The Brainyard family graveyard. Two small columns marked the graveyard entrance with a cast iron arch looming above. At the arch’s apex the word BRAINYARD was shaped in iron. Two small angels to either side of the arch gripped the B and the D as if tethering it to the earth rather than raising it up towards heaven.
I could go back to the highway. Take 161 to Juniper Pike and then backtrack down Willow to Colleen’s. Shit. Brainyard’s Boneyard. He laughed. But that’s three miles more, at least.
He dismounted from his bike, legs rubbery from the exertion, and pushed it beneath the arch and into the graveyard.
The night grew warmer still. Without the bike’s wind to cool him, he started sweating again. The tall grass in the graveyard snagged at his socks, dampening them. He kept his head forward, looking towards the smaller cast iron gate that opened onto Willow Road.
Before he knew it, he'd passed through the stones and out the gate.
On the far side, he peered over his shoulder at the small patch of upright stones. His gaze found the one he searched for.
Here Lies
Ellen Brainyard
Daughter and Angel
I Bear Her Up
On Eagle’s Wings
And Bring Her Unto Me
1970-1985
His face darkened, remembering. His hand touched the underside of his arm. He didn't need to see to know the silver scar was there. He smiled and blew the stone a kiss.
At Colleen’s house, he took the lighter from his pocket and flicked it twice. From where he hid in the shadow of the oak tree, he saw the window slide upward with a creak...and the boy’s shoulders twitched as if expecting a blow.
Jeez...If her old man wakes up...
She shimmied over the roof’s gutter, dangled there by her hands for a moment, her nightgown swinging like a church bell and then she let go and dropped, the gown puffing up and giving the boy a quick flash of white thigh before she landed, catlike, on the damp grass.
As she padded toward him he noticed she wore tennis shoes. The incongruity between Nike and nightgown nearly made him bark with laughter, but he held it back, smiling.
She came into his arms and he knew nothing for a long while except for her kiss and the sensation of her body in his hands. Her breath blew cinnamon and spice, her touch seemed fire. Feeling the fabric of her sheer nightgown beneath his palms, the soft curve of her breast, he thought She doesn’t! Not a stitch on beneath that gown. The bulge in his cutoffs pressed painfully against the fabric of his shorts, pressed hard into her belly.
She pulled back, coy. “Why, hello, John Lark.” She looked down at his jeans. “Fancy meeting you here, so far from home.” She grinned, flashing perfect white teeth, teasing.
“God, Colleen,” he said, voice thick, “You’re so beautiful.”
“Wait...shhhh.” She paused, cocking her head as if listening. “I hope Pa doesn’t wake up. He’d kill me if...come on...let’s go.” And before he knew what happened, she ran away from him, her gown billowing behind her.
He ran after her, panting. “Wait...wait a sec...”
Over her shoulder she grinned, still running. “You’re supposed to chase me, dummy. Come on.” She flew into the night, leaping over the drainage ditch, across Willow Road and into...
The graveyard, the boy thought. He paused at the gate, just long enough to see the angels holding the word BRAINYARD like a banner: he squared his shoulders and entered.
He found her, of course, sitting on Ellen’s grave, pulling the dead flowers from a sooty black vase. As he approached, she turned.
“Hi, you.” She tossed the dead flowers aside.
“Hey, you too,” he said, frowning.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nuthin’. It’s just...let’s go somewhere else.”
“What? You scared?”
“That’s not funny. Come on. Let’s go somewhere else.”
“Look, I know you were sweet on her, okay? I miss her too. We grew up together. We used to play dolls.”
“It’s not that. It’s...it doesn’t seem right. God, you look so beautiful...so sexy...tonight and she’s down there.”
Colleen bit her lip and thought about it.
“Okay, you’re right.” She stood up.
They moved off to the right, passing bone white grave markers as they went. She grabbed his arm and pulled it over her shoulder. His hand fell upon her breast. He cupped it. She tapped the pack of Kent's rolled in his sleeve.
“Hey, tough guy. Can I have one?”
