Cemetery Club

by J. G. Faherty

  Darcy Ellison, the only waitress on duty from midnight to four a.m., stood by the coffee machine, counting her tips. Where most people might have hated working the night shift at a cheap diner in the heart of the factory district, for Darcy it was the perfect job. She lived two blocks away, in a neat trailer in Lowlands Park. A chronic insomniac, she was up most nights anyhow. Working at the B-Line allowed her to make some money without having to bust her ass like the dinner or breakfast crews. The tips weren’t great but between them and her dead husband’s pension, she managed. Plus, Curt, the night cook, usually sent her home with a couple of to-go containers.

  After more than five years at the B-Line, Darcy figured she’d seen it all. Drunken frat boys with sassy mouths, fights and more than a few couples in the back booths who thought they could get away with a little sex under the table when no one was looking. She’d even had a gun pointed at her during a robbery. So when the front glass came crashing down, Darcy’s first thought was that a car had plowed into the building, like had happened three years earlier when a drunken factory worker never hit his brake while parking.

  Then she got a look at the people climbing through the broken window and she realized there were still surprises left in the world. Staring at them, all she could think of was the scary movie she’d watched the night before, the one about the dead people in the shopping mall.

  The sound of screaming filled the air. It took Darcy several seconds to realize the screams were hers.

  The four men at the counter stood up and formed a clumsy line facing the things that had broken in. They were outnumbered three to one but they had years of metal-working muscles in their arms and tempers as hot as the flames of their welding torches. None of them showed any fear as the dead-looking people surged forward.

  The first couple of attackers went down quickly as the factory workers dealt out swift, hard punches. The crunch of noses and jaws breaking was like music to the men, who shouted encouragement to each other and swung their calloused fists with something approaching manic glee, as if the act of hitting someone’s face was some sort of cathartic release.

  The college boys cheered and hollered from the back; the two elderly men had disappeared the minute the window shattered, running for the back door. Darcy told herself she should do the same but her feet seemed frozen to the ground.

  Chet burst out of the kitchen, a cleaver in one hand and an iron skillet in the other. “Call the police!” he shouted to Darcy as he joined the fight.

  Darcy tried to force her feet to move but they still refused to listen. I can’t! She wanted to cry but her mouth - still hanging open from her previous screaming - stayed as immobile as the rest of her. Held captive by her own body, she could only watch as the tide of the fight quickly turned in the monsters’ favor.

  Three more walking corpses climbed through the window, as if drawn by the sounds of the fighting. At the same time, the ones who’d been knocked to the ground started to rise, showing no effects from their beatings.

  “Son of a bitch!” one of the workers said, his breath coming in heavy gasps. “Fuckers won’t stay down.”

  Chet struck a blow with the skillet, the impact of metal-on-skull sounding like a muffled musical note. Instead of collapsing, the corpse grabbed Chet’s arm and bit into it. The lanky cook cried out and swung his cleaver, burying it in the other man’s back. The dead man straightened up, blood running from his mouth, smiled, and then bit Chet’s arm again. Two of the factory workers tried to pull the creature off him but almost immediately had to let go when other dead people jumped on their backs, digging and tearing with nails and teeth.

  An old man, his pale face covered in savagely-deep cuts and a black hole where one eye should have been, darted past the melee and approached the counter. He opened his mouth, exposing crooked, yellowed teeth that had bits of flesh hanging from them. Darcy leaned back as the man placed bloody hands on the counter and prepared to leap across.

  A surge of adrenaline ran through her and her muscles came to life. She dropped the tip jar and reached behind her, feeling around until she found the handle of a coffee pot.

  “Get away!” she shouted, and swung the pot as hard as she could into the creature’s face. Glass broke and steaming hot coffee sprayed across her attacker. Hot droplets burned her hand but she paid no attention. Relief and a feeling of victory filled her as she turned to run into the kitchen. From there, a short sprint would bring her to the back door and the back parking lot where her car - and safety - waited.

  She’d managed two steps when a hand clutched her shoulder and pulled her backwards. Her feet flew out from under her and she landed hard on her back, knocking her breath away.

  The old man’s face, droplets of coffee still dripping from it, loomed over her. She screamed, thinking it was about to sink its vile teeth into her.

  What came next was far worse.

  From over the man’s shoulder a new face appeared, this one in no way human. Eyes that burned with the fires of Hell looked down at her, seeming to stare into her very soul. Darcy's next scream turned into a choking sound, the last sound she ever made, as the creature forced itself into her mouth. Her lungs fought for air and her hands pounded impotently on the dirty floor tiles.

  Then the evil was inside her and Darcy ceased to exist.

  Instead, there was only the Horde.

  Chapter 4

  “Morning John,” Todd said, noticing his friend enter the kitchen. It was just after ten. Todd had risen twenty minutes earlier and started the coffee pot. Abigail was due at eleven and he liked to be done with breakfast and out of the way before she got there.

  “Uh.” John sat down at the table, accepting his cup of coffee without any other comment.

