by Lissa Kasey
“Do you subscribe to any particular religion?” I wondered. Did he believe in ghosts?
“Not really.”
“What about the paranormal? Ghosts, tarot cards, and stuff like that?”
He glanced my way, his expression guarded. Had Lukas told him not to bring up certain topics? “I’ve seen things that have no scientific explanation.”
I wondered about his disappearance. Did he remember any of it as he’d stated publicly, or was he keeping things, that no one accepted, quiet?
“The idea of ghosts is sad, anyway,” Micah continued. “Who would want to stick around here after they died? And the concept of heaven and hell? You spend your short life struggling, trying to be the best you can be only to not get to heaven, if there is one, just because you hadn’t subscribed to a particular religion? Sounds pretty narrow-minded if you ask me. Organized religion really is about controlling the masses. That’s why philosophy has always been the bane of their existence. When people are highly intelligent, they often find holes in religion. The history of religion in general is one of control and fear. I think of myself as a spiritual person, believing more in self-awareness rather than any rules set by mistranslated texts.”
“You seem to know a lot of history.”
“I majored in history. Had plans to become a teacher. It’s the reason I always kept my face covered when I did videos.”
Had his disappearance changed that too? Was that why he was here running the shop now instead of teaching somewhere?
“That guy from the shop, Jared, is training to be a neuroscientist or something. Said our brains are still vastly uncovered territory.” Or at least that’s what I’d gotten out of his comments. “We don’t know much about how it works, mostly it’s speculation, and what little we do know evolves as they learn more.”
“Truth,” Micah agreed. “But if we spend all our time analyzing why we experience things in life, we have no time left to live it, right?”
Well fuck, that was a hard truth bomb too. “Right.”
A couple came our way. “Looks like some of our group is here.”
The group of twelve was actually fairly large. I understood why Micah limited it when we all gathered outside and he began checking people in. Everyone’s electronic ticket was scanned and they were given a badge to wear around their neck, which was to be returned when the tour finished. Everyone was instructed that they would be signing in at the gate with the guards, and that Micah was responsible if they damaged something. So the unspoken warning was: “Don’t break shit.”
At the gate we were greeted by two guards who sat under a pop-up tent just inside the doorway. “Hey Micah,” the older of the two said.
“Hey, Fred,” Micah said. “This is Alex, the guy I told you would be helping with my tours?”
Fred offered me his hand and I shook it. “Hello.” They let us through and we all funneled into the first open area which looked out into a mini city of crypts. The white wall surrounding the cemetery closed out the rest of the world, as I couldn’t even hear any of the traffic from the street nearby.
“Welcome to St. Louis Cemetery Number One,” Micah said with a bit of a creole accent. “The first New Orleans city of the dead.” Everyone laughed nervously and looked around. Though I didn’t feel anything unusual standing in the late evening sunshine under a blue sky. Everyone had their phones out, snapping pictures, some videotaping small areas.
I listened as Micah talked about the walls, which housed the dead, and the tombs, speaking of individual stone houses of families with shady or interesting histories. Marie’s grave was less intimidating than I’d expected it to be, but it was also maintained by the Voodoo Society or something, so it was clean, and white like most of the rest of them. Her lover’s grave was a sort of dirty gray, and marred with a handful of Xs, looking older and beaten down. The stories Micah told about the two made for creepy romance tales that had everyone snapping pictures and examining the differences in the tombs.
From the outside, the cemetery hadn’t looked that big. But inside, twisting and turning down small paths, listening to stories and examining plaques placed on the giant wall-like mausoleums, the place seemed huge.
Some graves were surrounded by fencing so people couldn’t get close, others were nothing but piles of bricks. There was one toward the front, but off a narrow path, that had a temporary barrier in front of it and was still covered by a red curtain.
“As you can all see, this particular mausoleum is still in use as a body was added yesterday. The tomb is closed, but they will keep it blocked off for a few more days.”
