by Joe Augustyn
Something about that dark water gave her the willies. It was even worse than the thick woods they’d left behind. She imagined unknown horrors lurking in the inky pool. Big crawly things with crusty claws and snapping jaws.
Her reverie was broken as a doo-wop tune came on the radio. Buddy started singing along in an unbearable falsetto, and instead of shutting him up, Russell joined in.
Emma had already reached her boiling point and was about to scream at them to shut up, when Russell caught sight of a light in the distance, glimmering through the fog.
“Finally,” he declared, “A light at the end of the tunnel.”
“Light at the end of the world is more like it,” quipped Buddy.
Emma’s optimism dimmed when they reached a massive iron gate that blocked their path. Russell hit the high beams. The words “Resurrection Cemetery” appeared on the wrought iron arch that crossed above the antique gate.
“Jesus, that’s just peachy,” Emma groused, no longer able to contain herself. She gazed at the forbidding gate, its hand-forged iron bars topped with pointy spearheads. The tall black fence disappeared into the fog on either side of the gate, separating the cemetery from the swamp they’d just traversed.
“Yippee,” whined Buddy, “Now what? Are we going to have to back all the way out—?”
“Jesus effing Kuh-rist,” Russell snapped. “Would you two babies quit your whining? The gate’s not locked, for fuck’s sake.” He cracked his door open. “And there’s got to be an exit on the other side, leading to a main road. This place was obviously built long before they invented cars. And I doubt they’d be driving horse-drawn funeral carriages down that teensy road we just came through.”
He got out and slammed the door.
Emma watched as he shoved the huge gate open. It looked like it weighed a ton and its hinges were so rusty they squeaked loud enough to hear through the closed car windows. She was impressed that Russell managed to wrestle it open without assistance from Buddy. Suddenly he seemed cool again. Cool and kind of sexy.
Russell returned to the car, shivering from the damp night air. He drove slowly through the open gate, keeping the bright headlights on.
Christ, could this place be any creepier? he thought as his headlights swept over the headstones lining the gravel drive—a patchwork of weatherworn crosses and shadowy death-heads and solemn-faced angels. But the majority were simple stone slabs, small and thin, of a style that testified to the age of the cemetery.
Buddy leaned forward, speaking in a spooky whisper, hoping to stir some playful fear in Emma’s girlie mind. “Weird place for a cemetery. Way out here… in the middle of nowhere. Perfect place for a murder, don’t you think?”
Emma ignored him, already skeeved out and thoroughly annoyed. “Hey, stop the car!” she shouted hopefully as she spotted something moving through the mist. She started to roll her window down. “There’s a guy over there. Hey, mister! Excuse me! Sir!”
The figure lifted its head in her direction. She could barely make him out through the dense fog, but judging from his somber black suit he had to be the caretaker.
“Look, there’s a car up ahead,” Buddy pointed toward a blurry ring of light on the road ahead that appeared to be a set of headlights facing away from them, illuminating the fog on either side of a stopped vehicle.
“Alright, yeah.” Russell sped forward. “That’s the light I saw. Cool. They should know the best way out of here.”
Emma sank back in her seat, irked at the way Russell had once again ignored her in favor of Buddy’s suggestion. This will definitely be my last ride in this car.
Russell tooted his horn as he rolled up behind the other car. It was a late model Honda, parked in front of an old wooden building that appeared to be the caretaker’s office. “See. I told you idiots not to worry.”
He opened his door and leaned out, shivering as the night air sliced through him like a razor. “Hey there… hello?”
“The car’s empty, dude,” Buddy said. “The driver must be inside the building.”
“That was probably the driver back there,” Emma said sharply, barely able to control her frustration. “Maybe next time you’ll listen.” But not to me, because I won’t friggin’ be here.
Russell slammed the car door and headed to the building. It was a simple wooden A-frame, freshly painted, looking crisp as new. But even Russell could tell it was almost prehistoric by American standards, dating back to the Revolutionary War, if not earlier.
