Graver Girl (Grave Girl 2)

by Amy Cross

  Anna watches for a moment as he crouches down and looks at a bookcase next to the bed.

  “You miss her, huh?” she asks finally.

  “I miss hanging out with her,” he replies. “She used to recommend books to me all the time. That was Ruth's thing. She bought books all the time, mostly second-hand just so she could make her money go further, but she was constantly giving them away. Like, if she met someone new and she liked them, she'd immediately start giving them books she thought they'd like. It was her way of establishing contact. Like, she used books as a way of communicating. I guess she could be a little shy sometimes, but whereas some people give their friends mix-tapes or make play-lists for them, Ruth just tried to find the perfect book.”

  “That's cool,” Anna mutters, heading over to another bookcase by the door. Picking up a few paperbacks that have been left on the top, she looks through them, although she doesn't recognize any of the titles or authors.

  “She was into obscure stuff,” Scott continues. “The more obscure the better, usually. She loved finding just the right book for just the right person. She said books could change lives, and I guess she was right. She was the one who got me into Robert Heinlein and Terry Pratchett. I don't know how she knew I'd like them, she just had this kind of sixth sense when it came to that kind of stuff. She was even talking about going to university and studying to become a librarian. She'd have been brilliant at that. I mean, hell, she lived and breathed books all the time. If she's in heaven, I hope it's just some kinda huge library.”

  “And now she's gone,” Anna whispers, feeling a tug of sadness in her heart.

  “Hang on,” Scott replies, heading to the door. “I'm gonna get something that'll blow your mind.”

  “If -”

  Before she can finish, Scott hurries out of the room, leaving Anna standing alone. Wandering over to yet another of the many bookcases, she starts taking a look at Ruth's collection. She doesn't recognize the names of most of the authors, but a few of them ring some bells. Reaching up, she slides out a copy of William Faulkner's As I Lay Dying and starts flicking through the pages, and after a moment she starts to think that if she'd ever met Ruth Havershot, they might have actually got along pretty well, maybe even -

  Suddenly something hard hits the back of her head.

  “What the hell?” she mutters, turning just in time to see a book dropping to the floor.

  She looks across the room, but there's no sign of anyone.

  “Scott?”

  She waits.

  Nothing.

  Reaching down, she picks up the book and finds that it's a copy of George Bernard Shaw's Arms and the Man.

  She glances across the room again, but she still can't quite work out how a book suddenly flew across out of one of the bookcases and hit the back of her head with such force.

  Turning back to the bookcase, she sets the book down. A fraction of a second later, however, she feels another sharp impact on the back of her head, and she turns to find that yet another book has been launched at her.

  Reaching down, she picks up the second book: Ernest Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms.

  “Okay,” she mutters, glancing across the room with a growing sense of concern. “That's kind of -”

  Suddenly something hits the back of her head again. Turning, she finds that a book appears to have come flying off the shelf right behind her. Grabbing it, she turns it over and sees that it's a book called Body Parts.

  “There seems to be a theme here,” she whispers to herself, before suddenly realizing that all three of the books have had titles about arms and other parts of the body, almost as if...

  She looks back across the room.

  “Ruth Havershot?” she whispers.

  She waits.

  Nothing.

  “Scott,” she continues, “if this is some kind of joke, it's not funny. I don't like...”

  Again, she waits.

  Again, there's nothing.

  Setting the books down, she hurries out of the room and pulls the door shut. She tells herself that she must be imagining things, that there's no way the ghost of Ruth Havershot could have come to haunt her and complain about her stolen appendages. At the same time, she can't deny that those three very specific books seemed to have been launched from the shelves directly at her head, as if someone was trying to make a point. Turning back to look at the door, she began to wonder whether the ghost of Ruth Havershot wanted her arms and legs back.

  Three

  “Out late?”

  “Crap!” Sam shouts, almost jumping out of her skin as she turns to find Andy standing behind her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Same as you, by the looks of it,” he replies with a faint smile, as he takes a drag on his cigarette. “I couldn't sleep after everything that's been happening lately, so I figured I'd come take a late-night walk.” He turned to look down at the river. “Somehow I ended up down here. I've never seen a town quite like this, there's nothing similar in the States. Take this river, for example. It's like some kinda medieval moat. Maybe I'm just easily impressed by this kinda thing, but Rippon's a pretty fun little town.”

  “You shouldn't be out alone,” Sam tells him. “It's not safe.”

  “It's not?” Taking another drag from his cigarette, he turns to look along the dark street. “You'll have to forgive me if I seem a little naive, but I was kinda thinking that Rippon feels like the safest place I've ever been in my life. Where I grew up, you sometimes had to dodge drive-by shootings. Here, I don't reckon you ever get so much as a drive-by frowning.”

  “Sure, but...” Pausing, Sam looks back the way she came, and then down at the dark river. “It's not what it looks like.”

  “What's not what it looks like?”

