"Shit, better hurry," Roy muttered, "the gates will be opening soon."
Roy marched to the grave where this nightmare had begun. The wind picked up in strength and howled through the pine trees above, in an eerie symphony to accompany his approach.
Welcome back, Roy Stephens!
He was surprised to see his shovel and other tools where he had left them. Quickly Roy set the shoe-box down on the gravel path beside Vladimir’s grave, paused to take a deep breath, as deep as his constricted lungs would allow, then readied himself the jump back in.
A fiendish howl, that rose from the depths of hell itself, shattered the early morning silence, not fifty yards from Roy.
Vladimir!
"How does that bastard move so fast—how?" A petrified Roy questioned. He forced himself into motion. "I can't worry about it now. I can't!"
Roy placed his shovel at an angle inside the grave so he could use it as a makeshift ramp, then carefully slid down the handle and stood on the sides of what remained of Vladimir's coffin. He waited until he balanced himself before he reached for the shoe-box. He looked at the cardboard box once more before putting it back where, he hoped, it would lay Vladimir to rest–once and for all.
Vladimir was close now.
Roy heard the uneven plods of the undead phantom on the gravel above. Roy’s heart pounded faster and faster as he realized Vladimir was just a few feet from the grave. The heavy sound of Vladimir’s approach stopped, a handful of stones from the pathway above trickled over the edge and into the grave.
A chill swept through Roy's soul; he shook uncontrollably. He knew Vladimir now stood over him, he didn’t need the foul stench of the undead revenant to tell him that. There was no escape now; this was it. He was too late. It was time to man up and accept his fate.
Roy Stevens, gravedigger, a man who had survived if not prospered for his entire life without ethics or morals, stood slowly, head bowed—like a man on his way to the gallows. Had he been given one more chance to redeem himself, or had he merely been led back to the graveyard, the scene of his crime, for this, his final punishment?
He didn’t turn to look, nor did he piss himself with fear as Vladimir jumped into the grave. He was done. Done running, done with fear. Done with it all.
Instead of a bloody and painful head-rip—as expected—darkness fell over Roy and the pressure on his body, particularly his chest, eased. He felt as if he were being lifted, raised from the ground.
Has God forgiven me?
He wasn’t jerked into the air and throttled like a child’s doll—in fact he felt a great release from around his chest and breathing became easier. His lungs welcomed the surge of fresh air like an alcoholic welcomes the first drink of the day. For a moment, he even felt weightless, he dreamed he floated on a cloud.
Is this what happens when you die? He wondered.
He was comfortable now, at ease for the first time since his ordeal began, and any thoughts of the strange creature that pursued him through the night had disappeared. Fresh air blew into his face, up his nose, and into his lungs.
Life. Wonderful, wonderful life! He was shaken from his moment of peace when he sensed a clamping around his nose and mouth, the touch was gentle, however, not all like he thought Vladimir's rotted hands would be.
He sensed the presence of others and slowly opened his eyes, fuzzy silhouettes of people surrounded him.
Roy detected voices, muffled and distant at first, but became louder, with each passing second. He was aware of his injured leg as it was raised, and then lowered.
"Roy, can you hear me?" A voice called. He heard it loud and clear and to his side and managed—somehow—to look in that direction. The voice belonged to Darren Johnson, his boss, who knelt beside him, concern etched on his face. Two other men in uniforms approached from the side with what appeared to be a narrow table on wheels.
"Wh-wh-wha's… Goin’ on?" mumbled Roy.
"Take it easy, Roy, take it easy," Darren reassured him. "You’ll be all right. We've got an ambulance here for you. You'll be okay, just take it easy."
Turning his head a little further, Roy could make out the flashing lights of an ambulance parked on the access road. "An amb'lance… why do I need an amb'lance?" stuttered Roy. "Wha… wha's, wrong with me?"
As the ambulance crew moved in and lowered the gurney next to him, Darren told Roy as much as time allowed. "There was a cave-in," he began. "When you went to place the parting gift inside the grave, the sides came down on you. You were lucky there was an air pocket in there, still, you had a lot of dirt on top of your chest.”
Darren stood up and moved back to allow the EMT in.
"This might be a little uncomfortable, sir," the technician said to Roy. "Won't take a second, though." He and his partner grabbed Roy and transferred him from the ground to the gurney in one swift motion.
