Shock Totem 4: Curious Tales of the Macabre and Twisted

by Shock Totem

  Two chapels exist on the cemetery. The main one near the offices, the mausoleum, the crematorium and columbarium walls, and the other at the southern tip of the cemetery, which is where the Preacher can most often be found.

  Chase remains at her side while she walks, though she wishes him elsewhere. The Preacher is difficult enough to handle without the other ghost’s smart remarks.

  Across the graveyard, a bell chimes twelve times. Though the sun is bright overhead, the oncoming bite of winter is evident. Autumn leaves scuttle against the graves. A beautiful time of year.

  You shouldn’t be meeting with him alone.

  Sasha snorts. “The Preacher is harmless.”

  He’s not harmless. He has influence over the others. He encourages them to accept the Fade. That we are refusing God’s embrace by staying here.

  “And yet he somehow remains.” Sasha walks faster to the bottom of the hill toward the chapel. A white clapboard structure with a red door, a small bell tower and stained glass windows, the private chapel was something her great-grandfather added during his years as caretaker.

  Upon entering, Sasha sees fourteen ghosts with their heads lowered. The Preacher stands before them at the pulpit. Barrel-chested and hairy, the man doesn’t smile upon her arrival. Of course, he never smiles period, and she’s always sensed a bit of disapproval reflected in his eyes, so nothing unusual there.

  Cast your bodies into the Fade, children. The sooner you do, the sooner God himself will greet your presence at the Gates of Heaven.

  Sasha looks over the parishioners, all of whom show signs of fading. She knows all these ghosts in varying degrees. Most have been at the cemetery less than a year. Among them is the fourteen-year-old girl from earlier this week. Lucy Martin. Already her milky aura has lessened to gray. Her features have blurred and streaked.

  Pray do not interrupt my service, child. We will speak later, yes?

  Sasha blinks before realizing that he’s addressed her. The Preacher rarely asks anything of her. No one visits him. No one pays anything additional to maintain his grave. All of which means her interactions are on the superficial side at best. But since she requires his assistance in the Ezra situation, perhaps it would be better to acquiesce.

  “Of course. We’ll come back later.”

  The Preacher eyes her companion. Withering and colder than frost. Come alone if you wish to speak. I do not keep with the ungodly.

  —

  Another appointment keeps her busy well into the afternoon. It’s not until dusk that she has time to return to the chapel, this time minus her ghost companion. Chase left shortly after departing the chapel, muttering something about her lack of priorities.

  Irritating man. Typical of him to assume a human’s priorities must be in line with a ghost’s. No doubt Ezra has either been hiding or has gotten entangled in another relationship with a fellow ghost. Nothing especially worrisome.

  Regardless, it’s still her problem. Her father died years ago, leaving Sasha alone to take care of the ghosts. They get upset so easily; their worlds have gotten so small and confined. Worrying about the Fade is an infection among them, so it’s better to have an answer sooner rather than later.

  Sasha pulls open the chapel door and heads inside. The Preacher has remained standing at the pulpit, his Bible still open in front of him. As she watches, he flips a page and continues reading.

  Sasha tries to recall whether she’s seen the Preacher move things before, but draws a blank. Not many ghosts can manipulate solid matter.

  Come closer, child.

  The Preacher beckons her deeper inside his sanctuary. There’s an intensity in his gaze that causes her to lose the tentative smile.

  But she doesn’t have to be friendly. Being direct will do.

  “Ezra came to see you a few nights ago. Is that the last time you saw him?”

  He looks down at his Bible again, strokes the rustling paper and then dips his hand directly inside the book, inside the podium, only to pull it out again. A form of osmosis, perhaps?

  I saw him, yes. He wanted to speak about the Fade.

  Strange. Ezra liked to pretend the Fade didn’t exist, especially not for someone like him. “What did you say to him?”

