Graver Girl (Grave Girl 2)

by Amy Cross

  Pain can only mean one thing:

  “I'm alive,” she mutters under her breath. “I'm not a zombie.”

  “Did you say something?”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Maybe. I mean, I might come with you tomorrow night. It all depends, you know? I've gotta check my diary, and... Well, first I have to buy a diary, and then I have to write in it, and then I have to check it, so I'll let you know as soon as I've done all of that, okay?”

  She pauses, aware that she's rambling.

  “Hang on,” Sam mutters, shuffling about in the dark, “I'll turn on the light.”

  “No!” Anna hisses, before stepping out into the hallway. “I mean, don't worry about that. It'd only wake you up some more. I'm fine, really. Go back to sleep.”

  “You're jumpy as hell.”

  “I'm not jumpy.”

  “Whatever. As long as there's nothing I need to worry about.”

  “I've got everything under control,” Anna reassures her. “Not that there is anything that needs to be kept under control,” she adds hastily, “but if there was something, I would definitely have it nicely under control, and you wouldn't need to worry at all.” She pauses as she tries to work out what, exactly, she just said. “You get the idea.”

  “I'll see you in the morning, then,” Sam replies.

  “Oh yeah. You'll see me, alright.” She pauses. “That's the problem,” she whispers to herself. “That's when you're gonna want to know what the hell happened.”

  Hurrying to the bathroom, Anna switches on the light and locks the door before turning to stare at herself in the mirror. To her shock, she sees that the regrowth process has, if anything, accelerated since she went to bed. There are no longer any visible holes on her face, and her skin color is almost looking healthy again. Leaning closer, she sees that her eyes look like normal eyes, and when she sticks her tongue out she's surprised to see that it's no longer gray and dry: it's now pink and wet, glistening with saliva.

  “I'm alive,” she whispers, still not quite able to believe that it's true. “I'm alive!”

  Suddenly she feels something tickling in one side of her head. Reaching into her ear, she pulls out a maggot, which she places on the soap dish.

  “Sorry, Margo,” she mutters. “I think you and your friends have to find somewhere new to hang out. It'll be tough, but I just don't have anywhere for you to live in my body anymore. Not anywhere that'd be comfortable, anyway.”

  She watches for a moment as the maggot wriggles its way across the dish.

  “You'll be fine,” she adds, before looking back at her reflection. As far as she can tell, she seems to be about eighty or ninety per cent recovered from the whole rotting zombie situation, and she can almost feel her body continuing to knit itself back to normal. At this rate, she figures she'll be back to looking completely fine in just a few hours' time, and although she knows she should go to bed and get some rest, she figures she might as well stay up for the rest of the night and watch the process as it takes place. Besides, the last thing she wants is another one of those dreams in which Scott comes chasing after her with a chainsaw.

  Pinching her arm again, she feels another jolt of pain. She squeezes tighter and the pain becomes worse, and she can't help but smile. Pain is just one of many, many things she never felt again after she died, and now it's back.

  “I'll see you in the morning,” she whispers to her reflection, remembering Sam's words. “Oh God,” she adds as she realizes that she'll no longer be able to hide her changed appearance once the sun comes up, which in turn means that Sam is going to want to know what happened. “What the hell am I going to tell her?” she asks her reflection, “and what the hell is she going to say?”

  Two

  “Best hole yet,” Sam mutters to herself the following morning, as she stands by the grave that will shortly contain Ruth Havershot's coffin. When she first took up the role of gardener at Rippon, Sam found it difficult to dig neat, perfectly rectangular graves, but as she gets onto her knees and measures the fourth corner, she finds that it's exactly ninety degrees.

  In other words...

  “This grave is perfect,” she continues. “Four perfect right angles, plus a depth of exactly six feet. I doubt there's ever been a more perfect grave in the history of the world.” Reaching into her pocket, she takes out her camera and uses it to take a photo of the grave, and then a couple more from different angles. For the first time in quite a while, she actually feels proud.

