by K. C. RILEY
“Abandoned, as in no dead bodies? So it’s a fake cemetery?” Cassie asked.
“Noooooo. More like they’re there, but they’re all unmarked. No one visits because no one knows who they are. It’s perfect, for a...keg, keg, keg...”
We all followed Boyd through a broken back gate in the middle of nowhere.
“Jesus, it looks like Pet Sematary,” Josie said.
“Yeah, and if no one knows about it, how does Boyd?” Cassie had a good point.
“Don’t bet on that,” Josie said. “This has Mason written all over it.”
“You rang, sexy?” Mason walked over with the head of a yeti costume on top of his own.
“You really did it, huh? You stole their mascot,” Josie said.
Mason took the head off. “Of course, I did. We won, didn’t we?”
Meghan, Camilla, and Abby passed by. I didn’t see Jake anywhere. Not that I was expecting him. Chances were he would never talk to me again.
“See you inside,” Mason said. “Unless you want to...uh...”
“Not happening,” Josie said. “This way, girls.”
Cassie leaned over and whispered to me. “Is it still not opening?”
I knew she was talking about the Blood Book, and I nodded no.
“And no word from Jonas?”
I shook my head at that too.
Josie barked again, and we ran to catch up to her. She was right about one thing, the place had Pet Sematary written all over it.
Josie, Cassie, and I huddled in front of a blazing fire.
“Okay, okay, everybody be quiet,” Mason said. “It’s time for creepy stories.”
Not again.
Cassie whispered to Josie to see if she had told Mason about Zander taking her to the dance. Josie shook her head no and shrugged.
Just then someone squeezed themselves between Cassie and Josie. “Hey gorgeous,” he said.
It was Zander. I could tell from the picture. Tall, with dark hair, pale white skin, and dark eyes that made my skin crawl. He made himself comfortable and put his arm around Josie who lit up like a Christmas tree.
Cassie scooted closer over to me and I couldn’t blame her. Something felt off about the guy. Dark and shady. Sinister. I tried not to stare. But it didn’t make sense, him and Josie as a couple.
“You guys want a scary story or not?” Mason snapped.
“Touchy,” Zander said. “Please. Go on.”
I wasn’t sure if Mason was agitated at the interruption to the story or Zander’s arm around Josie. However, it soon didn’t matter.
A howling gust of wind blew through the small camp and with it a presence that silenced everyone. Mason held a flashlight underneath his head that hollowed out the shadows of his face into something dark and spooky.
His ginger eyes gleamed into the fire as though the flames themselves had possessed him. The air changed, and so did he. “Let’s begin.”
Long ago, in a time of witches, goblins, and servants of the devil, the Town of Shadowick was forged by the Plymouth Colony. Pilgrims who were originally on course for Plymouth Rock but landed here instead. Some say it was an act of God. Yet, others say it was an act of the Devil himself.
At first glance, the land of Shadowick was barren. Lifeless. The settlers knew they were out of luck, out of time, and out of resources. With no choice, they constructed their settlement under the direction of one Sir Isaac Crane.
Cassie and I both glanced at each other. What were the odds?
Under his leadership, what was once a wasteland had miraculously grown rich and fertile in vegetation and livestock. With fifteen years of temperate winters, the colony became one of the most successful establishments in the New World, until the bitter winter of 1636.
You see, the town of Shadowick had a secret, a dark one. While every year brought more abundance, it also brought the mysterious disappearance of the village children. Every child under the age of thirteen disappeared from the settlement without a trace. That is every child except for Sir Isaac’s daughter, Marigold. Some say from the day she turned twelve, Sir Isaac Crane carried the Devil on his back—a secret only he, the Devil, and God shared.
It would be the settlement’s last warm winter and the last of their good fortune.
Through the cold bitter months ahead, the land froze over until it cracked. It was as though death itself had stretched its hands deep into the earth and strangled it. So much so, that when spring came, the land remained barren. Nothing would grow, although they tried.
The prosperity of Shadowick was no longer. All except for the House of Crane. Sir Isaac and his family, for some reason, still looked plump and untouched by the devastation around them.
Those that made it through to spring barely survived. The entire colony was dying off one by one, except for you know who.
“Get to the point,” someone yelled.
“Shut your mouth,” Mason barked back. “Like I was saying...”
One day a young man heard the cry of a girl coming from a hole in the ground on the other side of the village border.
The young man went to gather rope to free the girl. He tied the rope around a sturdy old tree and lowered himself into the hole to rescue her. It was dark, but he could feel the arms of the girl clinging close to him as he pulled them out of the hole. It was Marigold. After thanking the young man, Marigold went back home. But there was still something that bothered him. A cold emptiness that quaked in his bones. With a torch, he descended back into the hole. Whatever he saw aged him by fifty years. When he came out, his hair was as white as snow, as though he had seen the Devil himself.
“I bet that’s what happened to Riley,” Josie whispered.
Mason scoffed in our direction.