  I told him he was upsetting God’s plans by remaining in limbo for so long. That he and the others like him should have consigned themselves to the Fade long ago.

  A common and irritating refrain. “Interesting how you seem to have no interest in fading yourself. In fact, you look brighter than ever, Preacher.” And it’s true. Individual hairs stand out on his chin. His eyes aren’t the usual milky-white either, they’re darker, tinged with blue.

  Those same eyes narrow at her words. I do not expect you to understand, you who capitalizes upon our presence. What is best for us is not best for you.

  A nasty smile flutters across her lips. “What a convenient and hypocritical solution that is. To spread the word of God and your own agenda, while remaining here to reap the benefits of a prolonged afterlife.”

  The ghost slams the Bible shut. The sound echoes throughout the chapel, loud enough to make Sasha’s heart stutter.

  We all make sacrifices, child. God has given me the greater task of ushering the dead into Heaven. I will fulfill my obligations, despite your interference. But if I may, a small piece of advice: Stop looking for Ezra. You will not find him. He has left this world for the next.

  Something in the resolution of his stance, the certainty in his words and the sudden chill inside the chapel convinces her of his conviction.

  Could Ezra really be gone? And if so, what did the Preacher say to make Ezra fade? What words could have broken through that stubbornness?

  Dangerous words. Interfering words. All of which could topple both the cemetery and her family’s life work.

  “Then let me give you a piece of advice in return, Preacher.” Sasha lifts the Bible from its pedestal and drops it to the ground. The book lands with a hollow boom against the wooden floor. “You might possess the power of speech, and the ability to move small things, but never forget that we have your body.”

  —

  What did the Preacher say?

  Sasha looks up to find Chase in the doorway of her office. She shrugs and returns her attention to a recent contract. Specifically, the contract involving Lucy Martin and the services the girl’s mother has already paid for. Fourteen black tulips placed on her grave every month until her birthday, when it will change to fifteen. A scheduled visit once every other month.

  A profitable transaction, all things considered. Pity that Lucy has already begun to fade.

  That possibility is written in fine print, of course, and the details have already been explained. The money would be refunded minus the deposit, but still. This is not what anyone wants. How aggravating that the Preacher should interfere in the natural course of things.

  Did he tell you where Ezra went?

  Chase drifts deeper inside her office, trails his fingertips over the photographs along the wall. Obviously he has no intention of leaving.

  “He said Ezra faded.”

  Do you believe him?

  She shrugs again. “It’s possible.”

  It’s not possible. You know better than that.

  “I don’t see him anywhere else.” Sasha shoves aside the contract with disgust. “Despite what you might think, I did actually look for him. He’s not in the cemetery, which leaves one alternative. He faded. Accept it and move on.”

  No.

  With that, Chase knocks one of the photos from the wall. The glass shatters and the frame breaks.

  “Son of a bitch.” Sasha gets up to examine the damage, though the ghost has already streaked across the room. One of Chase’s hands comes to rest on another photograph—a more beloved photograph—the one with Sasha and her father standing in front of her mother’s grave marker. The camera didn’t pick up the ghostly presence of her fading mother between them.

  Chase lifts the photo from th
e wall and tucks it against his chest. Another warning.

  I need to show you something, Sash.

  —

  When fog drifts across the cemetery grounds, it obscures both ghosts and their markers. A fool might find something scary within such scenery, but Sasha has always considered it peaceful.

  Moonlight glows upon the chapel as they draw closer. The stained glass windows shine brighter and more colorful now than they do in direct sunlight, with the haloed angels shimmering brightest of all.

  Chase doesn’t lead her to the red door, instead he moves to the side of the chapel. Near the rear, another door opens into a tiny office and storage area. Before slipping inside, Chase turns and presses a finger against her lips, then drifts next to the curtain separating this area from the main room.

  Look.

  Curious now, Sasha draws forward and gently brushes aside the curtain. Next to her, Chase’s presence blooms with cold and the imprint of his finger echoes on her mouth. Not that she can pay attention to either right now.

