by Marc Layton
The Hidden Graveyard
A Suspenseful Short Story
Marc Layton
Table of Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
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The Taster
About the Author
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1
Sirens blared, and through blurred vision, a string of red and blue lights began to appear through a tree line. Hours passed by. Three? Ten? I didn't know anymore. Numbness crept through my body, confusion clouding my mind and strangling my lungs. Despair felt like a place I would never leave. So, I ran.
I ran into the trees, branches slapping my face as I plunged deeper and deeper into the woods. Tripping on a rough, twisted branch, I fell face-first down a muddy, rocky hill. The cold morning breeze beat against my pale, thin skin until I landed at the bottom of the endless pit. I curled into a ball, finally able to feel pain, legs pulled up into my chest, and began to weep. The sound echoed in the silence around me as my sobs grew louder.
Utterly alone, I tried to breathe deeply into my lungs, but I couldn’t. It felt like someone was holding their hand over my mouth, like they were trying to suffocate me, pulling me into the earth. I didn’t know what this force was or where it came from. I gave in, feeling the darkness overtake me and push me further into the ground.
2
My eyes shot open as I gasped for air. Reality sank in quickly. Regaining my composure, I shuffled into the living room of my apartment to find my older brother passed out on the couch.
I switched on the coffee pot and began to brew each of us a cup. He was probably still drunk. He awoke with a jump as I set his mug down on the glass coffee table a little louder than necessary.
He glared at me. “What’s got you up so early?”
“It’s 11 AM...on a Sunday. You should probably get up. You didn’t want to sleep in the spare?”
He snatched the coffee cup and sat up. “No. I did not want to sleep in that bright green room. Besides, I came in late.”
I rolled my eyes as we each sipped our coffee, checking news updates and social media feeds. Eventually, he got up and walked silently over to the sink to clean his mug. This was when I knew something was wrong.
Wary of him, I asked, “Damian, what’s wrong?”
“Huh? Nothing’s wrong. What’s wrong with you?”
"You never clean your mugs when you're hungover. You always sleep in that bright green room you don't like, and I've known you your entire life - you've never gone this long without saying something."
He looked down at the countertop with his arms spread, palms flat out on the surface. Taking a deep breath, he put his head in his hands, propping himself up with his elbows.
“Liam...”
* * *
"No," I interrupted, "We are not doing this. We're not having this conversation again."
Damian looked at me again with raised eyebrows. He seemed to stare straight into my soul. Every time Damian wanted to do something, we both knew we would end up doing it, no matter how much I protested. But this was the only thing I had kept pushing back. Maybe it was finally time to give in. I was just so worried.
He had large brown eyes like mine, except his were darker. We looked so much alike that strangers always thought we were twins. As we grew older, it became easier to tell us apart. My hair turned a dusty blonde, and I always kept it short. His became dark hazelnut, and he kept it on the longer side, although never past his shoulders.
We were both tall, around six feet, and generally handsome, though I didn't focus on women at all. Damian was always the flirt. I just laughed and pretended not to notice women. They caused more trouble for me.
I liked my day routine and organized, and adding a woman into the mix was too chaotic. I had been diagnosed with OCD as a child, but I didn't think much of it. The only thing I enjoyed was having a routine, and I didn't see anything wrong with that.
"Damian, I'm serious. This could be dangerous. We don't know what's out there. We're not detectives!"
“Liam...I got fired.”
Staring at him in shock, I asked, "When?!"
“Last night.”
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Is that why you want to go now? Because you feel like you can?”
He sighed and thought it over. “I guess. I’ve been bouncing around jobs my entire life. It feels like it’s looming in the back of my mind, all the time. I can’t focus. I can’t get anything done.”
Our parents' death had always been hard on him. He didn't know what to do with himself half the time—trying to raise me and constantly worrying about if he was doing the right thing.
We’d never found out what happened to our parents. Early one morning on one of our camping trips, they went into the woods, and just like that, vanished into thin air.
The police never found them, even after they interrogated everyone around the camp. No one had seen anything, and no witnesses had ever come forward. It had been, and still was, frustrating, to say the least. Damian was twelve at the time, and I was eight. Neither one of us understood, but Damian seemed to change immediately. He became my protector, the one who took care of me. The one who made sure the relatives we bounced around between were giving me the best life I could have.
“You still dream about them, don’t you?”
I reluctantly sighed and nodded my head.
"They're out there. Their bodies are out there, somewhere. They couldn't have just disappeared into nothingness. I have this feeling..." he paused, contemplating his words carefully, "…that maybe, they could still be here. In spirit, watching us. Waiting for us to find them."
"You think they are haunting you?"