  “It's certainly an impressive achievement,” says a nearby voice suddenly.

  Turning, Sam sees that the local priest, Susie Shearman, is standing just a few feet away.

  “Sorry,” Sam mutters, slipping her camera away as she grabs her shovel, which has been resting against a nearby tree. “I didn't know anyone was -”

  “There's no reason to be ashamed of a good day's work,” Susie replies with a smile. “You've done a wonderful job here, Sam, although I hope you haven't been pushing yourself too hard. Graves don't have to be perfect, you know, just so long as they'll serve their intended purpose. God understands the struggle of man, you know.”

  “I want them all to be exactly right,” Sam replies, glancing over at the gate and seeing that a car has pulled up outside. The first mourners are arriving for Ruth Havershot's funeral, and this is the part of the job that she hates the most: people are going to come flooding into the cemetery, chattering away and generally making a nuisance. All she can do is wait for them to leave so she can fix any damage. “My grass,” she mutters. “They're going to trample all over my grass.”

  “I always feel so sad when I have to bury a young person,” Susie continues. “I'm only thirty-five myself, so it strikes me as being especially unfortunate when someone dies without ever really having had a chance to experience life. Don't you agree?”

  “Sure,” Sam mutters, looking over at the cottage just in time to spot Anna hurrying inside. All morning, Anna has been wearing some kind of black veil, claiming that it's a mark of respect for Ruth Havershot. As far as Sam is concerned, however, it's clear that Anna is up to something, although she's too busy right now to go and force the truth out of her.

  “I haven't been in Rippon for very long,” Susie continues, “but I've already come to see that there is a great sense of community here. People really care for one another, and another young death is going to be very difficult for everyone to get over, especially after the double tragedy of Anna Marsh and Dean James last year. I can only hope that the words I say today over the grave will, at the very least, bring a degree of comfort to those who are grieving. I know words can seem hopelessly ineffective at such a time, but what else can one do?”

  “Totally,” Sam replies. “I'm sure you'll be able to whip up a storm and make everyone feel much -”

  Before she can finish, she hears a fluttering sound over her shoulder. She turns just in time to spot something small and dark flying straight for her. Grabbing her shovel, she instinctively swings it through the air, barely missing the startled priest before striking the incoming object hard and sending it thudding against a nearby tree. By the time the dark shape drops to the grass, Sam's heart is pounding in her chest and she's already scanning the sky for any hint that more ravens are on the way. She keeps expecting to see a sudden swarm rushing toward her, but as the seconds pass she starts to wonder if she was simply dive-bombed by a lone attacker.

  “My word,” Susie exclaims, hurrying over to take a look at the dead bird. “The poor little sparrow.”

  “It's not a sparrow,” Sam mutters, heading over to check. Looking down at the crumpled shape in the grass, however, she realizes that she might have been a little hasty. “Huh. Okay, it's a sparrow. Sorry, I thought it was another raven.”

  “Another raven?”

  “Long story,” Sam replies, as she reaches down and scoops up the dead sparrow into her hands. As she stares at its broken form, complete with a beak that has been crushed almost to oblivion, she can't hel
p but feel sorry that she ended its life in such a brutal manner. “Great,” she adds, “now I've got to dig another grave. At least this one will be smaller.”

  ***

  “So what's with the veil?”

  “It's a mark of respect,” Anna replies swiftly, as if she has been expecting the question all morning. She's standing in the cottage's doorway, watching the funeral from a distance.

  “You didn't know Ruth Havershot.”

  “I know her brother Scott.”

  “So that's why you're wearing a veil that makes it almost impossible to see your face?”

  Anna nods.

  “And the black gloves?”

  “More respect.”

  “And the -”

  “Why are you holding a dead sparrow?”

  Sam looks down for a moment at the bird in her hands.

  “Complicated story. Why are you trying to hide from me?”