The boy brought out two, and lit them from a match. The darkness pressed in close around them while the match flared. They smoked, awkwardly, giggling and coughing, the cigarettes like toys in their hands. When they flicked the butts away, the cherries made orange arcs in the air.
“Okay,” she said standing above a grave and looking down, “How does Clarence G. Brainyard sound? Clarence is grassy and soft.”
He laughed. “I always liked ole Clarence. He was a cool dude.”
They sunk down upon the earth, their mouths finding one another. The boy felt as if he were sinking and rising all at once. His hands roamed all over her, exploring. And her hands touched him too. The smell of her, her scent, rose up and enveloped him, maddening and enticing, the heavy airs of spice mixing with the damp rusty smell of the earth beneath them. Her hands found his zipper and they laughed with the abrupt brriiippp sound his zipper made. But the laughing stopped when she pulled down his pants and took him in hand.
“You are glad to see me,” she murmured.
“Sssshhh.”
Through moments of awkward fumbling, each one explored the other's body. He felt like a raft set loose to drift on some ocean, rudderless and infinitesimal, dwarfed by the mystery of her body. For long minutes his pulse sent tremors through his flesh. Then, her gown was bunched around her waist and he kissed her breasts, his hands at the small of her back.
He found himself between her legs when she said, “Wait. No. No. We need protection...”
A blood red circle of fire. He entered her and moved ferociously.
“No...stop. We can’t without...”
“Sssshh...” he hissed, thrusting.
“No!”
Of its own volition, his hand went to her mouth and covered it. “Ssssshhh.” At some point she stopped fighting and he felt the world grow dim and far away; the graves, the damp earth, the pinioning stars, all dim and gone. He remembered this sensation once before.
Ellen.
Finished, he kissed her as sweetly as he knew how and looked down at her face. Her lips were red and bruised.
She rolled away from him, pulling up her gown to cover herself.
“Oh...Colleen. I’m so sorry. It’s just...it’s...you’re so beautiful. I don’t know what happened to me.”
She didn’t answer.
“Colleen...God...I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”
Silence. She pulled her head down into her chest, gripping her knees. The boy could see blades of grass sticking to her leg.
“Colleen...”
They stayed that way for a long time, him sitting in front of her, hands at his sides; Colleen gripping her knees and rocking.
“No. It’s okay.” Her face lied. She wanted to get away. “It’s all right.”
“Colleen...”
“I need to get back...”
He tried to kiss her then, but she turned her head away from him. He stood up, buttoned his cutoffs. He held his hands out to help her up. She looked at him and, after a moment, took his hands. He pulled her up, into his arms. She stiffened, like some animal flexing to take flight...then exhaled...the tension leaving her body. He ran his hands up and down her back.
“Oh baby...”
“John...”
“Hmmm?”
“That wasn’t...right. You shouldn’t have...”
“I know...I know. I couldn’t help myself. You're too beautiful.” He hugged her tight. “I’m so sorry. You have to know I wouldn’t hurt
you...”
She didn’t say anything, pulling from his arms.
He followed her back to her family’s darkened house. As they stood underneath the eaves she let him kiss her. Her lips were numb, unresponsive. Growing bold, he gripped her hips and felt himself rising once more.
He said, “Maybe...”
“No, John, not again tonight. Next time...”
“Really? Next time?”
She looked at him, her head cocked and face half-hid in shadow. She slapped him, bringing her hand hard across his face. “Asshole.”
“Ah...Colleen. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.” He brought his hand to his cheek.
“I said no.” Her voice sounded harsh. “No.”
“Okay.” He held up his hands. “It’s just that you’re so...”
“John Lark, if you say beautiful again I will fucking scream...” He could see tears at the corners of her eyes couldn't tell if they were tears of rage or sorrow. She grabbed him by the forearms. Just for a second, the boy was scared. “You use beautiful like a goddamned shield,” she said, digging her nails deep into the meat of his forearms. Yelping, he tried to pull away.
“Goodbye, John. You’ve snuck out, got what you wanted and now it’s time you sneak back home.”
She turned away from him, hiding her face. He boosted her high enough to reach the gutter and she pulled herself up, not looking back.