"Jesus!" Roy yelled. "What the hell's wrong with my leg?"
"You broke it in the collapse," the EMT explained, "you got wedged between the coffin and the side of the grave. You were lucky you didn't suffocate.
Suffocation… sounds familiar.
"That's why you have the oxygen mask on now, Roy," Darren came forward again when he saw the opportunity to explain, “get some good clean air back into your lungs!
Roy raised a hand to his face and with trembling fingers fumbled around his mouth and nose. There was an oxygen mask there, all right.
That explained the earlier clamping sensation.
"You were lucky one of the mourners came back to ask you about the headstone," Darren babbled as he kept pace with the gurney. "He found you, well, one of your feet sticking out, and alerted me. That’s how I know about the gift."
"Which was lucky for you, sir," an EMT informed. "If you'd been down there much longer, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
A dam burst open in Roy's mind and realization flooded through him. The shoe-box full of money and jewelry, the horror that was Vladimir, the dead and mutilated bodies, and all the running, it had all been a nightmare, just a fucking nightmare. Exasperated by a lack of oxygen and the pain of a broken leg. A nightmare generated by all his years of guilt he had successfully hidden—until now. As the EMT's loaded Roy into the back of the ambulance, he could smile. All that fear about the dead returning from the grave.
"Just a dream," he whispered, "a stupid fucking dream."
The EMT pulled the sheets up to Roy's chest, secured the gurney then went to get the emergency kit. Roy felt an object in the pocket of his pants, pressing against his thigh. He put his hand inside and felt a small circular object.
“What the…” He muttered in surprise as he took it out.
Before he laid eyes on the object, Darren called to him from the rear of the ambulance. "Roy, before you go, I think there's someone you should meet. Here’s the man who raised the alarm. He saved your life."
Roy barely heard a word Darren said; he stared in shock at the object he'd pulled from his pocket. A polished gold ring with a band of diamonds encircling it—the very same he'd dropped in the car park near his apartment when he fled from the vengeful revenant, Vladimir.
Confirmation. The ring was confirmation it wasn’t a stupid dream.
"Greetings again, Roy, I am so glad you are all right, my friend," an accented voice said. "I came back to ask about preparations for the headstone. I walked over to the grave and saw it had collapsed upon you. I am so glad you are all right, my friend."
He looked up when he heard the voice, or more precise, the accent
Roy Stevens’ shock increased, as did his pulse, and a cold sweat ran down his back… Next to Darren Johnson, with a smile on his face, was the man to whom Roy owed his life: Besnick.
Vladimir's brother.
What he didn’t know, was he owed Besnick more than his life—he owed his soul!
As the EMT closed the back door of the ambulance, Roy watched in further horror as Besnick touched the side of his nose and wink, our little secret type
of thing.
Roy looked at the ring in his fingers, then back to Besnick. As the second door slammed, and the ambulance moved away, Roy had no idea what to think. Did it happen, or was it a dream? If it was a dream, where did I get the ring, and how would Besnick know—
Wild thoughts ran through Roy's mind until a serious one replaced them. If it was real, then Vladimir didn't get his full treasure back, which meant he’s still out there.
Waiting.
The sedative given to Roy took hold, though he fought it, it wasn't long before sleep came. The diamond encrusted gold ring dropped from his fingers and rolled underneath the empty gurney next to him.
Moments later, Roy was startled awake by a body—numbing growl of pure terror. The sound came from below him--directly below. Roy heard a grinding of teeth and a foul stench of rotted flesh assaulted his senses. He looked around for the EMT, but he couldn’t see him at all. He froze with fear at the sound of something heavy as it shifted position with a scrape. A decayed and bloodied hand rose from below and slapped onto the gurney and took a hold of Roy’s leg.
Vladimir!
* * *
End of Book 1: A Grave Matter
* * *
Revised August 2017. Craig A. McDonough
* * *
What will become of the hapless Roy Stephens? Who is the mysterious Besnick, and what does he know?
What will the revenant Vladimir do, once he’s exacted his revenge?
Discover the conclusion to this and more in the complete “A Horror at Pine Ridge” coming soon.
Updates on release date will come via the author’s newsletter and can be found here;
Horror at Pine Ridge update
* * *
The Secret is out!
A Grave Matter Page 4