  “I'm not.”

  “Then let me see your face.”

  Cautiously, Anna lifts the veil, but only for a moment; she swiftly lets it drop again, having only allowed Sam to see – at most – her mouth and part of her nose.

  “You're looking healthy,” Sam mutters skeptically.

  “I'm getting much better with my make-up.”

  “To the extent that you can make yourself look alive again?”

  Anna shrugs.

  “You should get a job at a movie studio,” Sam continues. “With those skills, you could do some pretty good special effects.”

  “Sure;” Anna replies, “I'll get right on that if a movie studio ever opens in Rippon. It's not like I can go and -”

  Stopping suddenly, she realizes that she actually might be able to leave town. With her body having returned to normal, she figures she no longer has to worry about staying within Rippon's boundary, in which case she could head off and explore the world. Filled with a growing sense of optimism, she keeps her eyes fixed on the funeral while trying to fight a faint smile that has begun to curl at the corner of her mouth.

  “You're up to something,” Sam says suddenly.

  “I am not!”

  “Fine, don't tell me. I'll work it out eventually.”

  “What are you going to do with that sparrow?” Anna asks, trying to change the subject. “Cook it and eat it?”

  “Don't be gross. I'm going to bury it.”

  “In a little grave of its own?”

  “I don't see why not.” Looking down at the dead bird again, Sam pauses as she thinks back to the moment when she hit it with her shovel. “Have you seen any ravens around this morning?”

  “Ravens?”

  “Big black things with evil eyes.”

  “Are you scared of birds now?”

  “Not scared of them,” Sam replies, “just... onto them.” She looks up at the bright blue sky, where there's not a bird to be seen. Even the trees seem to be mostly bare. “They must be off planning something.”

  “The birds?”

  “Shouldn't they be flying around? It's the middle of the day, but I don't see a single bird anywhere. Not in the sky, not in the trees, not on the ground. It's almost as if they've decided to go off and plot something. I mean, what else do birds do with their time? If they're not up there, they must be huddled together somewhere, coming up with a plan.”

  “Are you becoming paranoid?” Anna asks.

  “No.” Sam pauses. “And if I am, at least I've got you here to keep me sane, right?”

  “But what if I wasn't here?” Anna replies. “What if eventually I found a way to leave?”

  “Leave the cemetery?”

  “Leave Rippon.”

  “You'd drop down dead at the town's boundary,” Sam points out. “That's how it works.”

  “But what if I didn't drop down dead? What if, thanks to some kind of miracle, I was able to leave Rippon and never come back? Would you...” She pauses as she realizes that her horizons have suddenly broadened, which in turn means that she no longer has to just sit around in Rippon for the rest of her life. “Never mind,” she adds after a moment. “It'll probably never happen. I mean, even if I could leave, where would I go?”

  Sam stares at her for a moment. “Is there something you want to say to me?” she asks finally, with a hint of curiosity in her voice. “Maybe something that's playing on your mind?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like why don't you tell me?”

  “There's nothing,” Anna replies, “I was just thinking out loud, that's all.”

  “Don't try that line with me. I can tell you're -”

  “What's with all the questions, huh?” Anna asks, trying and failing to sound reasonable. “Just because we live together in this rundown little cottage, you don't have the right to keep poking about in my life!”

  “Okay, but -”

  “So just back off, okay? Let me get on with my own life, and don't expect to have everything explained to you!” She can tell that she's going too far, but she's determined to get herself a little space. “Sorry,” she adds, “I just... I'm fine, and I don't need you sticking your nose in all the time. You're not my boss and you're not my mother, and if I want to wear this veil all day, that's my business and no-one else's! Just because you're the official gardener and I'm just living here, that doesn't mean you're in charge of me!”

  With that, she hurries away.

