by Unknown
"Didn't it realize? Didn't it know what the sunlight would do?"
"It must have wanted Karen that bad," Barry said. "Nothing else mattered."
"Family," Timmy whispered. "It was trying to save its family."
"Come on," Barry said. He put his arm around Timmy's shoulder and led him away. Behind them, the sun rose into the sky. A new day had begun.
Epilogue
The black Toyota SUV wheeled into the church parking lot and slowed to a halt. A satellite radio antenna was magnetically affixed to the roof, and the muffled sounds of a children 's program drifted from inside the vehicle. A man sat in the driver' s seat, gripping the wheel tightly. A woman sat next to him. After a moment, the Toyota slowly made its way down the graveyard ' s middle road. The path was wider than the man remembered it being, and looked as if it had recently been given a fresh coat of blacktop.
"Is this it, Daddy?"
The man nodded. "Yep. This is it. This used to be my playground." He shivered. His wife noticed and turned down the air conditioning. The man said Page 140
nothing.
The SUV crawled past the graves, slowed again, and then stopped. The man got out, and smoothed his suit. His tie fluttered in the warm June breeze. He took a deep breath. He hadn' t been there in a long time. He glanced around. The old utility shed was gone, replaced with a more modern structure. Farmer Jones ' s pasture now held duplex housing instead of cattle. Things were different. He closed his eyes for a moment and heard the sound of children 's laughter. Old ghosts. They'd been good ghosts, once upon a time.
Not anymore.
As an adult, the man was reminded of how children laughing often sounded like children screaming.
He opened his eyes and moved on.
Inside the vehicle, his wife and kids watched him approach the grave. Then the woman made a call on her cell phone.
The man stood in front of the gravea fresh, open hole in the earth. A wound. It would be filled later that day, and then covered back over with sod. A brandnew tombstone sat at the head of the hole.
It said that Randy Graco was a loving husband and father. Dane Graco 's tombstone stood a few feet away.
"Hey, Timmy."
Tim jumped in surprise. He'd thought he was alone. He looked up. The cemetery' s caretaker stepped out from behind a tall monument. A bashful young boy, around the same age as Tim ' s oldest son, crept out behind him, watching with curiosity. Both were dressed in work clothes, their jeans soiled with grass stains and dirt.
"Timmy?"
The caretaker pulled off his work gloves and walked toward him. Tim frowned. Nobody had called him Timmy since he'd graduated college. Not even his parents. He didn't recognize the caretaker at first. He was bald, and his skin looked weathered from too much sun or stressor both. There were dark circles under his eyes that most men didn ' t get until much later in life. But the scar was what gave his identity away: a narrow, pale line running up his cheek, carved years ago with a stolen ringa ring that was now on Tim' s right hand.
The scar had happened on a night neither man would ever forget. The scar, like the memories, had faded over time, but was still there.
Smiling in disbelief, Tim stepped forward. "Barry? Jesus Christ…"
"Good to see you, too, man." Barry laughed. "Thought maybe you didn't recognize me."
"I didn't. At first, anyway. Took me a second. It's been a while."
"Yes, it has. Twenty years, give or take."
Still surprised, Tim was speechless.
"I keep up on you," Barry said, his voice filled with pride. "The Hanover Evening Sun and the York Dispatch both had articles on you. I hear you' re a famous comic book writer now."
Tim chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't say I'm famous or anything. But I do all right."
"You and your funny books." Barry pulled out a can of Husky tobacco and loaded some into his lip. "I remember you were crazy about those things when we were kids."
"You were, too."
Barry's brow furrowed. "Yeah, I guess maybe I was. I'd forgotten about that. I don' t read much of anything these days, except the paper. But man, I remember how pissed you were when your dad ripped yours up."
"I remember, too," Timmy whispered. "I don't think we'll ever forget."
"No," Barry agreed. "We won't. But shit, I didn't mean to bring up your old man. Page 141
I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
Barry pointed at the grave. "I was sorry to hear about what happened. He was a good neighbor. Hell, I've been living next to him my whole life. It' ll be weird not seeing him down over the hill."
Tim nodded sadly. "Yeah. It was pretty sudden. The heart attack hit him while he was watching the game. Happened quick. Mom' s still in shock, I think. But at least he didn 't suffer."
"Well, that's good."
"Yeah."
They stared at each other in silence, neither one knowing what to say. Barry spat a wad of brown tobacco juice onto the grass. "That your family?"
"Yeah." Tim turned back to the SUV. "That's my wife, Mara, and my sons, Dane and Doug."
Barry paused. "Doug, huh? That's good. He'd have liked that."
"I think so."
"Wife's goodlooking," Barry said, staring at the Toyota. "You done good."
"Yeah, I can't complain."
"Ever hear from Katie Moore?"
"Not since graduation. I went to college. She had another year in school. You know how it is."
"I always figured you two would get hitched. Young love and all that."
"That only happens in songs, I guess."