Damian had always had some strange ideas, but this one was a bit too out there. I worked in an office, and I had things to do, a life to live. He wanted me to drop it all so he could follow the wishes of our parents, find their bodies. It sounded insane to me.
"It's serious stuff! I saw a documentary. I know they're waiting for us to figure out what happened that night. It's like they're on one side of the glass screaming at me, and I'm on the other trying to hear, but nothing is coming in clearly."
The more I thought about it, the more I talked myself into finally letting him live his dream. He wanted this more than anything. He has asked me at least once per year since our late teens. He'd always protected me as the older brother, so why couldn't I let him have this one thing? I couldn't say no.
I scoffed, not wanting to seem to give in too easily. “Okay, whatever you say.”
“So you’re in?! Great. I already brought my bag.”
He pulled out a large blue backpack filled to the brim with his belongings. I sulked to my room and began packing my identical bag in red. They were well-made and large, usually used for long-distance hikers, but we used them because we moved around so often. We could fit our lives into these small packs. Thankfully, as men in our 30s, we didn't need to live that way anymore.
He had already packed his truck with our tent and fire supplies. It was then that I realized he had planned on going alone if I hadn't agreed. Stubborn.
The trip was long, about two hours until we would arrive in Sonora Park. It was a tiny town, but the park and camping grounds were usually fully booked all summer. Lucky for us, Damian had already thought of that too and secured us a spot.
3
As we approached the town, we saw a small bar on the side of the road. The sign read Bailee’s, and there were at least five motorcycles outside waiting for their owners.
Run-down didn't even begin to describe the place. Compared to our larger suburb, this place was a dump. Unfortunately, it was our only option to get a quick bite before setting up for the night. We entered and were seated at a booth by an older woman who knew everyone's names but ours.
In a matter of minutes, we had burgers and fries in front of us. For a small shabby place, the service was excellent. Damian and I tried to eat quickly and not talk much; we knew we only had so long before dark. We were anxious to get to the park and get settled for the night. After a few minutes into our meal, a middle-aged man strolled up to our table.
“Are you guys from around here? I haven’t seen you here before.”
Damian raised his eyebrows slightly towards me as if to say, Is this guy joking?
"I asked you a question." The man began to speak more aggressively when we didn't answer right away.
“We don’t want any trouble. We’re going to the campgrounds not too far from here.”
He glanced back at his buddies. “Oh? The campgrounds. How cute! Maybe you can pick us some berries while you’re there.”
I could see the anger start to rise in Damian. He didn’t tolerate toxic men who felt the need to constantly bring people down. He locked eyes with me, trying to remain as calm as he could - which wasn’t very calm at all.
The man continued despite our efforts to ignore him. “Little boys going back to mom and dad at the park?”
As the man inched toward him, I saw the far-away look in Damian's eyes, and his hands slowly turned to fists. He couldn't resist any longer. He raised his fist in an uppercut motion, swinging through the hefty man's chin. The man's friends stood still, silently shocked by the guts of the guy who had just started a fight with the biggest man in the bar. The large man stood and grappled at Damian's legs, dragging him to the ground.
They began to wrestle, everyone staring, unsure of what to do or how to stop it - until one small woman came forward and pushed the man off of Damian. She stood just over five feet tall with a slender but toned figure. Her brown, flat bangs swung across her forehead, the rest of her flowing hair kept behind in a high pony. It wasn't until she helped a drooling Damian off the floor that we both realized she was in uniform.
"I guess that's one way to introduce yourself to the town," she explained as she shot a glare to the big man.
The man gave a quick nod and walked back to his friends without another word. I couldn't tell if he was ashamed that he'd gotten pushed over by a woman or if she had control over this town, but I was just glad he was walking away.
“Meredith Crosby,” she extended her hand, “local sheriff’s deputy. What’s going on today?”
We each shook her hand, and I looked to Damian to speak, but he was tongue-tied by her beauty. An uncomfortably long pause passed before Damian finally spoke up.
“The campground...We’re going to the campground down the road.”
“Great,” she seemed a little taken aback by his demeanor, but not enough that it shook her confidence. “I can give you an escort up there if you’d like?”
Damian nodded in agreement. He stared at the floor in embarrassment. I had never seen him uncomfortable in front of a woman before. He was always confident and even cocky sometimes. It was evident that he was taken aback by this beautiful woman.
She lowered her voice to almost a whisper, "Don't worry about the big guy. He's an idiot. Not the first fight of his I've broken up this week."
As she stepped back, she winked at Damian. He smiled, looking a little dazed.
“Shall we go then?”
We all stepped out to our trucks, Meredith turning on her lights to guide the way. I looked at Damian, who now had his head against the steering wheel in shame. I tried to speak several times, but I wasn't sure what to say.