  “Wait!” Sam calls after her, while keeping her voice down so as to not be heard by the funeral guests. Realizing that Anna's already too far away, she sighs as she tries to work out what just happened. She and Anna have lived together at the cemetery for a year now, and in that time they've never argued. And now, seemingly out of nowhere, Anna seems very sensitive about something. Looking down at the dead bird in her hands again, Sam feels a twinge of sadness in her heart, as if she can sense that something is changing.

  “You see?” she mutters to herself. “This is what happens when you start hanging out with people.”

  And then, slowly, she realizes that the bird is starting to move, and that its beak appears to be knitting back together.

  Three

  “My mother's a mess,” Scott mutters as he and Anna stand by the gate a short while later, with mourners filing past as they head to the town square's cafe for a post-funeral gathering. “My father spends all his time trying to dry her tears, but it's no use. I don't think she's ever going to get over Ruth.”

  “It'll just take time,” Anna replies, still wearing the veil as she stands next to him. “That's how things work, right? Time heals everything?”

  “Sure,” Scott replies, although he doesn't seem too enthusiastic as he looks down at his shoes. “I don't know, I just...”

  His voice trails off.

  “We could get together and talk about it later if you want,” Anna says after a moment.

  “I don't wanna bore you.”

  “You wouldn't bore me,” she replies, choosing that moment to lift her veil and let him see her new face. “I guess you're probably busy for the rest of the day, but if you wanna meet up tonight or tomorrow, I'd be up for that. I mean, it's just an idea...”

  As he stares at her, it's clear from his wide-eyed expression that Scott is shocked by the transformation.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” he stammers, “I just... Don't take this the wrong way, but you look way better without all that make-up.”

  “Thanks,” she replies shyly. “I think the make-up was just an experiment that went too far.”

  “I don't even know if I'd have recognized you in the street,” he continues. “It's just like the difference between night and day. I mean, you're like a totally different person.” He pauses. “Except the eyes. I'd recognize your eyes anywhere.”

  “We could also play some video games,” she replies, unable to stifle a faint smile. “I think maybe last time I wasn't quite in the right place. In my head, I mean. If you wanna fire up some more games, I'd be totally up for an all-nighter. We could
get in a solid ten or twelve hours.”

  “Even zombie games?”

  “Especially zombie games,” she tells him, with a faint smile. “I mean, who doesn't hate zombies, right? Just line them up and I'll chainsaw them down. You pick the game, just make sure it's the goriest thing ever. I want blood splatter on the screen, and I want to hear those zombie assholes screaming as I...”

  She pauses, realizing that she might be going a little too far.

  “You get the idea,” she adds finally.

  “And your boss won't miss you?”

  “My boss?” She pauses, before realizing that he means Sam. “Oh, she's not my boss. She's just... She's just a friend, really. And I'm sure she can spare me for one night.”

  “I should get going,” he replies. “My parents want me to help glad-hand people at the after-show food and drinks bash, but...” He pauses for a moment, staring at her as if he still can't quite believe how much she's changed. “How about tonight? I know it's a bit mental hanging out the night of my sister's funeral, but I could really use something to take my mind off things again. Not that you're just a distraction, but I mean...” He pauses again. “You know what I mean, right?”

  “I think so.”

  “Scott!” a voice calls out from the other side of the gate. “We need to get going!”

  “See you at eight?” Anna asks. “At your place? I'd invite you here, but Sam'd be around and she can be kind of a buzz-kill.”

  “It's a...” He pauses. “Um...”

  “It's a date,” she says with a smile. “See you later.”

  As Scott turns and heads off to join his family, Anna stays by the gate and takes a deep breath. Just twenty-four hours ago, she had completely written off the idea that she could ever have a proper date again, but now she actually feels as if she could have fun with Scott. Removing her gloves, she clenches and unclenches her fists a few times, getting used to the idea that her body works properly again, even if some of the parts have been scavenged from Ruth Havershot. She holds her new hands up and admires them in the sunlight, and although she finds the sensation to be a little strange, she figures she can get used to a few new parts. Even if -