Three plain wooden steps led up to the front door, which stood half open. Dim light spilled from inside. A flurry of insects flitted erratically in its sickly glow. Russell was surprised to see them; it was late in the season for bugs. But then again with global warming everything natural was askew these days.
“Hello, is anybody here?” Russell swatted a gnat as he clomped up the wooden steps. He felt a little nervous, which he knew was silly, but understandable.
It’s a cold dark foggy night and I’m in a creepy old cemetery. Of course I should feel a little nervous.
***
Back in the car, Emma rolled her window down and poked her head out, looking for the man in black. But the fog was too deep. She could barely see ten feet in any direction.
“Close your frickin’ window, it’s frickin’ cold as a witch’s clit,” Buddy groused.
Emma cranked it shut. She hated submitting to his rude request, but it was damp and chilly outside, she could hardly argue the point.
Snapping open her cell she tried phoning her mother once again, but it was useless. They’d had no reception for over an hour, since passing through Vineland on the freeway.
As she closed her phone, something caught her eye through the steamed up window.
A hunched silhouette crept slowly through the fog, barely visible among the tombstones.
Emma hoped it was the Honda’s driver, but whoever it was disappeared back into the fog.
3
“Hello?” Russell shouted a bit louder this time. Anyone inside the building would have had to have heard him. But still there was no reply.
He looked at the large wooden desk along one wall, where an old-fashioned brass table lamp cast a feeble glow. Its ancient bulb seemed ready to expire, flickering weakly every half minute. On a leather-trimmed blotter sat a vintage black telephone, so old it had a rotary dial and cloth-covered wires.
Nice old collectibles, Russell thought, a fan of all things vintage. I wonder what they’d fetch on sleazebay? He picked up the telephone handset, surprised at its hefty weight. Bakelite. Should’ve been called bake-heavy.
The phone had a dial tone, which almost surprised him, and gave him a glimmer of comfort.
A car horn honked outside. Russell recognized it as the Ford’s. He hung up the phone and hurried back out to the car. He hadn’t found a phone directory in the office and—used to relying on his cell phone’s built-in phone book—he didn’t remember any phone numbers he could call. With his suspended license he certainly wasn’t going to call 911.
He got in the car and closed the door against the cold. “There’s no one in there.”
“I told you but you wouldn’t listen,” Emma said, “That was probably the caretaker back there. And that must be his car. We can probably follow him out of here… if he ever comes back.”
“Well, there’s no sense bitching about it now. All we can do is wait ‘til the prick returns,” Buddy suggested. “He can’t be too long if he left his car running.”
“The shithead better hurry or I’ll miss the first quarter. I want to see the Cowboys go down,” said Russell, half tempted to leave Emma behind when they finally did hit the road. It’d serve the bitch right. Nag nag nag nag nag.
“There he is!” Emma said excitedly, pointing at the man in black, wandering close to the car. She just wanted out of this place, now. It was spooky as hell, especially in the fog, and her soft warm bed couldn’t be too far away.
Russell hopped out of the car. “Hey
, mister! Sir! Excuse me!”
The man ignored him, shuffling toward the front of the idling Honda.
“Hey, yo pal!” Russell called louder, hurrying around the Ford to catch up with him. What are you frickin’ deaf or just ignorant?
As Russell strode up behind him, the man turned with a jerky motion. The teen shivered as he saw the man’s face. Pale and heavily shadowed, it appeared almost skull-like through the veil of fog. His skin looked thin and tight, and Russell could swear he saw the man’s cheekbones poking through holes in the flesh.
“Hey man, are you alright?” For a second he thought there might have been some kind of accident. As he digested that thought he heard rustling in front of the Honda and took a few steps to check it out.
Two people were kneeling over a third one who was sprawled on the ground, twitching spasmodically.
“Oh shit, is somebody hurt? Was there an accident?”
The kneeling figures raised their faces into the beams of the Honda’s headlights.
