The Gravedigger's Brawl

by Abigail Roux

  It would be okay. There was nothing to be afraid of. Even if it had been something paranormal, ghosts couldn’t harm you. Could they?

  And if it wasn’t a ghost, then it was just some weird result of his knock to the head. When he started seeing pink elephants, he would go to a doctor.

  He argued with himself during the entirety of his walk to the bar, contemplating the supernatural and wondering if he should maybe do some research into it. The likelihood that a house built in 1909 on top of an older structure full of dead bodies was occupied by some spirits was pretty high, after all. And they were always getting reports from customers about hauntings. Some of the reports even came from people who were moderately sober.

  Caleb had been saying the place was haunted for years, and Delilah patently believed there was something there. Sometimes she refused to go into rooms because she said they felt funny. It shouldn’t surprise Ash now to start seeing them. Unless they were the result of a concussion, in which case his brain was probably going to explode soon.

  When he stepped into the bar, it was still quiet for a Saturday afternoon. He had missed the lunch crowd rush and hit the lull that always graced Gravedigger’s before the dedicated drinkers started coming in.

  When the cowbell on the door rang, Ryan glanced up and did a double take as he saw Ash shrugging out of his coat. “Caleb!” he called immediately, like a small child enjoying tattling on his sibling.

  Ash rolled his eyes and stretched his hands over his head as he walked toward the bar. Several regulars greeted him and asked how he was feeling. A moment later, Caleb poked his head out of the kitchen door and looked around with a scowl. Ryan pointed at Ash and raised an eyebrow.

  “I thought I told you to stay home!” Caleb bellowed as he came into the room.

  “Did you?” Ash asked in feigned confusion. “I didn’t remember . . .”

  The look of alarm in Caleb’s eyes was amusing enough that Ash cracked a smile and ruined it.

  Caleb growled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well you’re not flairing tonight.”

  “That’s fine. I just . . . got bored,” Ash said with a shrug. “And lonely. Let me take the bar now and give Ryan a breather. Then I promise I’ll just wait tables and sit on your crate for you.”

  Caleb narrowed his eyes and Ryan chuckled. “Fine,” Caleb said. “First hint of dizziness or seeing strange men in empty rooms . . .” He pointed a warning finger in Ash’s face.

  “I know.”

  Ryan leaned over the bar and looked at him with narrowed eyes. “He’s being agreeable,” he said, sotto voce, to Caleb.

  Caleb nodded without looking away from Ash. “Must have hit his head harder than we thought.” Then he eyed Ash up and down and turned to go.

  “Or he got laid,” Delilah said as she swept past with a tray full of dirty dishes. Several of the patrons at the bar turned and looked Ash over, smirking as they turned back to their drinks.

  Ash grinned at Ryan and strutted off to the kitchen to stow his gear.

  Wyatt was disappointed almost to the point moroseness after getting off the phone with Ash. He had tried to convince Ash to go back home and rest, but his argument was pretty weak considering he had put Ash’s body through quite a lot of stress himself just a few hours ago.

  He told Ash he’d come to the bar after work, and he promised to bring Noah, who would improve Caleb’s mood and keep him from yelling at Ash.

  He waited impatiently for the time to come when he could leave. It was an odd feeling. He’d so rarely ever looked forward to leaving the museum, even when he was alone and walking the dark, echoing halls by himself. Unfortunately, this particular Saturday had piled work on them, mostly because they had neglected much of their duties the last week in favor of preparing the exhibition. It was nearing five when Wyatt glanced at his watch.

  “You’re in lurve,” Noah said as they sat alone in the lecture hall, clicking through photos that popped up on the big screen. It was the usual Saturday fare. They purged the archives, went through a series of articles that were being moved from microfiche to digital, and categorized them as Wyatt did administrative paperwork. Sometimes, instead of working on a laptop, Noah would use the lecture hall for the better equipment.

  “Don’t sound so gleeful,” Wyatt said. They were both fighting to stay awake. Even historians had their limits of boredom.