Bone weary and exhilarated all at once, he pushed his bike back into the dying summer night. He felt his muscles popping and jumping beneath his skin. With a growing sense of wonder he stared at the stars above him. The moon rose above the tree line, washing the land in a thin light. His cheek, where she slapped him stung, just a little.
When he entered the graveyard he didn’t glance at Ellen’s grave. He moved forward until he stood above Clarence Brainyard’s. The sky was clear, yet a thick damp fog rose from the earth, seeping from it. It tickled his nose; his skin was prickling.
For a moment he paused, like he had earlier when he listened at his bedroom door, one foot forward, one back, balanced and poised. To run, to fight.
The night grew silent, the rising fog dampening sound. He could hear echoes of his breathing, the sound bouncing back at him from the gravestones. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck, sweat prickled in beads all over his body.
He waited, listening.
A drop of sweat traced it’s way down his chin, disappearing into his shirt.
Then the boy laughed, a garbled sound. Surprised to find his jaw clenched, he shook his head, trying to ease the tension filling his body. Frowning, he remembered Colleen doing the same thing only minutes earlier.
I guess we both had scares tonight. His face darkened for an instant. I should’ve stopped...but...but I couldn’t help myself.
The ride home became long and grueling. When he passed the Brainyard’s house he didn’t stop, just rode on, his legs churning, his head down, his hair whipping at the sides of his face, afraid of what he might see in the attic dormer window
- Ellen in her noose hanging there face bloated and livid and green with the maggots working their way in and out of her mouth pointing a finger at me at me or even worse at her belly her eyes open and staring –
The wonder of summer night, the cicada’s song, the stars wheeling in the heavens faded along with his energy. He came barreling off of the gravel road, rumbling across the bridge and made the long grind up Millstone hill as if something chased him.
At the hill’s crest he had to rest. His legs felt like rubber, his chest heaved.
A breeze sprang up and he shivered, the sweat flash-cooling on his hyper-aware skin. Looking off to the west he saw the lights of Little Rock faint and twinkling, beyond that a cloud front darkening the sky and moving like a glacier towards him. Slowly he turned and saw the sky lightening in the east. A bird soared in the pale pink sky above the gables of the Brainyard home, and beyond that Colleen’s.
He gave a huge sigh. I made a mistake. Okay? I fucked up, got carried away. I’ve got to forgive myself. It was wrong and I did it anyway and I fucked up. I can’t beat myself up forever over it...she was just...just...so goddamned...
“Beautiful,” said John Lark, into the waning darkness. “She was so fucking gorgeous.”
Then he raced down the far side of Millstone hill, up his own drive, shimmying up the gutter and moving quietly into the cool darkness of his room.
Kicking off his sneakers, he slipped in between the sheets as easily as he had Colleen’s thighs and sighed in relief. Home. The room felt cold and still dark even though he could see the sky getting even lighter out his window. It was the first time all night he’d been truly cold.
It’s really cold in here. Dad must’ve gotten loaded and cranked down the AC.
He pulled up the covers around his chin and rolled over. He was not alone.
Her eyes opened, pupil-less and milky-white, maggots feasting at the corners.
“Lark,” she croaked, “I've snuck out to meet you. Kiss me.”
When her mouth closed on his he tasted the grave.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My thanks to Mort Castle, who originally accepted “Sneaking In” for publication in Doorways Magazine. Unfortunately, the magazine failed before my story could see publication (at pro rates!) but he gave the story an edit, which it needed, and for which I’m truly grateful.
Additional thanks go to my partner in crime, Steve Weddle, without whom this quartet of stories would hardly be legible. He lent his knowledge and experience to someone who doesn’t know how to ask for help, and for that, he should get a big hug and a frosty beverage of the alcoholic variety.
And my thanks to you readers who made it this far with me. You guys rock, each and every one.
Table of Contents
INTRODUCTION
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
VERRATA
HEAVEN OF ANIMALS
BONE CHINA
SNEAKING IN
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Table of Contents
INTRODUCTION
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
VERRATA
HEAVEN OF ANIMALS
BONE CHINA
SNEAKING IN
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Fierce as the Grave: A Quartet of Horror Stories Page 8