  “There might be...” She pauses again. “I just don't think it's safe for anyone to be out alone tonight, just in case there might be something unexpected in the streets. Trust me, I know about these things.”

  “Right, so I shouldn't be out alone like this, but it's okay for you to be wandering around?”

  “That's different,” she replies. “I know what I'm looking for.”

  “And if you find it?”

  “That's another thing entirely.”

  “So what's up?” he asks, grabbing a beer can from the nearby wall and taking a swig before holding it out for her. “You seem spooked. Take a drink.”

  She shakes her head.

  “It might do you good.”

  “There's just something... Something might be loose, that's all.”

  “Like a dog?”

  “Not like a dog.”

  “Okay,” he continues, taking another swig of beer, followed by a puff on his cigarette. “What's with all the secrecy? Why can't you just -”

  Before he can finish, he glances past Sam, almost as if he's seen something down by the river.

  “What?” she asks, turning to look at the water's edge.

  “Nothing,” he replies, “I just thought I...” He pauses. “Nah, it was probably nothing.”

  “What did you see?”

  “I'm sure it wasn't -”

  “What did you see?” she asks again, more urgently this time.

  “Well... I dunno, I just thought for a moment I saw someone down there, like, crawling along. It was probably nothing, though. Maybe just a rat.”

  “Where was it?” Sam asks, leaning over the railing in an attempt to get a better view. All she can see, however, is darkness, with a few patches of moonlight visible on the river's surface. “Which way was it going?”

  “I really don't think it was anything,” he continues, “but if you insist, it was coming from that direction over there.”

  “So it was heading toward us?”

  “Yeah, but...” He pauses. “Don't take this the wrong way, but I've never seen anyone look quite so goddamn freaked out. I'm happy to help you, but you're gonna need to tell me what we're looking for.”

  “It doesn't make sens
e,” she mutters under her breath. “Why would they break him out of there and then not look after him? It's like they went to all this trouble and then just abandoned him to fend for himself.”

  “Break who outta where?”

  She turns to him.

  “Your boss,” she says after a moment. “What was he doing this evening?”

  “Charles? He was holed up in his room. He's been kinda downbeat ever since the opening night went wrong. He gets like this sometimes, like he obsesses over every little detail.”

  “A man burned to death on the stage,” Sam points out. “That doesn't seem like a little detail.”

  “Fine, but still, old Raven's determined to work out what went wrong. He keeps insisting that something sucked all the energy out of the tent at a crucial moment and diverted it to something else. I've gotta tell you, in all the years I've been working with old Mr. Raven, I've never seen him get quite so worked up about something. It's like he can't even sleep until he's worked out what's happening.”

  “He might be right,” Sam replies, leaning further over the railing in an attempt to see if anything is moving down by the edge of the river. She looks over at a patch of moonlight, but the only movement is the gentle rippling of the water's surface. It's a strangely peaceful scene, but she knows that the great evil could be lurking just around the next corner. Turning to look the other way, she can't help wondering if maybe she's being watched.

  “So do I need to be worried here?” Andy asks.

  “About what?” Sam replies, making her way along the railing as she keeps her eyes on the river below.

  “Well,” he continues, keeping pace with her, “you seem like a pretty level-headed kinda girl, and you've got a face on you right now that makes me think something's seriously wrong. Maybe even something dangerous. Plus, you're telling me to go somewhere safe, but you seem to think you're okay out here by yourself. Oh, and you've got a knife sticking out the side of your head. So when I put all these things together, I kinda get the feeling that I've stumbled into the middle of something a little weird.”

  “Good call,” she replies, pushing a small metal gate open and hurrying down the stone steps that lead to the edge of the water.

  “So what is it?” he asks as he joins her. “What's wrong, can't you trust me?”

  “Something escaped,” she replies. “Something that should never have escaped. In fact, I think it was specifically broken out of where it was being held. The thing is, I'm hoping that it can't actually leave the town. There's a kind of field here that keeps certain things within the town's boundary, and if I'm lucky, that field is going to prevent this thing from leaving, at least for now.”

  “You make it sound like some kinda magic.”

  She turns to him.

  “Level with me,” he continues. “I might be able to help you.”

  “Do you believe in the Devil?”

  He raises a skeptical eyebrow.

  “What if the Devil was right here in Rippon?” she continues. “What if he was dead, for all intents and purposes, but someone or something was trying to break him out of his tomb and revive him, and now he's on the loose?”

  “Are you on drugs?” he asks.

  “I knew you wouldn't understand,” she sighs, turning away.

  “Hang on,” he continues, as they make their way along the soggy riverside. “It's just a lot to get my head around, you know? I've seen some crazy stuff while I've been on the road with Charles Raven, though, stuff that most people wouldn't believe could happen. I know he's kinda melodramatic, but his powers are real, so I'm kinda open-minded. I guess what I'm saying is that I can believe that something weird is going on, but you're gonna need to give me a few more details.”

  “I don't even know the details myself,” she replies. “There was someone here once who helped me, but he's gone now. I'm having to work things out alone.”