  Out in the chapel, two ghosts stand together. One, the Preacher. The other is Lucy Martin, who kneels before him, her body flickering in the candlelight of the altar. The Preacher caresses her cheeks, brushes hair back from her face, draws a cross over her forehead and murmurs some kind of religious text.

  Then his hands dip inside her head.

  Sasha gasps at his audacity. Ghosts don’t move through each other. It’s considered unspeakably rude.

  Yet for Lucy Martin, there’s no struggle. No movement. No sound. She just goes rigid.

  Then something changes in the girl’s ghostly form. Her arms turn transparent, and Sasha can see the pews through Lucy’s body. Puffs of glittery grit blur the girl’s remaining features. In seconds, everything collapses, streams and shimmers into light. Everything disintegrates into the surrounding air to hover like mist.

  The light circles the Preacher’s body, eventually seeping within his form. He begins to glow even brighter than before.

  Go with God, child.

  And the Preacher smiles.

  —

  Transfixed by the scene, Sasha barely notices when Chase lightly touches her arm. In the end, it takes a solid grip on her arm to interrupt her fascination.

  Do not confront him now, Sash. Please.

  “What did he do?” she whispers. “Did he force her to fade?”

  Chase shakes his head. Something more than that. I’ll explain later, but we have to go now. Then he reaches out to take her hand.

  His touch is solid enough to tug her away from the curtain and out of the chapel, but nothing can distract her from the vision of the Preacher taking Lucy’s fading spirit within him. What purpose could it serve? What does it mean?

  She stops him before they’re far from the chapel. Since this part of the cemetery has fewer graves, it’s also more deserted, which allows for greater privacy than elsewhere. This isn’t the kind of thing she wants the others to hear.

  The Fade is bad enough, but at least it’s gradual. At least it’s a choice. What would happen if the others knew the Preacher could absorb them? What kind of chaos would that cause?

  At the top of the hill, several ghosts drift by, engaging in conversation, business as usual, oblivious to the events inside the chapel. Sasha rubs her arms, chilled more by what’s she witnessed than anything else.

  No way in hell is she going to allow the Preacher to continue.

  “Tell me now.”

  Chase stares in the direction of the chapel.

  He’s a Wraith. An Eater of Ghosts.

  —

  Legends speak of the Devourer of Afterlife. Her grandfather used to tell tales of the creature, though she never believed him. Ghosts have always seemed so docile to her. Emotional, yes, and prone to tantrums, but never violent or dangerous. Never has she witnessed anything resembling what happened in the chapel.

  Sasha returns to her office long enough to consult her maps and filing systems. It’s easy enough to find where the Preacher’s body is buried. Something she should have done when the horrid man first became a nuisance.

  There is no afterlife for the cremated. A destroyed body has nothing to bind a ghost to the living realm.

  “Why is he doing this?” Sasha storms over to her bookshelf. Her father had an extensive library on the afterlife and communicating with the dead. Not so much because he needed the references, but because he thought it added legitimacy to their business.

  She recalls one of the books had something regarding exorcism...

  He seeks to regain human form. If you don’t intervene, if he ingests enough souls, he’ll be strong enough to travel away from his body. Strong enough to hunt beyond this graveyard.

  “Then I’ll just have to burn him, won’t I?”

  He won’t go down that easily, Sash. You have to plan things a little better than that.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  It means burning isn’t enough. You have to cut off his head and slice out his heart.

  Sasha’s eyes narrow. He knows a lot about this subject, considering he’s never brought it up before. And he hasn’t seemed surprised by anything that’s happened.

  “How long have you known about this?”

  Chase doesn’t move from his position in front of the window, nor does he react to the accusing words. I didn’t know for sure until that scene at the chapel. I think there’s a reason he’s always surrounded himself by the fading ones. He could have been feeding on them for a long time, and we just never knew the difference.