  Todd knew how he felt. They’d spent nearly the entire night in Gates of Heaven Cemetery, camped out twenty yards from the old crypt, without seeing a single zombie or alien. Still, they’d stuck it out until four a.m. before admitting defeat and going home.

  “Why weren’t they there?”

  Todd turned away from the sink as he pondered John’s question. “I don’t know. Maybe they don’t come out every night. Maybe they have more than one route. Hell, maybe they saw us and didn’t want a confrontation.”

  “Confrontation?” John gave a sarcastic laugh. “The motherfuckers eat people. You think they’re scared of us?”

  “It’s possible. Not us per say, but the public in general. Think about it. Whoever, whatever these things are, they only attack at night and never in a crowded or public place. They obviously don’t want to be seen.”

  “What about that bar? That’s a public place.”

  “Yes but it was late and only a few people were inside.”

  John frowned. “All right, but what about the attack on Marisol?”

  Todd shook his head. “Again, late at night. Only Marisol and a couple of other people were working. I doubt the monsters expected the police to show up so fast.”

  “I still don’t—” John broke off as someone knocked at the back door.

  “It’s Cory and Marisol,” Todd said, glancing out the window. “I wonder what they’re doing here so early.”

  Cory wasted no time in telling them. “Did you see the news?” He hurried into the living room and turned on the television, not waiting for an answer.

  “No, we just got up.” Todd said, as he and the others followed him.

  The TV came to life in the middle of a reporter’s dialog. “...continue with our breaking story. We’re here live at the B-Line Diner in Rocky Point, where four people are confirmed dead and at least five others are missing. Among the missing are Darcy Ellison, a waitress, and Kip Weals, a nineteen-year-old student at Rockland Community College. Police say the attack occurred sometime between two and three in the morning and that several people, perhaps as many as ten, may have been involved. Sheriff Nick Travers—”

  Cory hit the mute button and turned to the others. “While we were playing fucking detective in the
cemetery, those things were out killing more people.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Todd whispered.

  “How?” John asked. “We know the mausoleum is where they come from.”

  “They must have another den, or lair, or whatever you call it,” Marisol said.

  Todd shook his head in frustration. “Now we have no idea where to find them. We’re back to square one.”

  “We’ll have to split up,” Cory said. “Two of us can watch the cemetery, while the others drive around town and hopefully catch sight of the creatures on the streets. Then we can follow them back to their hiding place.”

  Marisol frowned. “That could take weeks.”

  “I know.” Cory shrugged. “But what else can we do?”

  “We’ll still have the daytime,” Todd said. “We can do more research.”

  John gave a sarcastic laugh. “How much more reading about monsters can we do? Cory hasn’t found anything in the town records. None of what we’ve learned has helped us find them.”

  “That’s ‘cause we’ve been going about it all wrong.” Todd glanced at each of them in turn. “Instead of trying to figure out what they are, we should be trying to learn why they’re here.”

  “We already know that,” Marisol said. “It’s because of us. What we did that day.”

  “Is it?” Todd sat down in his recliner. “I’m not so sure about that anymore. People - especially teenagers, like we were back then - have been fooling around with Ouija boards and all sorts of other mystical toys for decades. Séances. Spells. But you never hear of anything bad or evil happening. How is it we had the power to call something so evil into our world?”

  Cory frowned. “What are you getting at?”

  “I think perhaps instead of creating these creatures, what we did was wake something up, something already there, something just waiting to emerge again.”

  “Again? You mean, this has happened before?”

  Todd shrugged. “I don’t know. But I think it might be a good idea for us to start reading about the history of Rocky Point before twenty years ago, beginning with that mausoleum.”

  Marisol rubbed her eyes. Dark circles hung underneath them, evidence of her lack of sleep. But her voice was still filled with energy. “Can’t hurt. Where do we start?”

  “I’ll stick with the county records,” Cory said. “I’m already familiar with how the files are set up.”

  “John and I will check the old newspapers.” Todd smiled. “We might be pariahs in our own community but we haven’t been banned from the library yet.”

  “What about me?” Marisol asked.

  “Police files,” Todd said. “You’re the only one with access to official reports that might not be in the public records. See if you can find anything there.”

  “I’ll try but I’m not exactly in good with the cops right now.”

  “Just give it your best shot. If that doesn’t work you can help Todd and John. It’s probably best if no one sees you with me in the records room.”

  Cory stood up. “I don’t know about the rest of you but I’m dog-tired. What say we stock up on coffee and some nice, sugary donuts before we get to work? My treat.”

  Marisol gave a wan smile. “Sure, why not? What better way to spend my last day of enforced vacation?”

  John cast frequent glances around them as he and Todd approached the mausoleum. At that moment, there was no place on Earth he wanted to be less than Gates of Heaven Cemetery. Even with the sun shining and the birds singing their summer songs, he more than half-expected reanimated corpses to come leaping out from hiding places behind crypts and monuments, fangs bared and ready to chow down on human flesh.

