Seven Kinds of Hell

by Dana Cameron

  As the three of them came home one Friday night, I was reminded of the picture of the “ascent of man,” the one that depicts the transition to modern man from apelike creatures. Sean crashed through the doorway, a transit case strapped to his back, a broken tripod over his shoulder, and a six-pack in his free hand. Will, looking tired as he juggled a stack of books for his own research and a backpack full of exams to be graded, was apparently soothing a hysterical student over the phone. Danny followed—his head down and unconsciously bobbing to the music of any one of several Bach family members playing on his ear buds—texting madly. It made me giggle to think of them as states of evolution—from a dense brute, to an athletic professorial type, to a soul better acclimated to computers than the physical world—even though I knew that was as an erroneous oversimplification.

  We four had exactly the right chemistry: enough of the same taste in reading and movies to be passionate about it, enough overlap in our professional interests so that no one felt left out. We all came from the Northeast—Sean from central Maine, Will from western Massachusetts, Danny from upstate New York, and me from all over—so we had some things in common but could still argue over what to call a sub sandwich. Personalities just added flavor, and arguments never lasted long. During those four months, we shared the kind of long evening discussions where you believed if you had just a little more time, you could solve all the world’s problems.

  Then Will and I would go to our bedroom, and that was simply magic, too. I don’t know if it was because Will was my first long-term, serious boyfriend, but all it took was one smile, one look, for my knees to turn to jelly and my usually cautious nature to be cast aside like I’d forgotten everything I was. Maybe the sex was cataclysmically good because it did allow me to forget for a while, or maybe it was the danger, the thrill of losing control, that made it so sweet. Maybe it was Will’s body that made me crazy, and he seemed a little bit psychic about what would please me most, at any given moment. Whatever the reason I fabricated for breaking up with him, whatever problems in our relationship I might have invented, the physical side couldn’t have been one of them.

  I felt bad leaving Ma alone so much, but when she met Will and Sean, she understood. I knew she was happy for me.

  Gone now. All of it. I tried to be happy I’d had it once when I’d never expected so much.

  Sean emerged red-faced but clutching the duffel bag. It looked OK; there’s only so much you can do to secure a cloth bag, but when I checked it, the only really important thing was still there—an envelope with a sheaf of papers I remembered Ma tucking in there. There were a few other things, including one that surprised me: a yellow plastic pencil box I’d used as a treasure chest when I was a kid.

  I closed my eyes and let myself sag with relief. The papers were safe. I owned so little now, preparing to vanish after Ma’s death, that what really mattered to me could just about fit into my backpack.

  “Zoe, what now?”

  “Um, I got some errands,” I said. Not wanting to tell Sean what I had to do next, I glanced out the window, down to the street. Four men were entering the building.

  “No, I meant about you and—”

  I turned back to the window. I’d almost dismissed it, but something about one of them looked familiar. And they were too old and too well-dressed to have normal business in a student apartment building.

  The one holding the door was no longer wearing a Harley T-shirt but a very expensive suit—was he the one last night, in Salem? The night I learned I wasn’t alone with the Beast?

  Didn’t matter who it was. They’d followed me, I was certain of it.

  I tried to shove past Sean. He was about as easy to move as a refrigerator, so I got only about halfway past because I surprised him.

  “Zoe, what’s wrong!”

  “Can’t now.” I was starting to hyperventilate. “Thanks for—”

  “No, tell me—”

  I shoved at him, but he wouldn’t budge. “My father’s family! Here! I need to leave, now!”

  The hallway was too dangerous. Rather than wait, I went to the window and the fire escape.

  “Zoe, we can call the cops—”

  I was trapped, and I didn’t like being trapped. It was just the kind of thing to invite the Beast, which was the last thing I could afford in bright daylight.

  The window had been painted shut. Before Sean could protest, I picked up a shovel and broke the glass, using the blade and shaft to clear a safe way through.

