Grave Measures (The Grave Report, Book 2)

by R. R. Virdi

  I wasn’t keen on leaving any of the ghosts behind. They were the only edge we had in this place. The asylum’s ghosts knew the place well. They could fight the shadows and God knows what else. Losing one would be a pain, losing some...not great for our odds. But neither was fighting an unknown amount of shadows in an abysmally dark room.

  I sighed. “Not a fan of the idea. How many ghosts would we have to leave behind?”

  All I saw was a faint motion I assumed to be Lizzie’s hand. It rose up and I could see vague outlines.

  “Uh, Lizzie, I can’t make out what you’re doing.”

  “Oh.” She seemed startled by my admission. “Two.” She flashed her fingers.

  Two wasn’t a terrible sacrifice, especially if it meant being able to see clearly, or clearer at least. It did mean that we would have two fewer ghosts to help us take down the shadowy fiends if it came to it.

  I grimaced. “How many ghosts do we have following us?”

  “Eleven.”

  It wasn’t an army, but a pack of wolves can take down much larger prey. I just had to hope the group of shadows wasn’t larger than our group of ghosts. Knowing my luck, we would be facing a legion of these things.

  “’Kay Lizzie, can you ask some of them to hang back and help with this darkness crap?”

  “They heard you.” She waved around us.

  Of course they did.

  The effect wasn’t instantaneous, but it was close enough. Darkness seeped away. A flood of depressing blues, grays and whites wafted past us. Within seconds, the area returned to its previous grim coloring. Whatever the ghosts were doing sailed forward, illuminating the hall ahead of us. I wished it had stayed dark.

  There were dozens of the freaks! They were dispersed through the hall. Some leaned against the walls; others busied themselves with other things. If the shadows had been bothered by the change of scenery, they didn’t show it. Their attention was fixed on a series of unseen things. I had a good idea what those things were. The shadows’ movements were languorous. It was an almost-pleasured and lazy state. I’d seen similar behavior in heroin addicts.

  These things were feeding on ghosts, slowly. The way they moved suggested as much. It was a group of uncoordinated shadow people, stumbling about. Some of them were on all fours, pinning something to the ground. The shadow beings didn’t have to feed fast and hard like the attack on Isaac. These monsters wanted to string the pleasure out, draining the ghosts. They not only fed off a ghost’s essence but their negative emotions as well. They were like Wraiths in a way. Part of me wondered if they were related. The captive ghosts probably didn’t have much strength to fight back. There was a single blessing in all of that. None of them were focused on our little trio.

  “No!” Lizzie shrieked.

  So much for the element of surprise.

  She tore off. The kid zipped past us, screaming as she charged dozens of monsters. There’s nothing quite like seeing a young girl stampeding off to face monsters.

  “Ah, what the hell.” I let loose an animalistic bellow of my own. Roaring, I surged forward. My long strides carried me up to and past Lizzie. Out of the corner of my vision, I saw Ortiz sprinting in tow. A wild grin appeared on my face, soon replaced by another maniacal howl that shook the shadow beings from their reverie.

  Stirring from their leisured feeding, the shadow beings shambled without coordination. Something impacted me around the midriff. Breathing was difficult and I found myself staring at the ceiling. Apparently the shadow monster pinning me down had some adversity to being strung out, because he wasn’t slow at all. I glared up at the perfect reflection of a shadow man and lashed out with a fist. I struck its jaw and the creature reeled. I sat up, snaking my arms around its torso. With a jerk and twist, I took the creature to the ground. From my newfound position on top, I rained hammer blows on the creature’s skull.

  Frantic movement caught my eye. I didn’t stop my assault. Every sort of hell imaginable had broken loose. My fists slowed as I took in the scene of carnage. In one corner, a shadow was suspended, spread-eagle in mid-air. Thin strands of tissue elongated where its limbs met its trunk. Moments later, its limbs fell to the ground. Nearby, a trio of shadow beings grappled with what seemed to be thin air. They sank to the ground, wrestling with something, before their hands shifted into small rakes. Clawing like dogs retrieving a buried bone, the shadowed monsters dug into the ghost. A pained wail filled the air. It was silenced a second later.

