by Amy Cross
“I borrowed a little. Sorry.”
“It's fine. Just... Just please, do me this favor, okay? Go back in there and help the Havershots get the funeral they want for their... whoever died. I'll be back at lunch after I've checked out a few things in the crypt. I know you can do this, Anna. You're way more of a people person than I am.”
“The crypt? Why are you going down there? There's nothing down there except... You know... Him.”
“I'll explain later,” Sam replies, turning and slinging the shovel over her shoulder as she makes her way to the crypt entrance. “When I get back, you can tell me where to dig. Digging takes my mind off things. I could use a good digging session.”
Behind her, Anna stands in panicked silence.
***
“Come on,” Sam whispers. “I know you're there. Show yourselves.”
Standing in one of the tunnels deep beneath the cemetery, she waits for some kind of response. She can hear the quiet, whispering voices in the distance, as if they're taunting her, but she knows that she can't just go chasing after them. After all, she's tried chasing after them several times in the past, and she's sick of racing through the tunnels like a mad woman. Determined to try a different approach, she figures she might as well lie in wait and hope that the voices are forced to try a different approach.
“Come on,” she adds. “Come to Mamma.”
She waits.
The voices continue in the distance, but they're clearly coming no closer.
“I'm not coming after you!” she calls out. “If you think you're in charge, you're wrong! I can totally ignore you! It makes no difference to me if you want to hang out down here and mutter to yourselves like a bunch of frightened little ghosts. If that's how things are gonna be, then that's how things are gonna be, so I'm giving you one final chance. Come out of the shadows and let me see you, or we'll call it quits and I'll just pretend you don't exist. Your choice, what's it gonna be?”
Again she waits.
Again, the voices continue their conspiratorial whispers in the distance, but there's nothing to indicate that they're coming closer. They're so quiet, they could almost be ignored. Almost.
Sighing, Sam creeps forward, hoping against hope that she might be able to make out what they're saying. She's convinced that there are several distinct voices, all speaking over one another, and she feels that she can eavesdrop on them if only she can get a little closer. Unfortunately, they seem to stay continually out of range, as if they know what she's trying to do.
“Just tell me what you want,” she whispers, coming to a halt.
She waits.
The voices continue to rustle in the distance.
“Well, that's sad,” Sam continues. “I was hoping you'd be brave enough to face me. I mean, don't you think you're being kind of rude with the way you keep -”
Suddenly she becomes aware of a rustling sound over her shoulder. She starts to turn, but something heavy thumps against the back of her head, letting out a loud squawking sound as sharp little talons scratch against her face. Trying to push the intruder away, Sam stumbles and falls hard against the floor, and when she gets back up she looks along the tunnel just in time to see what appears to be a black bird frantically flying away.
“What the actual hell?” Sam mutters, picking her shovel back up and hurrying after the bird.
When she gets to the next intersection, she stops for a moment before hearing the sound of the bird in another tunnel. She races after it, determined to catch up, but the sound of rustling, flapping feathers remains just out of sight, as if the bird is trying to lead her to some destination. Angry at the intrusion, Sam continues to chase after the sound until finally she gets to the one part of the crypt that she's been avoiding for the best part of a year.
She stops in the tunnel and stares at the door at the far end.
The bird is in the final room.
“Oh, please, no,” Sam mutters. “Not in there. Anywhere but in there.”
Sighing, she tells herself that there's no need to be scared. After all, everything is under control and there's absolutely no reason to believe that anything has gone wrong. Taking a deep breath, she carries her shovel along the tunnel until she reaches the door, and when she looks through she sees that the bird has landed on the glass coffin that contains the Devil's dead, blackened corpse.
“What are you doing in here?” Sam asks, watching as the bird makes its way across the top of the coffin.
Stepping cautiously into the room, she considers shooing the bird away, but for a moment her attention is drawn to the charred body beneath the glass. This is only the third time she's ever been down in the Devil's chamber, and with good reason: she can never shake the feeling that one day he'll turn his dead face, open his dead eyes, and smile at her with his dead lips; and then he'll start to break out of the glass coffin and she won't have a clue what to do. She blames Faraday for leaving such woeful instructions behind.
“Shoo!” she hisses, using the spade to scare the bird off the top of the coffin. “What are you, some kind of raven?”
She watches as the bird flutters around the chamber, but after a moment it settles on the other end of the coffin and leans down to peck at the glass.
“No!” Sam shouts, scaring it away again. “Whatever you do, don't do that! For God's sake, you're gonna -”
Looking back down at the Devil's burned face, she tries to stay calm. Some dumb raven isn't going to be enough to break through whatever forces are keeping the Devil confined. That's the theory, anyway, although she's hopelessly rusty when it comes to the details.
“That's right,” Sam says, turning to watch as the raven flies out of the chamber. “And don't come back.”
Chapter Four
“It's beautiful,” Mrs. Havershot whispers, her eyes filled with tears as she and her family stare at the patch of grass. “It's absolutely...”
Before she can finish, she starts sobbing again and has to be consoled by her husband.