“Shut up.” He lifted his head from the wheel and began to drive away in silent frustration.
As we arrived at the park, Meredith waved to us at the entrance, and we drove to our registered spot. It took longer than expected to set up the tent because we hadn't done this in ages. As the sun began to settle on the horizon, we started our fire and cooked up some brats. We hadn't finished our meal at the bar, so this would have to do.
It was difficult to sleep in the tent, and it didn't help that we were both anxious. It was eerie to be back in the place that had been giving me nightmares for the past 20 years. The last time we were in this campground, in a tent, our parents disappeared forever.
I stared at the blue vinyl siding and pictured our last moments together as a family. Our father telling us goodnight, our mother kissing us on the cheek.
Damian could've been thinking the same thing as he lay awake next to me, but he was more likely replaying the moment he'd had with his newfound love interest from earlier today.
As the sun rose, I'd maybe had a few hours of sleep. Nevertheless, we had work to do. It was time to figure out a few things, and I had no idea where to start.
4
I climbed out of the tent to find Damian with a full breakfast prepared. Eggs, bacon, and toast. We sat and ate, talking through our plan for the day. Neither one of us knew what we were doing.
“What’s the plan?”
Damian looked at me, wide-eyed. “You don’t have a plan? You always have a plan.”
My eyes grew in disbelief. “You brought me down here, and you don't know what the plan is?"
“Nope.”
I took a deep breath to calm myself, taking another bite of my scrambled eggs. We’d both seen thousands of detective shows - what would they do?
“I guess we start in the woods? See if there’s anything in there? Maybe there’ll be hikers who walk through often. Any ghosts you can see, since you’re the ghost whisperer now.”
He mocked me and rolled his eyes. “Ghost whisperer. Please.”
We finished breakfast and headed out into the woods. The path to the river was short as our site was the closest to it. We began to walk alongside the river, upstream towards an incline. It seemed like the water dove off the side of a cliff, but upon further inspection, we realized the incline was just a hill of more trees and riverside. By mid-day, we had walked for miles, only stopping for a quick sandwich break.
Far ahead, we spotted an opening in the tree line. A seemingly empty area of the thick woods, but as we approached, we saw a house. Some kind of cabin, maybe a summer home.
I had never seen this cabin before, even though we'd traveled through these woods many times during our childhood. I looked over to Damian to catch him making the same face I was. Confused, yet intrigued. It was definitely old enough that we would have stumbled across it as kids. After searching the yard, we walked up to the large wooden double doors in the front of the home.
Strangely, the home looked well-kept. The front porch didn't creak, the windows looked freshly washed, and the large bulbs in the Victorian-style patio lights were still on and working. It was in good condition. But the yard was a jungle of neglected vines and dead flower beds. It blended in with the forest well, but the home was an immaculate Victorian-style two-story cabin—a vacation home for wealthy folks, perhaps.
I knocked on the door slowly, awaiting a response from some elderly gentleman, like in the movies. Hearing footsteps, I took a step back to join Damian side by side on the porch. The door creaked open to reveal a slim, middle-aged woman in a mid-length yellow dress.
"Can I help you?" she asked politely, confused by our presence.
I couldn’t speak. Damian stared at me for a moment and then stepped forward to introduce us both.
> "Hi there. I'm Damian, and this is my brother, Liam. We were looking around the area for anyone who might have been here in the summer of 1998. Do you know anyone who might have been here then?"
She looked us both up and down slowly. She stayed silent, evaluating us. Damian glanced at me again and shrugged. We were all staring, until suddenly a taller man appeared from behind her.
“Hey, hey! What’s the hold up here?”
She jumped slightly as she turned to meet him. “These men are asking about 1998. Were we up here that summer?”
"Why I'm not sure. Hm...we had to have been because, well... who knows, really?! I'm sure we were, but I can't say for certain. Why don't you boys come in, and you can ask us whatever you need."
Without hesitation, Damian strode into the home of a stranger while I reluctantly followed behind, taking one last look behind us as we ventured inside. The interior wasn’t much of a surprise. The well-kept exterior was telling of the interior Victorian-style decor. There was a grand staircase to the right of the front door with sitting rooms on each side.
The man looked well put together. He was clad in business attire with a brown mustache on his thin lips, dripping with elegance. His wife looked meek and untrusting. Her long and straight black hair elongated her thin figure, and her brown eyes were large but sunken into her tan skin. Her lips were plump and covered most of the bottom half of her face as her nose was relatively small.
The woman led us into the kitchen, where the three of us sat at a table and watched her grab a white clay water pitcher and a few glasses. As she filled it up, the man never took his eyes off of us. He wasn't looking at us with any kind of friendliness, but if I had strangers in my home, I guess I would be wary too.