  “Sounds tough.”

  “There's nothing down here,” she adds, stopping suddenly. A patch of moonlight is lighting the next few hundred meters, and nothing seems to be moving.

  “I saw something,” Andy tells her.

  “I don't doubt you, but it's not here anymore.” She turns to him. “This river runs around the edge of town, so it more or less marks the boundary. Maybe the creature is testing its limits. Either way, it's not here now. It probably went back into town, which means...” She glances up at the nearby houses as she tries not to imagine the chaos that might break out at any moment. “It must be weak,” she adds finally. “That's the only explanation. It'll probably hide until it's strong enough to try to break free. Hell, I'm surprised it can even move around at all right now given the state it's in. Last time I saw it, its body was basically burned to a crisp.”

  “Do you know all of this,” Andy replies, “or are you guessing?”

  “I'm hoping,” she continues. “Right now, I don't really have any facts to go on. I'm having to kind of work things out as I go along.”

  “And you really think it's the Devil? I mean, the Devil? The one from the Bible? The one that's supposed to live in a fiery pit? The one that a lot of people don't even think exists?”

  “I've seen it,” she tells him. “Back when it, or he, was in its tomb, I saw it. It's real.”

  “In that case,” Andy adds, as he takes another drag on his cigarette, “I think maybe you should come and talk to my boss.”

  “What does he know about all of this?”

  “I have no idea, but right now I don't see that you've got any better options.”

  Four

  “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  Looking over from the video game, Scott stares at her for a moment.

  “Huh?”

  “I was just wondering,” Anna continues, “if you think things like that might exist?”

  “I don't know,” he replies, turning back to the screen as he continues to play the zombie game. “Maybe. Sometimes. I mean, sometimes it's pretty fun to tell spooky stories, but that doesn't mean they have to be real. Why?”

  “I was just asking.”

  “Do you mean, like, whether my sister might come back?”

  “I... Among other things, I guess.”

  “I'm not expecting anything to show up covered in a white sheet,” he replies. “I mean, maybe there's something on the other side, but I don't think there's any way for us to know. I reckon there are things in existence that are just beyond the ability of humans to understand.” He pauses. “My Mum thinks Ruth might be trying to make contact with us, but I guess that's just her way of coping. The other day she was pouring her eyes out, and then suddenly she snapped out of it and started saying that Ruth's still around, still trying to send messages to us. Sometimes I think that's all ghost stories are, really. They're a way for people to console themselves.”

  Smiling faintly, Anna watches the screen for a moment, as Scott continues to rip zombies apart.

  “What about zombies?” she asks finally. “Do you think they could be real?”

  “Maybe,” he replies. “I mean, I read up about them a while ago, about all the stuff in Haiti and how the zombie myths started. Most zombie stories these days are mixed up with all this end-of-the-world disaster paranoia, like ebola and loads of other infectious diseases, but that's not how the zombie myth started.”

  “It isn't?”

  “Zombies were originally part of a religion,” he continues. “It's all linked in to the history of Haiti, and their culture. Some people even think that zombies were originally supposed to be a metaphor for slavery. There's all these really complex ideas about what they are and what they mean, and no-one really knows for certain, but there's this whole bullshit industry that's grown up around them, and the original myth has been completely distorted and monetized. Either way, these days zombies are all about getting chainsaws in their faces. I guess they reflect the fears that are dominant in a culture at any particular time. Right now, everyone's terrified of all these diseases and stuff, so that's
what zombie stories are about. In ten years, it'll all be different again.”

  “So what would you do if you met a real zombie?” she asks.

  “Exactly what I'm doing to the one in this game right now.”

  “But don't you think zombies could be people too?”

  “I think the definition of a zombie is that it's not a person anymore. That's kind of the whole idea of them. They're just these mindless, brainless things that don't know when to die. They don't have souls.”

  “But what if a zombie could somehow retain its personality?” she asks. “Like, what if a zombie, even if it was rotting, wasn't just some mindless, brain-eating monster? What if it still had emotions, what if it could still remember its life and what if... I mean, what if a zombie could still fall in love? What if it was just a person who happened to be slowly rotting?”

  “Huh?”

  “What if I used to be a zombie?”

  He glances at her briefly, and it's clear from the look in his eyes that he doesn't understand. Turning back to the screen, he smiles as if he's not taking her suggestions seriously.

  “You been smoking something interesting?” he asks after a moment. “If you have, I wouldn't mind a tug.”

  “What if I told you that I was a zombie once,” she continues. “I died in a horrible accident, and for various reasons I ended up being brought back to life, but I was rotting and eventually I was going to fall apart. I could feel maggots crawling through my body, and I could poke holes in my skin, and I smelled really bad and I was just generally turning to mush?”

  “You don't seem like you're falling apart,” he points out.

  “I got better.”

  “So you were a zombie, and then you got cured?”

  “What if that's what happened to me?”she asks. “What if, even though it sounds kind of incredible, it was actually possible?”