Scattered at the bottom of the cavern were the bones of all the children that had disappeared from the village. On the walls were strange symbols that the young man swore were written by the Devil’s hand. He quickly realized that the only family still fat in flesh and coin were the Cranes. Sir Isaac had made a deal with evil, an ongoing sacrifice of children in exchange for the town’s wealth and prosperity. That is until there were no more children left to barter but his own. That was the cause of Shadowick’s great and terrible winter.
When Marigold returned home and told her father that she had fallen in a hole outside the border, he immediately packed her things and handed her a bag of gold coins. It was enough to get her safe passage and established in a new colony. He explained to her that people were coming to do an evil thing and that they would kill her if she didn’t leave. He made her swear to come back when she was old enough, find his grave, and a map to a fortune that would keep her and her heirs in comfort for the rest of their lives.
The villagers roared and banged on the door. Marigold barely escaped through a secret panel in the back of the house. The crowd grabbed Sir Isaac and his wife and tried them for witchcraft on the spot. They were found guilty and burned alive in the center of town.
Marigold never did come back. And till this day, they say Sir Isaac is buried with a map to The Devil’s Gold. A treasure with more gold than anyone could possibly imagine. But how, you ask? How would he have been buried with a map? They say Lucifer himself etched the map on Sir Isaac’s bones—just beneath the char—when they placed his body in an unmarked grave.
Someone grabbed Cassie from behind and scared the hell out of all of us.
Boyd fell to the ground laughing his ass off. “You should see your faces.”
“You’re an idiot.” Cassie got up and took off.
“Oh, come on,” Boyd said. “It was just a stupid story, a joke. I’m sorry. Cassie, come back.”
I had to go to the bathroom bad and got up and ran after her. “Cassie. Hold up.” I tracked her by the light of her phone.
“I had to pee,” Cassie said from behind a bush.
“Yeah, me too.” I found my own bush and relieved my exploding bladder. I buttoned up my jeans and said, “You know Boyd only acts like
a moron because he likes you.”
“It’s not him. It’s this place. We shouldn’t be here.” Cassie took off a small knapsack she’d been carrying on her back. “I pulled this earlier. It didn’t make any sense until now.” She handed me one of her tarot cards and shined the light on it, a skeleton riding on a horse in a cemetery with a big scythe in his hand. “Death.”
The wind picked up as though summoned by the word. The leaves and branches rustled around us.
“Just so I’m clear, you thought it would be a great idea to share this with me, not at camp or in the car, but in the middle of a creepy cemetery while standing in the woods by ourselves?”
“I didn’t want to freak you out.”
“Couldn’t you have tried harder?”
“Shh. Did you hear that?” Cassie pointed the light from her phone into the trees.
“It’s just the wind,” I said hoping it was just that. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Wait. There’s one more,” Cassie whispered.
“One more what?”
“Card.”
I eyeballed her.
“Look, it’s not an exact science. Sometimes it takes a bit to figure this stuff out. Regardless, they want you to see it. Now.”
“Who wants me to see it?”
“My guides. Spirit guides. I get these tingling sensations and well, they’re for a reason. There’s something they want you to know.” She nudged the card for me to take it.
A young boy with golden curls and rosy cheeks held a large staff in his hand with a light that lit up the darkness around him. Either he was lost, or was looking for something.
“Page of Wands,” Cassie said.
The wind blew unnaturally again at the exact moment Cassie spoke. It was unnerving, her connection to the wind. Chills plucked across my shoulders. My stomach tightened, and a sharp pain shot throughout my head.
“The whispers?” Cassie asked.
“Yeah.” In another second, the whispers quieted to a low hum.
“I know what it means.” Cassie’s face froze.
“What’s wrong?”
“He’s here.”
“Who's here?”
“The boy from the card. The one that’s been haunting you.” She pointed out into the darkness. “There. Do you see him?”
For the first time, I could. An adorable little boy with platinum curls and rosy cheeks. He couldn’t have been any older than five or six. Even stranger was the faint white light that glowed around him.
The little boy giggled with pudgy hands at his mouth. “Play.”
I looked at Cassie in disbelief. But the fact that she could see him too was more proof that I had never been crazy.
Cassie held up the Page card again. “He’s the light in the darkness. He wants you to follow him.”
“Okay, and what about Death?”
Cassie shrugged.
“Play,” the little boy said again.
“What am I supposed to do?” At the sound of my voice, Casper took off into the dark.
“Play,” Cassie said.
Something in me knew she was right. My curiosity piqued at the thought of finally figuring out who this kid was and how he fit into the puzzle.
I was about to run after him. “Well? Aren’t you coming?”
Cassie hesitated. “I’ve got a thing about—”
“Cemeteries...and ghosts. I’m not a fan either. Are you coming or not?”
Cassie grumbled and then sighed. “I think he went that way.”
One thing I learned about ghosts was that they were pretty darn fast. The kid was totally playing a game of hide-and-seek with us. One minute he would appear just long enough to make sure we saw him, and the next, poof. He was gone in a faint trail of light.
An owl hooted, and Cassie and I came out of our skins.
She pointed the flashlight to a white owl up in the tree whose eyes widened at the intrusion. “Did I mention I hate cemeteries?”
“Only a thousand times.”
“Well then one more time won’t hurt,” she said.