“We'll take it,” Mr. Havershot tells Anna as he rubs his wife's back. “I must say, this place was rather overgrown when I was here a few years ago, but it looks absolutely wonderful now. New gardener?”
“Yeah,” Anna replies. “She... Things run pretty smoothly these days.”
“She?”
“I help too,” she adds. “Where I can.” Feeling an itch on her forearm, she gives it a quick scratch, only to find that the make-up is starting to rub off, exposing her rotten flesh. She quickly puts both arms behind her back, hoping that no-one noticed. “It's a job that we both take extremely seriously. Sam mows the grass every single day, whether it's required or not. Unless it's raining, of course. If it's raining, she starts getting antsy. I prefer sunny days, otherwise she can be kind of annoying.”
“The undertaker told us that we'd be in safe hands here,” Mr. Havershot replies. “I'll have the necessary fee wired this afternoon and I believe the undertaker is going to forward the necessary papers to you. We were thinking of holding the funeral on Friday. Do you think could be fitted into your schedule?”
“Absolutely,” Anna tells him.
“Don't you need to check your diary?”
“I'm pretty sure you're the only funeral we've got lined up. In fact, I'm damn certain of it, so don't worry. Friday's fine.”
“I think I need to go and have a lie down,” Mrs. Havershot says after a moment. “My legs feel so weak.”
“We'll get home,” her husband replies. “I still need to call a few people and tell them what happened. I've been putting it off all morning, but I suppose there's no point. It's not going to be a big funeral, but people will need to start making arrangements.”
A few minutes later, with the Havershots having headed out of the cemetery, Anna returns to the cottage and starts making some notes for Sam. Although she hated every moment of her interaction with the family, she feels as if she did a fairly good job, and she's certain that a decent plot was found for the burial. Just
as she's finishing with the notes, however, she hears a knocking sound at the door, and when she leans through she sees to her surprise that Scott Havershot has come back.
“Did you forget something?” she asks.
“No,” he replies, seemingly a little disarmed. “I... I mean, maybe. Have you seen a... thing?”
“What kind of thing?”
“I think I maybe did forget a thing.”
Anna waits for him to continue.
“Have you seen it?” he asks hesitantly.
“You might need to give me a little more to go on. There are already quite a few things around this place. What exactly do you think you've left behind?”
“Oh, just a...” He glances across the kitchen for a moment, as if he's looking for some inspiration. “A sock,” he adds finally, before turning back to her.
“You think you left a sock behind?”
He nods.
She looks down at his feet.
“You seem to be wearing two socks right now.”
“Yeah,” he replies. “I mean, I lost my spare sock.”
“You carry a spare sock?”
He nods.
“Just one?”
He nods again, but this time a faintly embarrassed smile crosses his lips.
“I'm a really bad liar,” he admits finally.
“Yep, you are. So... why did you come back and lie about losing a sock?”
“No reason.”
“Again,” she continues, “that's some incredibly bad lying you're doing there.”
“My parents are gonna be wondering where I've got to,” he replies, turning to leave before seemingly changing his mind and looking back at Anna. “I was just kinda surprised when we turned up and you answered the door. I haven't seen you about town before, and Rippon's such a small place, most people know each other.”
“I don't really get out much.”
“But you get out sometimes, right?”
“I guess. Why?”
“Well, I was just wondering... I mean, no pressure or anything, but if you ever want to go out for food or a drink, or you wanna play video games, and you can't find anyone to go with you... I'd probably be available. To go with you, I mean.”
“You would, huh?” Anna replies. “That's nice to know, but to be honest I'm usually really busy and I don't often -”
She pauses as, suddenly, the penny drops.
“Oh,” she says, trying not to panic.
Scott smiles awkwardly.
“If you mean a date,” Anna stammers, “I, uh, well, that is... I really don't know if, or indeed whether, the, uh...”
“It's okay,” Scott replies. “I wasn't really... I mean, I never do this normally. Like, not ever, ever. I just... And I'm totally not trying to pick you up on the same day that me and my parents are organizing my sister's funeral. That'd be completely wrong. I guess I thought it might be okay to ask you out for coffee some time. I don't even know why.”
“That's really nice of you,” Anna replies, blushing beneath the thick layer of make-up on her face. “I mean, I suppose that if I was thinking of going to eat or drink somewhere, and if I couldn't find anyone to go with me, I could see if you were free. If you wanted?”
“That sounds good,” Scott says eagerly. “So...”
He pauses, and after a moment he starts to frown.
“What's wrong?” Anna asks.
“Nothing! Just... You've got something on your lip.”
“Huh?”
Reaching up, Anna realizes that something small and wet is moving across one of the numb parts of her upper lip. Wiping it onto her finger, she sees with horror that it's a small maggot.
“Maggot,” she says. Out loud.
“What?”
“It's a...” She pauses as she realizes that it's probably too late to play things cool. “It's a maggot,” she says finally, forcing a smile. “I honestly have no idea where it came from, although I could hazard a guess.”
“You could?”
