo slipped through the front door Claire had opened for her, into the chilly night again. “How about we find a hair salon and masseuse tomorrow and totally pamper ourselves? I don’t think I got all the strawberry syrup out of my hair in the bathroom sink.”