We were basically lost. “Is there anything in that bag of yours that can tell us how to get back to camp? Something other than Death?” I felt like I was speaking to myself. “Cassie?” I turned around, and she was gone. Great. Exactly what I needed.
I held my light up in every direction. Everything looked the same, woods and darkness. The camp was nowhere to be seen, and the temperature was dropping unusually fast. It was no longer cool but cold. Deathly cold. I hadn’t noticed the energy of the place until I was alone. The land felt barren and lifeless, like in Mason’s story.
My breath inched closer to a panic attack.
Breathe. Slower. Gooood.
I pulled my arms into a bear hug to stay warm.
“Cassie?” I whispered. “Where are you?”
Nothing. Not a sound. Who were we kidding? Hunting ghosts?
A bit further, and I was out of the woods. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not because there were headstones everywhere.
I was about to call out Cassie’s name again. Yell it as loud as I could and wait for an answer. But there was no sense in waking the dead.
The glow of a campfire came from the other side of the burial ground. It had to be the others. And while I was relieved, there was still only one way to clearly get back. Already regretting my decision, I crept through the field of dried weeds and cracked earth like a black cat sneaking through the dark. Why the ground was dry and barren made no sense. Not with all the rain we’d been getting.
I bent down and held a light up to the scattered headstones. One after the other, they were all the same, unmarked and forgotten. Just like the graves from Mason’s story.
15
Eerie forms and shadows with stone wings emerged from the barren earth, their bodies wrapped and strangled in the petrified vines that held them bound. It was hard to tell whether it was actually time that had worn away the stone at their cheeks or tears of sorrow themselves. I tried to shake the feeling of their eyes watching every step I took in a place I wasn’t supposed to be.
The further into the abandoned cemetery I went, the weirder things got. At one point, I thought I heard the sound of tiny footsteps running and hiding from one headstone to another. I thought about Mason’s cursed doll story. The pitter-patter stopped as soon as I did.
“Cassie,” I whispered. “Is that you?”
All of the fine hairs on my arms stood on end. All I wanted to do was go home and cuddle in my bed with an old movie. And maybe some buttered popcorn. Ghost hunting was way out of my league. And was I actually hunting a ghost? Or was the ghost hunting me?
A thick mist rolled over my sneakers like a white carpet of spirits.
With another swallow, I whispered out again, “Cassie. Where are you?”
The scattered broken headstones soon took on the shape of small houses that stood side by side in rows. Crypts. They were everywhere, like a silent city of the dead.
I held my light up to the doorway of one of the houses. Then another and another. All were sealed and unmarked. A wave of sorrow and guilt rolled over me. It wasn’t right to just forget someone. And yet, hadn’t I done the same thing to Mom’s grave? Pretended like it didn’t exist?
The deeper in I went, the more my body tensed. The place was one big maze.
Something tapped me on the shoulder, and if the dead were sleeping, they weren’t anymore.
“Lizzy, it’s me.” Cassie shined the light on her face while trying to shush me.
“You about gave me a heart attack!”
“Sorry. Did you find him?”
“No. But remember how I told you I felt led to the Blood Book?”
Casper appeared across from where we were standing. He squatted at the base of a statue with his hands over his mouth and giggled. He was the giggliest dead kid I knew. Then again, he was the only dead kid I knew.
“He was the one that led me to it,” I continued.
The little boy stretched his hand out to us. “Play.”
Before we could say another word, the sound of a stone door sliding against the ground rumbled behind us. We both turned to see what was happening. The granite door to the crypt opened up to a black void that howled like the wind.
Cassie and I looked at each other as something moaned from the mouth of the doorway. At first, it was faint. We could barely hear it and leaned in closer. The entrance was...breathing, a wheezing, like something old about to die.
Behind us, Casper smiled. We turned to see him lodged in the arms of a statue clapping with excitement. He pointed a chubby finger to the mouth of the entrance.
“Play,” he said.
“Is that the only word he knows?” I thought out loud.
“What do you want to do?” Cassie asked.
“What do the cards say?”
Cassie shrugged off her backpack, took a deep breath, and put her hand in. The card she pulled out was the image of an upside-down picture of a woman with her head bowed so her face couldn’t be seen. She had wings and stood in front of a blazing fire. There were three symbols at the top of the card I couldn’t make out. But in one hand she held a sword and in the other, a scale. The bottom of the card read Justice.
“Something happened here, a wrong that needs to be set right.” Cassie put the card back in her bag.
We looked back toward the kid who was gone. On top of that, my phone died.
Cassie and I crept over to the statue. She held her light up to it, and we both gasped, “Remy,” the man that killed Sir Isaac in the Blood Book. There was no mistaking the hard elongated face with its sharp edges and hollowed jowls. Or the eyes that still burned with the fires of hell.
He held a large open book in his hand, the one the kid was resting on.
I climbed up onto the statue.
“What are you doing?” Cassie asked.
“I have no idea. Just a feeling.” I positioned my footing and arms to get a better look at the book. “Pass me your phone.”
Rows of symbols were etched onto the stone pages. At the center, encased in a circle, was the same symbol that had been haunting me since my mom’s death.