Russell’s blood turned to ice in his veins. This has to be some kind of joke. Repulsed yet fixated he stared at their discolored flesh, mottled purple and green, rotted through in places to reveal dull white bone. One was missing its lower lip, its broken yellow teeth jutting from raw gums like rancid stalagmites. Bloody slivers of flesh hung from both of their mouths.
The man they were kneeling over had big chunks eaten from his face.
“What the fuck?” Russell stumbled back—and was grabbed by the man in black. The man wasn’t strong, but he clung tenaciously, stumbling into Russell, knocking him back against the Honda.
Russell caught a whiff of rancid stench as the man’s face smacked clumsily into his own. His senses reeled, jolted by the rotten meat smell and the sight of the man’s cold black irises, dull and flat like the eyes of a shark.
The man’s mouth swung open, wider than any human mouth should ever be. Russell saw a tongue frayed and leathery, caked with a lather of pus. Jagged stumps of teeth rose like broken tombstones from his desiccated gums.
Russell lunged sideways, avoiding a nasty bite as the man’s head whipped forward. Wrestling free he tried to run, but the man lashed out, arms thrashing awkwardly, rotted joints and withered tendons cracking. He threw his bony arms over Russell’s shoulders, tangling them clumsily around his throat.
Russell twisted and ducked and gave a violent shove. Slipping free he again tried to run, but the man grabbed him by his ear, tearing into the cartilage with long sharp dirty fingernails.
The teen cried out and struggled but the walking corpse held him firmly by the ear. More angered now than frightened, Russell turned half around and swung his fist, launching all his rage into the blow. His knuckles smashed into the dead man’s nose. Russell felt the bone crack, but the man didn’t even flinch. Russell’s knees buckled. A flood of adrenaline swirled in his belly.
“Hey man, what’s going on?” It was Buddy’s voice.
Russell heard the car doors thump closed on both sides as his companions got out. With a final desperate effort he broke free. But as he did, his attacker ripped away most of his ear.
“Ow! My God! Get back in the car!” he shouted, as the ghouls in front of the Honda rose from their feeding, drawn by the sounds of fresh meat. The man in black stood calmly, quietly munching on Russell’s severed ear.
“What is going on out here?” Emma insisted, hands perched haughtily on her hips. Ignoring Russell’s warning she moved closer to investigate.
“Fucking zombies!” Russell yelled. “Go!”
Emma stopped but didn’t retreat. Tired of his childish antics.
“Zombies?” Buddy sounded amused as he too stepped forward through the fog.
“Come on!” Russell grabbed Emma’s arm.
“Stop it!” She shrugged him off. But her emotions shifted as he turned to face her, and she saw his severed ear. “Oh my God, Russell, what happened to your—?”
Buddy cried out. A shriek of unhappy surprise.
Emma looked over to see him wrestling a dark figure, its arms wrapped around him in a cockamamie bear-hug. Buddy shrieked again as his assailant bit into his neck.
“Get in the car, now!” Russell shoved Emma forcefully toward the Ford.
Finally convinced that whatever was happening was real and perilous, she ran for the car, but hesitated as Russell cried out behind her. As she turned back to help him, a hand clamped down on her shoulder. She spun around, then fell back against the car as a grotesque figure shuffled toward her.
Emma struggled to process what she was seeing. A haggard woman in white stumbled through the fog, arms outstretched, her hair a stringy gray mop. Her face was as pale as the dingy shroud hanging in tatters over her bony frame. The flesh beneath her mouth had rotted away.
Emma stood paralyzed, like a deer caught in headlights. Then suddenly the woman’s twig-like arms were flailing at her face, determined but hopelessly uncoordinated. Emma batted them aside and took to her heels, but stopped in her tracks as she saw Russell on his knees, with two of the creatures hunched over him. He was throwing wild punches as they clawed at him and tried to bite him.
Darting back past the tottering hag Emma cautiously circled the Ford. She passed Buddy who was twitching and moaning in agony as one of the unholy attackers ripped out his throat with its teeth and another chewed on his hand.