  “That makes sense, I suppose.” Still, she can’t help but wonder—how many ghosts have actually faded? How many of those people were devoured instead? Anyone she loved? She glances at her mother’s graveside photograph again.

  An unpleasant sensation uncurls within her stomach. The Wraith was here when her mother died.

  —

  The Preacher’s grave is located in the western half, not far from Ezra’s crypt. A rectangle of linden bushes encloses about fifty individual tombstones in a separate plot of land. Records say they were transplanted from a church cemetery across town more than sixty years ago.

  This part of the cemetery is more neglected. The grave markers are crumbling, dreary and covered in religious quotations. Sasha can’t recall another ghost from this section, not even during the days when her father ran the cemetery.

  Perhaps the Wraith devoured them all.

  Despite the moonlight beaming upon the graves, Sasha has brought both a lantern and a flashlight to pick out the names of the deceased on the markers. She’s also brought an axe and hunting knife, necessary tools to put an end to the Preacher. Once she’s found the correct tombstone, she drops the axe and knife, then sets the lantern on the ground next to where she needs to dig.

  Of course there’s a simpler way of bringing up the coffin. In daylight, she could easily get one of her employees to run the mechanical digger. Trouble is, that would also draw attention, both from her staff and from the ghosts.

  So it’ll have to be the old-fashioned way.

  With both hands, Sasha jams the shovel into the hard-packed dirt, steps onto the flattened part of the blade and levers the first mound from the earth. Her constant companion is on the opposite side of the bushes, supposedly keeping other ghosts away, but more as a lookout for the grave’s owner.

  At this time of night, ghosts tend to be quiet. Likewise, the cemetery itself is without noise, without the chirp of birds or the whirring of crickets. Only the huff and puff of Sasha’s exertions interrupt the serenity. It’s been a while since she’s had to do something so physical, but the rhythm comes back easily.

  Once she’s about halfway down, Chase returns to her side.

  What will you do if he arrives before you’ve finished?

  Sasha tosses aside the shovel and uncaps a bottled water. She takes a quick gulp and strives to catch her breath before talking. “I’ll just keep digging. He can’t stop me.”

  A
satisfied smile curls over his mouth. Best keep digging then. He’s on his way.

  “Shit.” Sasha rushes to the edge of the bushes to look out over the graveyard. She hopes that Chase is joking, but he’s not. Over the next hill, the robed figure of the Preacher is steadily moving in her direction. Ponderous and slow, but relentless still.

  She has less than a minute.

  Sasha opts for bravado instead of panic. She picks up the shovel, and leans against it oh-so-casual and unaffected while trying to settle her breathing. This is her place. Her property. Not his.

  When the Preacher arrives, he doesn’t seem terribly surprised to see her. His expression is mildly curious as he views what she’s done to his final resting place. Were you looking for me, child?

  “I’m moving you out of here.” Sasha jabs the shovel into the ground again. “You’re no longer welcome.”

  A ripple passes over his face, temporarily making it darker. More hollowed out. A heartbeat later, he looks normal again. Has she angered him?

  Why?

  Sasha lifts another pile of dirt and tosses it in his direction. None of it hits him, though his face ripples again. “I warned you not to interfere. I told you what the consequences would be. I thought it was pretty clear.”

  Apparently not.

  “We could start with Lucy Martin.”

  Ah. The Preacher looks amused. And you think I did something against her will?

  Obtuse bastard. “I don’t give a shit if she resisted or not. You took something from her, something irretrievable. It’s evil, what you’ve done. And you’ll never prey on anyone else again.”

  Some would say I’m doing God’s work, ushering the dead into heaven. Is it not my duty to remain and to serve, by any means necessary?

  “You’re not a creature of God. You’re a monster.” Beside her, Sasha can feel Chase’s chilly presence drawing nearer. “And Lucy Martin is the last ghost you’ll devour.”