An eerie silence fell over the group as they stared at the red curtain. Almost as though they were realizing for the first time that we were standing in a real graveyard and not some made up petting zoo of ancient dead.
“The family that owns the crypt has been in New Orleans for a couple hundred years. There are rumors of witches in the line, though nothing confirmed. Those rumors of course started during the land wars in the 1800s. The city was a mess of cultures, poverty, starvation, and the rich trying to own everyone else. So not much has changed, right?”
The group laughed, and Micah moved the group along to the next big crypt and creepy story.
By the time we were back at the gate, the sky had begun to darken. Everyone chatted excitedly and Micah repeated his head count, retrieving all the badges. He pointed out a nearby tourist and visitor center and offered to walk the crowd over. The box of books sold quickly, everyone scrambling for a copy, which was a history of the cemetery written by a local author whom Micah claimed was a good friend.
We walked the group to the nearby visitor’s center and then left them to explore the maps and gifts shops. I was starving. “Is there food close?” I asked Micah. “I’d even eat some of those sugar clouds if I have to.”
Micah smiled. “How about some gumbo? It’s a short walk but the food is good. We have to be quick and get back for the next group.”
“I’m in,” I agreed. We left the empty box with the gift shop to recycle, and he stuffed the badges in the pocket of his pants. We made our way to food with me thinking that maybe this would all work out. I’d been a little worried about these ghost tour things drumming up issues, but the cemetery tour had been nothing. Maybe the actual ghost tours would be different.
Chapter 5
Food was good and fast, taking less than twenty minutes to eat and we were headed back toward the cemetery. The sun had set, leaving a chill in the air which made me wish I’d brought a coat. Micah’s company eased the anxiety I’d begun the day with, and our conversation remained light, focused on the city and history instead of either one of our pasts. His smile, while guarded, was infectious and soothing, all at once. He had stories about everything, from each shop we passed to street signs, and every restaurant. Since I didn’t mind listening, I asked an occasional question to spur on his memories over something and tried to absorb all the knowledge as best I could. Walking with him felt natural, and he treated me like a person instead of a freak. Maybe this job would work out okay.
“Anything different happen during the night tour?” I asked. The sky was still clear, revealing a full moon which was pretty in a creepy way as it illuminated the white walls of the graveyard in the distance.
“Not really. Usually ghost hunter wannabes on the night tour. People look more for the scary stories and snap lots of pictures trying to catch ghosts,” Micah said. “No flash allowed as it messes with our night vision. I have a flashlight on my keychain if needed. Some of the corners of the cemetery are really dark.”
“Full moon tonight should help.”
“Oh yeah, it actually makes it a little more eerie. Full moons are usually booked a couple weeks in advance. Not because anything different happens, but people think it sets a spookier mood. Did you know there are three days to a full moon? My night in the cemetery doesn’t always land on one.”
“Is that why that Mark guy wanted to take your
night?” I wondered out loud.
“Mark? When was he around?”
“When you stepped out for those books. He and two missionary looking ladies were in and messing with Sky. I took care of them. Sent them on their way after they insulted her.”
Micah laughed. “Missionary looking? Two wannabe voodoo queens and a guy who calls himself a voodoo priest. This is what I mean by white folks using religion to control people. At least I don’t make claims of slaughtering chickens on the full moon to bring in sales.”
“Good to know, as it would be weird to haul around chickens for you.”
“Help! Someone please help!” The cry interrupted our banter and I whipped my head around to try to find the direction. It was coming from the entrance to St. Louis Number One.
Micah jogged that way, me racing after him, instinct kicking in. Was someone hurt? When we reached the gate, I recognized the man from the shop earlier.
“Jared,” I said. “What’s wrong?” There were no guards at the table in front. Jared was sobbing and begging for help, though I could barely understand his words. I took him by the shoulders and made him focus on me. “Jared, what’s wrong? Where’s Sarah?”