  Noah clicked to the next picture and they both tilted their head to the side and looked at it with identical frowns. “What’s that?” Noah asked.

  “Crime scene photo.” Wyatt scrunched his nose and tilted his head the other way. It looked almost like art, but not quite. The film was black and white, grainy and aged. The aging made it somehow more eerie, rather than less so, because it didn’t seem to change the haunted, faraway look in the figure’s eyes. A drop cloth had been laid out on the floor and crumpled, as if someone had struggled on it. A man lay splayed, staring sightlessly upward. A pool of black blood spread over the cloth below him.

  “Crime scene photo from what?” Noah studied the file that listed all the pictures they were viewing and their provenance. “Whoa,” he said as he lifted one of the sheets. “Look at the address where that was taken.” He pushed the papers at Wyatt.

  Wyatt glanced at it and did a double take. The address now occupied by Gravedigger’s Tavern. “Let me see that.” He snatched the paper and held it closer. It listed the date as 1924.

  “Yeah, use the X-ray vision,” Noah said. “That’ll make it less weird.”

  “What’s this from?”

  Noah leaned forward. “He looks kind of like Ash.”

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  “He kind of does.”

  Wyatt looked where Noah was pointing. The man was by no means the spitting image of Ash Lucroix, but he was lithe and wiry, with dark hair that seemed too long for the period. It was the suspenders that did it, though.

  “Keep going,” Wyatt said as he shoved the papers back at Noah and jabbed at the keys on his laptop to enter the description.

  Noah clicked to the next picture. It was almost identical to the first, including the suspenders, but it was in grainy color and the body was well-lit. It was a young man, thin and dark-haired, staring sightlessly upward.

  “What the hell,” Wyatt said in growing irritation.

  “This is from a copycat case of that first one, in 1976.” Noah frowned down at the papers he was reading. “The next slide is an article about them. This one was taken at Gravedigger’s too.”

  “I’m done,” Wyatt said. He stood abruptly, and Noah stood with him, turning off the projector.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m just starting to get sort of freaked out about that damn place, you know? Ash and I were talking about those people today, the LaLauries? And I did some research. They were . . . evil. The things they did, they weren’t human. I’ve never really believed in . . . supernatural stuff or . . . but those people? If anything’s going to leave an evil imprint, it was them.”

  “They were in New Orleans, though,” Noah said slowly. “Nothing to do with here.”

  “But that house is full of dead people,” Wyatt said, pointing at the blank screen. “Something like the LaLauries happened there. Something just as evil.”

  Noah frowned at him. “You know how easily I spaz out, right?”

  Wyatt barked a laugh and shook his head. He was trying not to spaz out himself, and the only way to do that was to poke fun at Noah.

  “Are you trying to make me spaz?” Noah asked.

  “No,” Wyatt promised with another laugh. “Come on. I’ll buy you a drink.”

  “At the evil bar? Are you kidding me with this shit?”

  Wyatt laughed harder. Noah watched after him as he climbed the stairs, then began muttering as he followed along.

  When they got to Gravedigger’s, Wyatt was shocked to see Ash and Ryan climbing up onto the bar. The music began with a train whistle, and they raised their hands in unison along with
it like orchestra conductors. People turned their attention and began clapping and whistling. Much like the first time Wyatt had seen them flair, it reminded him of a carnival. He supposed that was the point, though.

  Ash and Ryan began their performance as Wyatt and Noah crowded into the back of the audience. The bar was packed already, and the patio was no different. Wyatt assumed word had gotten out of the incident Thursday night and had attracted some of the crazies. He turned his attention back to Ryan and Ash, half annoyed because Ash was up there, and half impressed and pleased with the performance. It purged the crime scene photos from his mind.

  The routine wasn’t as complicated or involved as the last one Wyatt had witnessed, and for that at least he was thankful. But he still worried that Ash would get dizzy and just step off the bar top. Both men moved identically, spinning and juggling the bottles in their hands and doing a simple little dance as they did so. They weren’t mixing.

  “They’re like gypsies,” Noah commented. He stood at Wyatt’s shoulder and watched the bottles flip and spin.