  I was out and clambering down as fast as I could, but sickeningly felt my hands slip when my foot expected to find a rung that was missing. The whole apparatus shook, making my stomach lurch.

  Shouts from inside the apartment. I paused and saw the men force their way in. Saw Sean grab one of them by the collar and swing him into the wall. He turned and shoved another away, then ran for the window.

  I climbed down faster.

  I hit the ground and ran like hell toward campus. Hoping to lose myself in the crowds of students, I ran out into Commonwealth Avenue without looking.

  Bad idea.

  With Boston’s crazy-assed drivers, I barely made it across the street intact. I stumbled in front of an oncoming Green Line trolley. A horn blast sent yet another surge of adrenaline through me, and I got out of the way, stopping just short of another train bearing down from the opposite direction. More horns and middle fingers from the drivers. As soon as the last trolley car passed me, I caught a break and a crossing signal—not that it mattered around here—and bolted across the street, narrowly missing getting hit by a BMW. I cut down to Bay State Road and briefly considered calling on the Beast. That’s how desperate I was, to risk the Beast in front of normal people, going into whatever brief span of lunacy my broken mind took me when I imagined I was a wolf. Although I might have gotten away with it—a big dog with a backpack wouldn’t be so out of place on a college campus—I could not, could not, risk losing that duffel bag. There was no way for me to carry it as a wolf. I had to stay sane, calm, and human long enough to get it away safely.

  Watching the faces of the students I ran past, I could tell there was no one following me. One girl, running with a backpack and gym bag, was late for her train. Four men running, in suits, was another situation.

  I’d lost them. With any luck, I was leading them away from Sean. With any luck, he’d gotten away.

  I slowed down, and a form stepped from the narrow alley just past Classics House.

  It was Sean.

  “Hola.” He gave the traditional BSR greeting, took my arm, and kept us moving briskly toward Kenmore.

  “They behind you?”

  He shook his head. “I ditched them by the falafel truck.”

  “I’m so sorry, Sean. I never expected they’d actually—”

  “Zoe, what’s going on?”

  “Like I said. I think they’re my father’s folks. They seem to be particularly interested in talking to me.” I shivered. “I don’t know what they want.”

  “Zoe, no way! This is the second time they came by my place.”

  “What?” I pulled at him, a tiny anchor barely slowing an aircraft carrier. “When? What did they say?”

  “About a week ago. They were looking for you. I blew them off when they wouldn’t tell me who they were.”

  My stomach lurched. “But they found you.”

  “They found Will.”

  I started walking again, not seeing where I was going. They’d found Will, and he hadn’t been in my life for years. How much did these guys know about me? Who were they?

  Above the law. Hopelessly well connected. Knew about me, and apparently were intimately acquainted with the Beast.

  Shit.

  “The best thing for you to do is go back, forget you ever saw me. Tell them I asked you for help, and you said no. They won’t bother you again, it’s not you—”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

  “Sean, they won’t care about you roughing
them up. They broke in. They don’t want the cops, they won’t press charges.”

  “There’s that, but…” He shrugged, a little angry, a little pleased with himself. “I don’t like people thinking they can boss me around.”

  I stopped, closed my eyes. Sean had always reminded me of Porthos the musketeer, appetites and violence included. “It was worse than you slamming that one into a wall?”

  “I didn’t hurt any of them,” he hastened to add. “Probably. Nothing permanent, anyway. But the thing is I don’t think I want to go back there just yet.”

  I opened my eyes and started walking again.

  “You gotta take me with you, Zoe.”

  “Best thing is for us to split up. They’re not interested in you. They won’t bother going back, too afraid you’ll call the police.”

  “Um. Yeah. Thing is…they know I won’t do that.”

  I kept walking, fearing the worst. He probably hadn’t actually killed one of them…

  “I might have found a wallet, in the scuffle. I might have taken it with me.”

  “There are a dozen ways to argue that, Sean. Tell the cops you took it so you could report the intruders, that it was self-defense.”