“Something was there! In the dark… It took her,” he said panting like he’d been running a marathon.
“Jared, who? Where?” I asked.
He pointed into the cemetery. “That man promised a private tour to Sarah and me. Now she’s gone. One second she was there and then something was standing in the dark. Then she was gone. Please…” Tears streamed down his face and he fought for air, hands on his ribs. “Please, help.”
Micah looked at the sign-in sheet. “Mark took them in. They shouldn’t have been let in at all. It’s not their night.” He headed through the gate whipping out the little flashlight on his keychain.
“The light on my phone is brighter,” I told him, holding up my phone.
He shook his head. “Too bright. Ruins night vision. Stay here, I’ll see if I can find them.”
“Not a chance,” I told him. If there was someone in there, he was not going in alone. “You’re not going by yourself.” I opened my phone and sent Lukas a text that there was an emergency at the cemetery and to send help before shoving Jared down into one of the abandoned guards’ chairs with a firm command of “Stay here,” and followed Micah into the darkness.
He was efficient in his search, shining the flashlight down the rows and calling out. “Sarah? Mark? Fred?” He obviously knew the cemetery very well.
No one answered. In fact the entire atmosphere of the place had changed, feeling heavy, and I struggled to suck in enough air. There was no sound inside, no birds or crickets, no passing cars or wind. It wasn’t because we were moving so fast, though we were both jogging at this point, looking around tombs and down aisles. Twice I thought I saw something move and pointed it out to Micah. We’d trail down that path only to find nothing and backtrack. Why weren’t they answering? The cemetery wasn’t that big. They shouldn’t have had a hard time hearing us.
Did Micah hear that buzzing? Or was it me?
It started as a low hum, so faint I hadn’t noticed it at first. Now it drummed at my senses, like wings fluttering against my ears. My heart raced in time to the pulsing feeling like it was going to explode out of my chest.
Panic began to take hold in my gut. There was only one way in and out. Unless they climbed the walls. Had someone taken Sarah over the wall? I could barely hear Micah’s voice anymore. It was like my ears were clogged. Spots trickled into my vision making it hard to follow him.
Micah lurched forward after shining his light down a path, and I chased after him as we both found the guard, Fred, lying beside a grave, very still. I leaned over him and checked for a pulse. Thankfully, I found one.
“Just unconscious,” I said to Micah and turned the big man over. It looked like he hit his head. “I already sent Lukas a text, so help should be on the way.” What was that smell? Slightly metallic. I looked over Fred again and he didn’t appear to be bleeding.
“Do you smell blood?” I asked, looking around the small area we were in. I knew a half dozen yards away the tomb that had been open to add a new body stood, but didn’t think they’d have left it that fresh. I would have smelled it earlier in the day, and it seemed odd they’d let people in the cemetery if that were a normal occurrence.
“I think it’s from over there.” Micah got up and tiptoed that way.
“Micah…” I called after him, leaving Fred’s side to follow.
We kept moving forward, passing chalk markers written on some of the tombs that hadn’t been there earlier in the day. The shadows grew thicker the further we walked, and so did the marking. That awful white noise filled my head, deafening me. I stopped twice to try to clear the noise, only to have it grow louder.
Micah stopped and glanced around a large sarcophagus.
“What?” I asked. Though the stink of death turned my gut, I’d smelled that a time or twelve in my life. Most vividly as I lay injured in the desert sand with my troop torn to pieces around me.
“Summoning ceremony.” He motioned to a heap of dead animals that littered the ground. Their deaths had obviously been the result of torture since they were contorted in horrible ways. I swallowed back bile at the sight, trying to keep from spewing right there. It took a lot of willpower not to examine them and commit the horrors to vivid memory. Dead humans were one thing, innocent animals was a whole other that only added to the unsettled tension growing in my gut.
“What the fuck?” Nothing about this was normal. “Like one of those pretend voodoo fuckers killing animals for shits and giggles?”