  Wyatt nodded and grinned.

  “You’ve got it so bad,” Noah said with a snicker.

  “And I am not ashamed of that.”

  “There’s Caleb,” Noah said, pointing his finger toward the end of the bar. The man stood leaning against the wall, watching Ash and Ryan like a hawk. He didn’t look happy. “God, I love it when he’s huffy.”

  “And I’m the one who has it bad?” Wyatt asked as they made their way through the packed crowd.

  When they approached Caleb, the man growled at them.

  “How’s his head?” Noah asked, regardless of the grumbling. In fact, he seemed to like it.

  “He took some Advil and said he felt fine. I told him if he fell off the bar I wasn’t going to call an ambulance.”

  “Too bad he knows you better than to believe it,” Noah said. He slid his arm around Caleb and glanced back up at the bar.

  Wyatt watched for a moment as Caleb turned his head and closed his eyes, just resting his chin on Noah’s shoulder and appearing to soak in his presence. He might have even been breathing in Noah’s scent. They really were quite the cute little odd couple. Wyatt could practically feel the attraction and contentment between them.

  Ryan and Ash finished their short performance with a flurry as the song wound down. They held up their bottles and bowed amidst applause and catcalls, and then Ash sauntered to the end of the bar and knelt down to greet them.

  “Liar,” Wyatt said as the next song filtered through the crowd, slow and mellow to calm them.

  “Ouch,” Ash said with a laugh. He set the bottles down and reached out his hand. “Help me down, huh?”

  Wyatt steadied him as he hopped off the bar. “You feeling okay?”

  “Eh. A little dizzy, but whatever you do, don’t tell Caleb.” Ash glanced over Wyatt’s shoulder. “Aw, they’re all cuddly. It’s like watching grizzlies mate.”

  Wyatt groaned, trying to purge that image from his mind before it could settle. “You should really go home.”

  Ash looked hurt. He waved his hand at the room behind him. “Do you see this crowd?” he asked. He made a gesture at Ryan and Delilah. “I can’t leave them alone.”

  Wyatt gritted his teeth. The bar was busier than he’d ever seen it. It was very nearly standing room only. “Noah and I can help.”

  “What? No, we can’t ask you—”

  “It’s not asking if we volunteer.” Wyatt turned and found Caleb and Noah talking in low voices. “Noah.”

  Noah stopped mid-sentence and glared at him.

  “We could help out here, right?” Wyatt said.

  Noah’s expression changed to one of amused surprise. “That’s what I was just telling Caleb,” he said, jabbing his finger at the man.

  Caleb looked dubiously at Ash. “If they stay here to take your place, will you go home and get some sleep?”

  Ash glared at Caleb, then at Noah, then at Wyatt, the rest of his body not even twitching with the movement. For some reason, Wyatt found Ash’s annoyed look incredibly sexy.

  Noah was right; he had it bad.

  “Fine,” Ash said. Wyatt began digging in his pockets to find his keys, but Ash stopped him. “I’d rather me walk home now than you walk to my place at two in the morning.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve got my phone and there are people around. I’ll be okay. I’m not weak and infirm.” Ash grabbed his bottles and slid past Wyatt behind the bar to put them up, then walked over to Ryan to let him know he was leaving.

  “He’ll be fun when you get home,” Caleb said to Wyatt almost sympathetically.

  Wyatt just grinned at the thought. “Going home to him sounds pretty good regardless.”

  Ash started getting edgy as he walked home alone. He sought out the source of every rustle. Jerked his head at every movement in his peripheral vision. He was so twitchy by the time he got a few blocks away from the bar that he was afraid he’d be mistaken for a drug addict and get picked up by the cops.

  He closed his eyes as he walked, rolling his head back and forth and exhaling to release the nerves. His foot hit a bit of uneven concrete and he pitched forward, barely catching his balance before he fell. His house keys went flying off into the dark.

  He stopped short and hung his head, cursing under his breath. Finally, he looked up at the night sky and shook his head. “Did I fuck karma in the ass without lube or something?”