“So that date,” she continues, “or whatever it is, we'll... Sort it out some other time, yeah?”
“Sure. I should go and catch up to my parents anyway. Good luck with your maggot.”
As Scott hurries away, Anna looks down at the maggot as it wriggles on the tip of her finger.
“I can't go on a date,” she says after a moment, as reality settles in her heart. “There's no amount of make-up in the world that could get me through a whole date, and even if there was and the date went well and we ended up...”
She pauses as she tries to imagine kissing someone, or maybe even going further, with her body in its current condition. Finally, even though she's been trying not to panic, she hurries to the door just in time to see Scott reaching the gate over by the wall. She pauses again, admiring his athletic form from the back, before realizing that she needs to nip the whole idea in the bud before it spirals out of control.
“Hey!” she calls out. “Scott!”
He turns and looks back at her.
“I don't think I can go on a date with you!” she shouts. “Sorry! It's complicated!”
He stares at her.
“Did you hear me?” she calls out.
“Yeah!” he shouts back. “Okay. Sure. Sorry!”
With that, he heads out to the street, leaving Anna standing in the cottage's doorway. Her heart is aching, but she knows that canceling was the best thing all round. Looking down at the maggot again, she's just about to wonder what to do with the little guy when he wriggles under her fingernail and disappears inside her body. Wincing, Sam waits as she feels him eating his way through the meat of her finger, heading along to the knuckle.
“At least I've got you, Margo,” she mutters, before heading back into the cottage.
Chapter Five
“Six feet,” Sam mutters as she stands at the bottom of the grave and holds her hand up to the top. She's learned over the past year that she can pretty accurately judge depths, so as she drops the shovel to the floor and leans back against the wall, she wipes a load of sweat from her brow and tells herself that she's finally finished.
One freshly dug grave, ready for Friday morning.
“Hey, Anna!” she calls out. “Can you bring me a glass of water? And some ice?”
She waits.
No reply.
“Anna!”
Silence.
Figuring that Anna must be busy, Sam tosses her shovel up over the side of the grave before starting to haul herself up. Her back is aching and she's covered in dirt, but she feels good after completing an honest afternoon's work, and even the thick sweat stains on the front and back of her t-shirt don't really bother her too much. After all, since she arrived in Rippon she's told herself not to worry too much about her appearance, especially now that she's got a knife sticking out of her head.
“What are you doing here?” she mutters, as she hauls herself up onto the grass and spots the raven hopping past a nearby tree. “Get out of here! Shoo!”
Ignoring her, the bird flies up onto the top of the wall and then seems to stare down at her.
“I'm sick of you lot,” Sam mutters. “This place is creepy enough without having your beady little eyes staring at me all the time, okay?”
She pauses, almost as if she half-expects the bird to reply.
“I don't care what you want,” she continues, “I'm not going to give it to you. Is it worms you're after? I'm sure I've disturbed a few, but you'll have to do the hard work yourself if you -”
Before she can finish, a second raven lands on the wall, and then a third, and they all seem intent on staring at her.
“Brought some friends, huh?” Sam asks. “Well, that's fine but -”
Suddenly a couple more ravens land on the wall, their feathers making a faint rustling sound as they fold their wings over the backs of their bodies. They glance briefly at one another, but for the most part they only seem interested in looking straight at Sam.
“What is this, Bodega B
ay?” she continues. “Go on, get -”
Suddenly she hears a massive fluttering sound over her shoulder, and she turns to see that there are more ravens behind her. Many, many more. At least a couple of hundred of them are watching her from the trees, from the tops of gravestones, even from the top of the cottage itself. As she turned to look back up at the ravens on the wall, she realizes that several of them have items in their mouths.
“Okay,” she says after a moment, stepping forward, “now you're really starting to creep me out.”
One of the ravens turns to her, with a human eyeball dangling from its beak. Nearby, another has a human ear, while another has an entire finger. Another hops into view with a strip of bloody flesh hanging down from the beak, while yet another has what appears to be a human tongue. As she looks at the rest of the birds, Sam realizes that almost all of them are holding something in their beaks, ranging from recognizable piece of a human corpse to random-seeming chunks of meat.
“Right,” she continues, “I'm just going to -”
Before she can finish, she feels a thud against her shoulder, accompanied by a sharp pain. Turning, she pushes a raven away, only to find that it has pecked at her flesh. Seconds later another raven does the same, this time going for the back of her neck, and then a third dive-bombs her and snaps at her wrist. A fourth goes straight for her lower leg.
“Hey!” she calls out, stumbling back from the wall. “What the -”
As a couple more ravens swoop down at her, she ducks out of the way, only for another to fly straight at her face, flapping its wings as its sharp claws scratch her cheek. Pushing the bird back, Sam hurries away, even as more of the birds come for her. With her hands over her face, she can barely see where she's going as she tries to get to safety, and after a couple more steps she stumbles over the edge of the freshly-dug grave, bumping her head against the opposite edge before tumbling down to the bottom and landing with such force that she lets out an involuntary grunt.