  I gasped as five tendrils of steel took hold of my throat. The creature squeezed as I batted its arm without result. I had forgotten something in coming to the Neravene. We had left at night. Though time moved differently in the Neravene, this particular spot mirrored the asylum. If it was night there, it was probably night in the warped asylum as well. My gaze slipped from the creature’s arm and wandered down to its chest. A hole the size of a basketball greeted me. It wasn’t empty. A fist-sized pulsing mass of black hung there, ichor dripping from it.

  I reached out, trying to encircle the beating mass. I would’ve had better luck trying to grab grease coated with baby oil. That sucker was slippery. So I did what I’m oh-so-adept at. I punched it. The pressure around my neck vanished. The shadow being backpedaled, clutching its chest. I intertwined my fingers and sent both my fists crashing into its chin. The creature’s head snapped back and it lost its balance. It collapsed. I brought my heel up and sent it plummeting down. There was a wet squelch as the blackened heart was crushed.

  “Ortiz!” I shouted.

  No reply.

  “Lizzie?” My head swiveled with enough speed and force to wrench the muscles. “Lizzie?” It was a fustercluck and I couldn’t see her anywhere. Shadowed figures filled my sight.

  Somebody screamed and it wasn’t me.

  Lizzie was held up by one arm, flailing and kicking as she dangled from the creature’s grip. Snarling, I ran toward them. No way I was letting that freak hurt a little girl. Ortiz beat me to it. She bounded into view as she sank and kicked out with a leg. She swept the monster off its feet and was back on hers as Lizzie fell. Ortiz caught Lizzie under the shoulders and let her down gently. Ortiz’s attention shifted to the fallen monster. I almost felt sorry for it—almost.

  The monster swatted at Ortiz with dagger-like claws. She batted the blow aside with a series of strikes of her own. Her foot snapped out and caught the shadow being under the chin, driving it back. I covered the distance and jumped atop the rising creature, bringing it back down. As I struggled to keep it down, I saw Lizzie take off, again.

  “Sarah!” she screamed in equal part horror and relief. Lizzie darted further down the hall. There was one problem. Well, more like a dozen problems. There was still a sizable group of shadow beings left. None of that mattered to Lizzie. She scampered as fast as her legs could carry her.

  Into the maw, I thought. But she wouldn’t be alone. “Ortiz!” I barked, nodding my head toward Lizzie. She broke her attention off the creature I was pinning down, and took off behind her.

  “Fuck!” I yelped as my forearm was lanced with needle-like gashes. The shadow being’s fingers had lengthened, becoming slender scalpels. “You nearly wrecked my tattoo,” I growled as I brought the weight of my knee atop its arm. Having trapped it, I pummeled its face. It may not have been the most effective thing, but it was satisfying. Heaving, I palmed at the fiend’s head, taking it up in both hands. I bashed it against the floor. It didn’t take long for it to cave.

  Moans and cries of agony reverberated through the hall. Ortiz and Lizzie were surrounded by a group of shadow monsters. Lizzie’s screams were audible over the sounds of ghosts being devoured. I rose from my position and hoofed it over to Ortiz and Lizzie. I wasn’t needed.

  I heard deafening crashes like waves breaking over boulders. The walls caved in. Shadow beings were sent hurtling into the asylum walls. Some were slammed into the ground. The remaining ghosts didn’t take too kindly to Lizzie and Ortiz being surrounded. Tiles cracked, drywall crunched
and, soon, we were alone.

  The remains of the shadow beings faded and the three of us stood in eerie silence. My arm itched. I glanced down at it and frowned. Worry took hold of me. The time hadn’t changed. Of course it hadn’t in this place. That wasn’t a reassuring fact. I could’ve had fifteen minutes left for all I knew. Not great.

  A sniffle pulled me away from my anxiety-riddled thoughts. Lizzie’s face was without tears, but I could see the mix of emotions in her. She moved slowly. A mixture of disbelief and caution weighed her steps down. Lizzie stopped about two feet from a broken wall where one of the shadow beings had lingered earlier. Then she threw herself forward…

  …and connected with something I couldn’t see.