  The fact that they were also planning on tampering with a crime scene didn’t help his anxiety level.

  “All those days and nights we spent hanging around here and we never wondered who was buried inside,” Todd said. “Why is that?”

  Although he knew his friend was being rhetorical, John answered anyway. “’Cause we were wise-ass teenagers who didn’t give a shit. The real question is how do you know there’s a name on that?” He pointed to the small brass plaque next to the mausoleum’s door. Decades of rain and snow had created layers of corrosion on the metal until not a single letter showed through.

  “That’s why we brought this.” Todd opened the plastic bag he carried and removed a bottle of brass cleaner and a scouring pad. “Don’t forget, I went to a lot of funerals here, more than I can remember thanks to my dad being the minister. He always insisted that me and my mom be there for every one of them, because it showed the congregation we were one big family. Along the way I learned that crypts always have a marker, with a number. That’s so the cemetery or the church can keep track of who’s buried where. A lot of people put their names on them too.”

  “Well, let’s hope this family remembered to do that,” John said, while Todd poured cleaning solution on the rough pad and began scrubbing at the metal.

  “Even if they didn’t, we’ll still have the plot number. We can look it up in the old records and find out who was buried here.”

  “If they let us. I have a feeling our little group will be wearing out its welcome at Town Hall real soon and those records probably won’t be available at the library.”

  Todd grunted as he scrubbed the pad across the metal. “We’ll figure something out. We...hey, I see letters. Maybe we’re going to get lucky after all.” He poured more solvent on the pad and resumed scrubbing.

  John tried to contain himself but after another minute he gave up. “Well? What does it say?”

  “Hmf. Gimme another...there, that should do it.” Todd pulled a dry cloth from the bag and wiped away the wet sludge from the plate. “Let’s see... 407 dash Z5A. That’s the plot number.”

  “That’s it?” John asked, writing the information on a scrap of paper.

  “Yes, no name.”

  “Figures. Well, call Cory and see if he can look that number up.”

  Todd pulled put the cleaning supplies in the bag and they started down the path to where they’d left his car. “I’ll call him on the way to the library. Reception’s never good on this side of the hill. I...hey, who’s that?”

  John looked where Todd was pointing. A police officer was standing behind Todd’s Toyota, staring at them as they came down the small hill. “Uh-oh. Do you think he saw what we were doing up there?”

  “I don’t think so. The crypt is out of sight from the car.” Todd raised his voice. “Excuse me officer, is something wrong?”

  The man continued to stare at them, his expression hidden behind aviator-style mirrored sunglasses. A little shiver ran through John’s belly and up his back.

  “He’s creeping me out,” John whispered.

  “Yeah.” Todd stopped walking. “Something’s not right here.”

  The officer chose that moment to step out from behind Todd’s car. John felt a chuckle rise up as he saw the mess on the man’s uniform - it looked like the poor guy had spilled his lunch on his lap. It was only when Todd muttered a startled curse that John thought to take another look.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he heard himself say, as he realized what he’d thought was food stains was actually clotted blood.

  “Run,” John said. When Todd didn’t move, he reached out and hit his friend on the shoulder. “Run!”

  Not waiting to see if Todd took his advice, John turned and sprinted back into the cemetery. A moment later Todd caught up to him and passed him by, something he’d never been able to do when John was in high school.

  Damn that booze!

  “Follow me,” Todd said, his breath already coming in heavy gasps. “We’ll cut through the woods to the church.”

  John risked a look back, saw that the thing was coming down the path after them, moving as fast—if not faster—than they were. He tried to remember how far it was to the old church. His heart was already pounding in his chest and he pictured it getting ready to explode, its walls too deterio
rated from years of alcoholism and malnutrition to stand the sudden strain he was putting on it.

  I will not die today. I will not become food for an alien cannibal thing.

  He willed his legs to pump faster, ignoring the pain growing in his lungs.

  Then something caught his leg and he was flying through the air.

  Chapter 5

  Cory’s phone rang just as he was opening the next file in the stack he’d put together. He glanced at the caller ID and saw that it was Marisol.

  “Hey, what’s up gorgeous?”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you could see me right now,” she said. “I’ve spent the last two hours driving myself crazy looking through filing cabinets. First in the lab and now I’m hiding in the records room at police headquarters.”

  “What? How’d you manage that?”

  “I got someone to let me in without Travers knowing but now that I’m here, I’ve got no idea what the hell I should be looking for.”

  “I guess you could start with murders. A town this small, there can’t have been too many of them.”

  She snorted. “You’d be surprised. The little bit of skimming that I’ve done, you could fill a notebook with the people who’ve been killed just down in the Lowlands. On top of that, all the records for the whole damn county are here, not just Rocky Point.”

  Cory frowned. “Shit. I forgot the Sheriff’s Department covers the whole county. All right, tell you what. Forget the police files. Head down to the morgue and see if they’ve got any results yet from last night’s crime scene.”