Barry nodded, and they fell silent again.
"That's my kid back there." Barry turned, pointing at the shy boy, who'd crept back behind the monument again. "Richie. Get your ass out here and say hello." Tim frowned. Barry' s voice had taken on a rough, unpleasant tone. The boy, Richie, slunk out from behind the marker, eyes cast to the ground, shoulders slumped. Tim finally got a good look at the kid. He was skinny, and his arms stuck out of his Tshirt like twigs. Both of them were bruised, and his right forearm had a nasty circular mark. Tim tried to keep a straight face, but inside he was shocked. It looked like a cigarette burn.
"Get over here," Barry shouted.
The boy jumped at the sound of his father's voice, and dutifully shuffled over to them. As he got closer, Tim noticed the scars.
"This here is Timmy Graco," Barry said, introducing him. "We was best friends when we were your age."
"Hi." Tim stuck out his hand.
Richie shook it. His grip was weak, his palms sweaty. He mumbled under his breath. Barry slapped the back of his head. "Speak up. I told you before, nobody can understand shit when you mumble like that."
"Sorry," the boy apologized. "Nice to meet you." He didn't look into Tim's eyes, but kept his gaze focused on the ground.
"Get on back to work," Barry commanded.
He prodded Richie with his boot. The boy ran off.
Barry grinned, looking sheepish.
"He don't listen sometimes. Got to teach him manners. Guess we did the same thing when we were kids."
"Looks like he got hurt recently." Tim kept his voice calm. Shrugging, Barry looked away. "He's careless. Clumsy, like I was at that age. You know how it is. Boys have scars."
Timmy nodded, unable to speak around the lump in his throat. He stared at the faded Page 142
scar on Barry's cheek.
Boys have scars, he thought. Some of them fadeand others don't. Some scars stay with us for life.
"Listen, Barry… I should get going. The kids are restless, and I want to check in on my mom. It's been a long drive."
"Sure." Barry met his gaze again, and smiled. His face was sad. "Funeral's tomorrow. You gonna stay in town long?"
"A few days, probably."
"Well, let's get together. Have a few beers. I'll have to show you how I fixed up the house, since the last time you saw it."
"That sounds good. It will depend on Mara and the kids, of
course. And Mom. I want to be there for her."
"You can make time for a beer with your old bud." Timmy nodded.
Barry wiped the sweat from his brow. "Good seeing you, Timmy."
"You too, man."
Tim started to turn away, but Barry called out to him, his voice soft and sad. For a brief moment, he sounded like the old Barry, the Barry Tim had known from childhood.
"What happened to us, Timmy?"
"What do you mean?"
"We were supposed to be best friends. Remember? We promised ourselves that we wouldn't let each other down. Best friends for life."
"I remember."
"So what happened?"
Tim shook his head. "I don't know, Barry. Life happened, I guess. We grew up. Grew apart. I think of you a lot, though. You and Doug."
"Yeah." Barry wiped his eyes. "Me, too." They said goodbye again, and Tim headed back to the Toyota. He hadn' t lied. He did think of Barry and Doug, and Katie, too. Almost every day, in fact. But in his memories, they were twelve and immortal. And they would be twelve forever, living out the happiest days of their lives over and over again. They were who they 'd been at twelve and not who they were now.
He'd come to the cemetery and found new old ghosts. The happiest days of their lives had been nothing more than a defense mechanism.
Tim opened the door and slid into the driver's seat.
"Who was that?" Mara asked. "Old friend?"
"Yeah." Tim turned the key. "An old friend. My best friend, actually."
"What's his name?"
"Barry. We used to run around together. Me, him, and our friend Doug." In the backseat, Dane pressed buttons on his handheld video game, oblivious to the conversation. But Doug leaned forward in the seat. "You mean you had a friend named Doug, just like my name?"
Tim smiled. "I sure did."
"And the three of you were best friends, just like me and Joey and Jesse?" Tim nodded. He blinked the tears away so his family wouldn't see them. Mara noticed, reached out, and patted his leg.
"Sit back, honey, so Daddy can pull out."
Doug complied. As he fastened his seat belt, he said, "I miss Joey and Jesse. It's summer. I want to get back home and play."
"You will soon," Mara said. "You've got the whole summer ahead of you."
"I guess you're right," Doug said. "Summer's last a long time. And me, Joey, and Jesse Page 143
are best friends forever, so they'll be there when I get back." Tim sighed. He wanted to promise his son that yes, summers were endless and that his best friends would be his best friends forever, but the truth was, life didn' t work out that way. When he was twelve, he had believed that summers were endless and so was life. But he knew better now. Nothing was endless. Nothing lasted forever. Nothing was eternal. Not life. Not summer. Not friendship. Not even love. Because the ghouls would gnaw away at those things until there was nothing left. The only things that lasted forever were scarsand monsters.
THE END
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
SANCTUS SPIRITUS
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
THE END