  Lizzie’s face widened as she smiled, emphasizing her cheeks. Ortiz gasped and I inhaled sharply. It—she—stood there smiling down at Lizzie, who had an arm wrapped around the ghost’s waist like she was completely solid. Ghosts have the ability to become tangible, but only under certain and quite specific circumstances. Anger is usually the easiest. Lashing out becomes addictive to them. It’s why ghosts have the stigma for throwing and or knocking things over. It’s the easiest way to garner attention. The ghost standing before us was not angry in the slightest.

  She was in perfect control, and she was beautiful. Around twenty years old, the resemblance to Lizzie was all there. She was an indicator of what little Lizzie would grow up to be: an attractive young woman. Dark, thick hair hung loose to the middle of her back. Eyes much like Ortiz’s, a rich syrup-like color. She was barefoot, wearing a dress of pale blue. Lizzie’s sister appeared clear and vibrant, not some distorted thing.

  People have this odd notion that ghosts are translucent beings of grayish white, like a pale fog. That’s not true at all. Ghosts are just like people. Different personalities manifest in different ways. The way a ghost will and can appear all depends on them. A fractured and broken ghost will show up as such. One like Lizzie’s sister—the definition of calm and clarity—will appear the same. And that’s massively impressive. To end up a ghost and hold the composure and mindset Lizzie’s sister did, it spoke volumes about her. Sure, not all ghosts ended up violent and broken, but most do, at the very least, end up a little lost. There was none of that showing in her sister’s face. Maybe a hint of worry about her situation, but that was it.

  That took immense strength. I was starting to wonder if it wasn’t just Lizzie who was special. Lizzie’s sister looked up at us, flashing a warm smile. She didn’t say it, but I picked up on the silent, “thank you.” Ortiz shot a smile back and I grinned stupidly.

  Lizzie gave voice to her sister’s sentiments. “Thank you,” she said. Her voice was a mixture of the emotions one could expect after they rescued their ghostly sister from being fed upon. It’s not a common problem.

  Kneeling down, I cupped one of Lizzie’s hands between mine. “No problem.” My grin widened. “We promised, didn’t we?”

  Before Lizzie could respond, her sister’s form flickered, losing its clarity for a moment. One second she was in perfect color, almost solid, the next instant she was translucent. The ghost shifted her body from facing us to looking down the hall. Her mouth moved in the form of a silent hiss and her features flickered out of clarity again. The ghost’s skin blanched, mimicking chalk, while her hair, nails, and sclera became pure black. Her body was visibly tense. A cat on edge.

  Following her gaze, I realized why. The far end of the hall was darkening in the wake of an oncoming mob comprised entirely of shadow beings. Mob was an understatement. It was more like a metric fuck-ton, which is always more than enough to kill you. I couldn’t even see a gap in the progressing horde.

  At the head of the group was the hooded, robed shadow who had attacked Ortiz and me earlier. Their stampede halted. The chief shadow-douche extended his arm. Its shape liquefied as it morphed. The limb narrowed, lengthened, and curved wickedly. The oversized sickle plunged into the nearest wall. Its scythe-like arm inflated, then compressed like a pump. Tendrils of dark matter flowed into and through the wall. There was a flash of black and the asylum was plunged into absolute darkness.

  “Crap,” I spat.

  Where the hell was Aragorn with a torch when you needed him?

  Torch...fire...son of bitch! Spurred by the chain of helpful thoughts, I recalled as much as I could about shadow people mythology. Their history is fragmented, but seeing shadow-like people is an old phenomenon. People have recorded sightings for hundreds of years.

  The most prominent and helpful of the mythologies are from the Native Americans, notably Choctaw. It was from their mythology I had learned about the shadow people’s hearts being visible and vulnerable at night. According to the myths, pure forms of light hurt the monsters. It could be sunlight, firelight, or flames. Too bad we didn’t have access to any of those.

  The myths did touch on something else though. It’s been said that someone encountering a shadow person can rely on another form of light to protect themselves. An inner light. The idea was that a person could picture themselves bathed in pure light and it would repel the shadow being. You couldn’t just envision the light; you had to believe in it. It was a matter of faith.

  Faith itself has been, and can be, a great form of protection against the supernatural. The problem with theories is that they need testing. I didn’t think the current situation was the best of times to do so. But in the asylum’s corner of the Neravene, thoughts of fire and light didn’t have to remain as thoughts.

  In the abject darkness of the asylum, there was no way to tell how close the shadow beings were. Given their ability to move at darting speeds, we didn’t have much time.