“Maybe,” Micah whispered. He tiptoed his way through the mess. “Wonder what they called.”
Called? “Um…”
We passed another row of little houses for the dead, navigating around creepy baby statues that almost seemed to move in the dark. In this row all the crosses had been broken off the tops of the crypts. The discarded pieces of stone were flipped upside-down, making my head swim with the possibilities and terror.
The recently used tomb was open, red curtain ripped away, gaping hole of darkness where the marble plate was supposed to close it off. I couldn’t see a body through the dark, but it looked like something black stained the edges of the tomb. Almost as though something had slithered its way out of it.
Micah stopped suddenly, forcing me to run into his back. I stumbled, trying to find my footing and felt something squelch under my boots. Looking down, I fumbled to organize my thoughts like I’d been put on a slow-motion roller coaster. The black liquid soaking my shoes made me gasp as memories hit me like an atomic bomb. The metallic sting hit my nose at the same time I caught the moving dark shadow from the side of my vision.
Unlike the other shadows I’d seen until now, this one wasn’t human. The shape too large, shifting and undulating more like a worm than a person ever possibly could. My first instinct was to run, but I couldn’t pull my feet from the bloody mess left by something more than an abused animal, or my thoughts from the chaos of disaster that swirled in my head.
The dark mass went through the stone walls, head a slew of writhing shadows, moving so fast I didn’t know if I even had time to breathe. Horrors I’d seen once before in my life filled my head with memories. I saw it reach for Micah and I instantly reacted by shoving him away and taking the brunt of its touch.
The mass hit me like a slap of water, walloping me with an icy grip of pure freezing pain. I felt as though I’d been crushed by a glacier wall. I slammed into the ground hard and tried to suck in a breath, but got nothing. Everything around me frozen, my hands stung like they’d been gripping a bag of ice for too long, and my lungs burned for air. The night turned into a reddish-black haze as consciousness was stripped from me.
Chapter 6
I was dropped down into the memory of that day. Waking up under a hail of gunfire. The sound of the wind howled around like some sort of banshee of old sto
rybooks. I crawled from my tent only to find the sky black with soot and the fierce pounding of another sand storm on top of us, the particles of sand like tiny shards of glass ripping at my clothes and skin.
Another man left the tent beside mine, took several steps toward the swirling mass of sand, and was suddenly yanked upward by the wind like an invisible giant fist wrenched him off the ground. Only a few seconds passed but he rained down over me in parts instead of a living person, blood and bone, clothes and hair, like an internal explosion, ripped to shreds. A storm couldn’t do that. It wasn’t possible. Bombs maybe, but nothing like that fierce whipping of the wind.
I struggled to breathe, feeling the weight of his blood drenching my skin and the scent filling my nostrils with the copper stink. The guy I shared the tent with came up beside me and I latched on to him, dragging him to the ground with me, holding tight as he fought to try to get away.
The howling continued, like a siren’s call. Instead of giving me the urge to run, I felt like I should be heading into the darkness, reaching for that swirl of death. After watching the third member of my team explode, I buried my face in my struggling bunkmate’s hair and held on, waiting for it all to end. Death or the sandstorm. I wasn’t sure which, or that it mattered so long as there was an end.
He fought me, trying to answer the siren call coming from that whipping darkness. But I held on, using my weight to keep us locked down while I expected death to rip him from my arms any second and tear us to shreds.
He stopped struggling. I felt his hands on my face, which was odd as I didn’t think he’d been at all cooperative that day. But soft fingers stroked my cheeks, brushing away tears I hadn’t realized were falling. Then soft lips pressed against mine, and I breathed in the smell of spice and gumbo.
“Alex?” he whispered.
I opened my eyes, not realizing they had been closed and found Micah in my arms. We were both kneeling, covered in blood, but wrapped together, Micah sprawled around me like a shield. My arms were locked so tightly around him they ached with the effort, but he didn’t protest.