  A pair of women walking down the other side of the street giggled, glancing over their shoulders at him.

  “I’m sorry,” he called.

  One of them waved him off and smiled.

  “Do you need help?” the other asked with a laugh.

  “I’m good,” he said dejectedly. “Thanks.”

  “Hope your night gets better,” she said, and they went on their way.

  Ash watched them until they reached the well-lit crossing, then turned back to look for his keys. A man was standing at the other end of the street, maybe ten yards away, watching impassively. Ash managed not to jerk in surprise. The guy was wearing a long coat and, if Ash’s eyes weren’t mistaken, a black top hat. Ash had seen too many strange outfits over the years to think twice about the fashion choice, though.

  “You look lost,” the man said in an oddly scratchy voice. It had a faraway quality to it that made Ash’s spine tingle.

  He swallowed hard and shook his head, his pride not letting him back away. Not yet. “No,” he said curtly. “No, not lost.”

  “I think you’re lost,” the man said, his voice getting deeper but still hoarse and eerily distant.

  Ash retreated a step, frowning as he risked a glance over his shoulder to see if anyone was around. When he looked back, he found that the man had covered half the distance between them. He gasped and took another quick step away.

  Though the street was reasonably well-lit, the stranger’s face remained shadowed.

  “What do you want?” Ash asked breathlessly.

  “I seek the lost.” He moved toward Ash with measured steps. He inclined his head, revealing his face. The light struck his eyes, making them appear a milky, luminescent blue.

  Ash’s breath left him as if he had been punched in the gut. It was the same face he’d seen in the mirror behind him at the bar. He backed away another step as cold terror flooded him, putting his back to the nearby building.

  The man darted faster than Ash had ever seen a person move, and a gust of wind seemed to slam Ash against the building. He squeezed his eyes shut as his head banged against the brick. When he opened them, the man was in front of him. His cold fingers curled around Ash’s biceps, lifting and pinning him, his toes barely touching the ground.

  A horn honked on one of the main roads and the cold fingers released him. Ash dropped to the ground and took off at a dead run toward the corner. He didn’t look back until he’d run out into the road itself.

  The side street behind him was empty.

  He
stood in the middle of the road, panting and shaking all over. Cars moved on either side of him.

  “Are you okay?” someone called from one of the cars.

  “Get out of the road!” another voice shouted as a car honked.

  Ash spun around, stunned. How had he not been hit by a car? He could have been killed.

  “Christ.” He picked his way through traffic to the other side of the street, where he fumbled for his phone and called the bar. His keys were somewhere in that alley and he had no intention of finding them until morning. If ever.

  When Caleb answered the phone, Ash shakily requested that someone come get him and bring along their keys to his place. He hung up as Caleb was still demanding to know what had happened.

  Ash put his back to the wall of the building behind him and slid to the ground, his eyes on the alley and his entire body still trembling.

  Just minutes later, Wyatt’s blue Civic passed by him and then screeched to a halt. It backed up, and Wyatt jumped out of the car, leaving it running in the middle of the road.

  “Are you okay? What happened?” He knelt in front of Ash and began pawing at him as if checking for injuries.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” Ash whispered.

  Wyatt frowned and then shook his head as he helped Ash to stand. “Let’s get you home.”

  Hours later, after the others had shut down the bar, Ash was curled on his couch with Delilah beside him, her arm around his shoulders and her fingers smoothing over his hair. He had a blanket draped around him and a cup of tea cooling in his hands. Wyatt, Caleb, Noah, and Ryan were sitting around his little dining room table talking.

  They were treating him like a child scared by the bogeyman, but did he give a fuck? Hell no.

  Ryan and Caleb filled Wyatt and Noah in on the incident with the man in the mirror. Ryan also discussed the banging and the music they’d heard, but then explained it away by saying that the batteries in the radio had been ruined and so was the refrigerator.

  “So he’s seeing things,” Wyatt said grimly. “We should take him to the hospital.”

  “You don’t believe in ghosts?” Caleb asked.