  “Ortiz, I’ve got an idea how to gank all these suckers in one go.”

  “I’m listening, but I’ve got a feeling I’m not going to like it.” The doubt was clear in her voice.

  “No, you’re not going to like it at all.” I told her my idea, confirming her apprehension.

  “That’s a terrible idea!”

  “You got a better one?” I spat. “We’re facing an oncoming horde of monsters that has seen Lord of the Rings way too many times. We can’t see, so what have you got?”

  “Keep talking. That’s how guys get false teeth,” she snapped back.

  “Look,” I began, working to keep my tone light. “I know you don’t want to do this—”

  “Of course I don’t. It’s stupid and will probably kill us!”

  “That’s not it and you and I both know it.” My plan wasn’t stupid. Okay, it wasn’t completely stupid. But the real reason Ortiz was avoiding it had to do with her. I understood that. Enduring it the first time had been bad enough. The second time, when the asylum manifested her fears and memories, had been tough. Asking her to deal with it a third time was too much to ask, and I knew it. That didn’t stop me from asking anyways.

  “Ortiz.” My hand fumbled in the dark for hers. They were warm, slender, but still strong. I slipped my fingers through hers and gave her hand a squeeze. “I know I’m asking a helluva lot.” A lump formed in my gut. Guilt always weighs a ton. “But if we—you—don’t do this…” I trailed off as I swallowed. “Well I’m not a fan of the alternative.”

  Her voice had dropped to a hush. “I’m scared.”

  Break every bone in my body. Tear off my skin. Hell, burn me alive, but don’t ever ask me to endure that again. Hearing a woman like Camilla Ortiz say those words? It gnawed at me from navel to spine. I would rather have faced the horde alone than ask her to go through with it. Although that wasn’t exactly plan A. Everyone gets scared. They just do. I don’t care how big and badass you think you are. It’s normal. But to see someone struggling with that fear, to see someone slipping—that’s hard.

  “I know,” I whispered back. “So am I. Hell, I’m always scared in dealing with this side of things and the freaks involved. It’s not a crime to be scared, Ortiz. The only shame is if you don’t do something about it and you can.” I squeezed tighter. “I’m her
e with you. So is Lizzie. You wanna know what I’m most scared of right now? I’m scared that if we don’t do something, we’re going to die. I don’t know about you, but I’m allergic to death, dying and things that aim to kill me.”

  She snorted. That was a good sign. “Pansy.”

  “A pansy who’s gonna live,” I retorted. “What about you?”

  “For the record, I hate you.” There was no heat in her voice.

  “Duly noted. Now get with the fire startin’!”

  Her grip tightened on mine for a second. “Don’t let go.”

  “I won’t.” I’d hold on forever if I had to.

  Cold moisture trickled down my body in anticipation of the oncoming wave of shadowy freaks. For all I knew, they could’ve been an inch from my face.

  It started in my palm. An uncomfortable sensation like biting insects spread over it. Ortiz’s hand was slipping within my grasp. Heat prickled my fingers, but I held on. Ortiz fingers were strips of molten iron, gripping tightly, and seriously hot.

  The burned hand teaches best. Every instinct of self-preservation was telling me to let go. Good thing I’m a slow learner. My arm was pulled down as Ortiz sank. Her hand desperately tried to slip from my grip, but I held on. The heat worked its way up my arm now. It was a taste of what Ortiz was going through. None of it served to dispel the chunk of ice that formed in my stomach for asking Ortiz to relive the nightmare.

  A tendril of orange flickered to life in the dark. It wafted up like one of those sped-up reels of growing plants from nature documentaries. The single tendril burst into a crackling fire, spreading over the floor and creating a shallow pool of flames. Going from sudden darkness to the bright light of the fire wreaked havoc on my eyes. Once my eyes stopped watering and adjusted, I threw my head back and laughed. It worked.

  On the other side of the flames were the group of shadow people. Their dark outlines hovered a safe distance from the light. One of them was brave—or stupid depending on how you viewed things. I settled on stupid. The creature edged towards the fire. There was a hiss crackle as a spark made contact with the shadow creature. No screams. Only silence as its body became engulfed in flames. It writhed until there was nothing but smoke and ash.