She turned to get back in the car but another creeping figure blocked her way.
Flying up the wooden steps she entered the building and slammed the door. She threw the antique iron bolt, then dashed to the telephone. With trembling fingers she dialed 911, cursing the impossibly slow action of the archaic rotary dialer.
“911, Lenape Creek Township. How can I help you?”
“Please!” Emma shouted frantically. “Send the police! They’re murdering my friends! Hurry, I need help! I can’t believe this is happening!”
“Whoa, slow down, miss. I can’t help you if I don’t understand you. Where exactly are you calling from?”
“Hurry! They’ll kill me! They’re killing my friends right now! They’ll be coming for me next!”
“Calm down, miss, and stay on the phone. Where exactly are you calling from? Please, I need an address. There’s nothing showing up on my CID.”
“A cemetery. I don’t know where. It’s out in the middle of nowhere. We passed through a marsh. Just below the Pine Barrens.”
“Hold on, I’m going to patch you through to Sheriff Leeds. He’s out on the road. Don’t hang up.”
“Hurry. Please.”
Emma picked up the base of the phone. Stretching its cord to its limits she crossed the room to a door that led to a back room. She peered through the doorway into the darkness beyond, listening carefully for any movement, trying to ascertain that the room was empty.
Nothing moved in the darkness, but she closed the door just in case, and braced a hardwood chair under the knob.
A footfall thumped on the wooden steps outside the front door. A long moment of silence followed… then someone tested the doorknob.
“Oh God, please hurry,” Emma whispered desperately into the phone.
“Sheriff Leeds here. What seems to be the problem?”
“Please help me, Sheriff,” Emma blurted. “They’re killing my friends. I don’t have much time left, they’re coming for me, trying to get in. I’m trapped. Dear God, please help me. Hurry!”
“Speak up, miss, I can barely hear you. Who’s killing who? Where are you?”
“Some old cemetery. Out in the marshes near the Pine Barrens. It can’t be far from Lenape Creek or Cape May Courthouse.”
“Resurrection Cemetery?”
“Yes. Yes! I think that’s what it said on the gate.”
“Big iron gate and an old wooden building on the grounds?”
“Yes. I’m locked in that building now. Please hurry. They’re trying to get in here to kill me. They already killed my friends. Hurry up and bring help, there are a bunch of them
out there. Hurry! Please!”
“Alright, calm down. I’m not that far away. Just hold on. Stay inside and stick close to the phone. And don’t lose your head. I’m on my way.”
“Hurry!”
“Hang up the phone now and keep the line open. I’ll call you as soon as I get there.”
“Thank you, thank you. And please be careful, Sheriff. They’re some kind of—” she caught herself, afraid he’d think it was a prank if she used the word zombies.
“Some kind of what?”
“Maniacs. They’re biting and scratching and—”
“Just keep the phone line open. I’m on my way.” The Sheriff hung up.
Emma placed the handset on its cradle and dropped into hiding behind the desk, keeping the phone close at hand. She heard footsteps outside the front door, stomping stiffly on the wooden steps. Then a body thudded dully against the door.
Silently she prayed for the ancient iron bolt to hold, and thought about dragging the desk over to block the door. But she was too afraid to move.
Finally there was silence. It stretched on for minutes—minutes that seemed like hours. Emma sat quietly, whispering an unending litany of prayers. She thought about calling her mother, but was worried that if she did she’d miss the Sheriff’s phone call. Besides, what could her mother do, other than freak out and worry?
Minutes ticked by. The silence was maddening. A moth flew into the hood of the desk lamp, beating its dull brown wings against the warm bulb. Between the sickening vibrato and the tawny glow of the bulb, Emma felt like screaming.
The ringing phone nearly jolted her out of her skin. She snatched it up quickly, afraid that the ringing would draw the murderous assailants back to the building.
“This is Sheriff Leeds,” came the sturdy male voice. “I’m right outside the gate.”
“Outside? Oh thank God, Sheriff, hurry. I think they’re still outside the building.”