  “But you want to know who they are, don’t you? Take me with you, Zoe. You owe me that much.”

  Like I said, Sean’s always had a crappy poker face. He knew he had me, and his jack-o’-lantern smile showed it. He held up the wallet, tempting me. “Just a couple of days, till things cool off.”

  “Sean, you’re not going to like where I have to go next. And I really don’t want to get you into any more trouble than you’re already in.”

  In the growing dark, the ambient light of the university around us, I could see his piratical grin.

  “Too late.”

  The cemetery was already locked up for the night. We parked on a dark side street and walked back, aiming for a section of fence that was obscured from the road.

  I rummaged in my backpack and pulled out my trowel and flashlight.

  “Little unauthorized excavation?”

  I shook my head. “It…it belongs to me.”

  “What does?” He followed me over to the fence.

  “Something buried here.”

  Sean looked around the cemetery. “Uh, lots of things are buried here.”

  “One of the last things my mother said was I should visit my grandmother.”

  “Never heard you mention her.”

  “She’s been dead a long time now, before I met you. I think Ma left me something at my grandmother’s grave. Something even more important than the bag you kept for us.”

  “Wouldn’t she have been buried next to your grandmother?” Sean asked. “You know, where we were earlier?”

  “Um, no. Father’s mother,” I improvised. “Long, complicated story—you know that.”

  I motioned impatiently, eager to be off the subject. Sean nodded and gave me ten fingers, which got me to the top of the fence. It was a long jump down. I would have thought with his larger size, Sean would have had a harder time clearing the fence, but long years of mischief and fieldwork had made him an expert. He landed heavily next to me, and I led the way.

  “The last time Ma came here, she didn’t take me, but she did bring a taped-up package, a brand-new garden trowel, and a potted plant. Ma wasn’t a gardener; she came from the supermarket carnations school. I’m pretty sure she buried something.”

  It had started to rain hard now. The only light came from my flashlight and the city-night glow of Cambridge.

  Water plastered Sean’s hair to his head. His clothes were soaked through. “Zoe, what the hell are you doing? This is…it’s seriously messed up.”

  That hurt more than I imagined. I knew I had problems, but I didn’t like Sean thinking I was anything but normal.

  I shrugged. “Ma told me she left me something with Grandma, something that would tell me about my father’s family. All those years we were on the move, she somehow kept us two steps ahead. But she only told me about this when she couldn’t protect me anymore. I need to know, now.”

  We’d arrived at a modest headstone, just where I remembered it, at the intersection of two lanes, near the tree missing a branch that had come down in a blizzard.

  He stared at me, wondering how crazy I’d gotten in the past two years, the rain running down his face. He rubbed his hand over his eyes, wiped his nose.

  “OK. Give me the trowel. You don’t have a shovel, a trenching tool or something? This is going to take all night.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t afford to get busted for grave robbing, not with those goons after you. Give me the trowel. I’ll get us started.”

  I couldn’t help it; I started to laugh. Call it giddiness, fatigue, nerves, or burnout, I lost it. Sean thought I was going to dig up my grandmother and was now offering to help.

  I pulled my trowel from my belt loop. One look at the tiny thing, worn down from years of work, and Sean was ready to explode.

  “No, Sean, I’m not going to open the coffin. Just dig under the roses.”

  It took him a minute to parse that information; it would have taken anyone a moment. Finally he said, “OK, you can start.”

  He settled down two headstones over and tried to look relaxed. Hard, with the rain plastering his hair down, dripping off his nose.

  It was hard work, made no less easy by the weather, the dark, and the dead little roses. I didn’t want to just dig them up, leaving my work for everyone to see, but it would have been easier to work without the thorns grabbing at my sodden sleeve and bare wrist.

  “Just like old times, huh, Sean? Working on your grad school projects?”

  “What?”

  “Me working, you watching, pretending to take notes.”

  That brought a smile, but any retort he might have made was cut short by a small noise, something barely audible above the rain but to which we were both well attuned.

  Metal on metal.

  I scraped the trowel through the wet earth and heard it again. Something was there.

  We both worked now, me defining the edges, Sean shoving the overburden aside. Different noises now; it wasn’t just metal.

  Once I felt it move, I stuck my trowel in the ground and felt. I moved my fingers across the surface, obscured by mud and pebbles. Round, with something wrapped around the edges.

  I pulled, and it came away, grating against damp, sandy soil beneath. Sean held up the flashlight. I brushed off the surface, tried to wipe away the smears of dirt and rust.

  A blur of blue and gold. The letters OY and NSK were visible.

  It was a tin for Danish butter cookies.

  It took me a minute to realize it probably wasn’t cookies, not if my mother had buried them in a cemetery, having sealed the top with duct tape. Not even Ma was that crazy about cookies.

  I shook it; it didn’t rattle, just a slow thunk…thunk as something heavy—wrapped—shifted inside.

  I tried to find an edge of the tape to remove it, but kept slipping. Age had caused the tape to melt into itself. The cold and wetness did nothing for my dexterity. My hands were shaking; I set down the tin and grabbed my fingers, trying to stop the trembling. Then I pulled out my knife.

  “Zoe, wait.”

  I looked up.

  “It’s too wet out here. Whatever’s in there might be fragile. Let’s find someplace dry, get some light before we open this.”

  It took me a minute to realize he was right. I nodded and handed the tin to him so I could put my knife away.

  I froze. Something was out there. Suddenly I felt as though we were surrounded, but I couldn’t see a thing through the rain.

  I felt the call of the Beast.

  Five of them, I knew without knowing how. Closing a circle around us. “Sean, we need to get—”

  A twig cracked.

  “Zoe!” Sean grabbed my arm.

  “Run!”

  “The hell I will,” he said. “I’m not
leaving you!”

  “Sean! You can’t let them get this!” I shoved him in the direction away from whoever was out there, willing him away. “Get out of here, now!”

  He shook his head but took off. That was a first; he must have heard something in my voice, because Sean almost never did what he was told.

  Didn’t matter. I needed to keep the tin from them. They’d leave Sean alone, surely, if they were after me?

  I felt a rippling down my spine. Two of the men I sensed…weren’t there anymore. There was something else out there now in the spaces they’d occupied. The air all around me felt just like last night.

  The men were gone, but now I sensed wolves.

  I knelt down, stowing my knife and my trowel. I stepped out of my shoes and rolled up my jeans. And then I tried to recall the feelings I’d had when the Beast came before. I needed the Beast.

  I heard a shout. It was Sean.

  Did I want them to get Ma’s last bequest to me? The hell I did. I thought about them opening the tin, seeing what was in it before I did—

  The Beast arrived. Arrived was too small a word: a roaring in my ears, a riot in my soul. I welcomed it, for the first time in my life.

  Good. If anyone deserved the Beast, they did.

  Two wolves were chasing Sean. I tore after them. I got close enough to bite one in the haunch, and he yelped, staggered, and plowed over into the other. Lucky for me, Sean never looked back, just booked out of there.

  The two wolves untangled themselves, one reddish, one with a dark black pelt. I ran. In and out and around and among the gravestones and monuments, it was easy to dodge and duck.

  Suddenly, on an intersection of two roads, I was surrounded: two wolves behind me, a wolf-man and a sort of horrible walking snake before me.

  The snake-man’s face was barely human: two enlarged nostrils instead of a nose, yellow-and-brown scales instead of skin and hair. He walked upright, wearing a tracksuit, but he was a monster, fangs gleaming in the rainy night. His large black eyes were the deadest things in that acre of burials.

  But the half-wolf, half-man was even worse. His ears stood up on his head, his face and jaw elongated, full of sharp teeth. I’d seen wolf-headed gods in the museum, but never one wearing a Harley-Davidson T-shirt and jeans. He was the one I’d seen in Salem.