Grave Things

by Lindsay Mead

"Hey, darlin'," a voice came from behind Vi as a hand squeezed her shoulder.

  Recognizing the voice, Viola spun to hug her grandma. That's right, her grandparents drove thirty minutes in from the country just to attend this game. They never missed a year. Grams wasn't in costume, but she still stood out with her waves of soft gray hair and arms covered in ink.

  "Hey, Grams." Vi noticed the saved spot next to her. "Where's Aaron?"

  "Seeing to the flock." Grams nodded to several rows over.

  Aaron stood with a small group. He wasn't in costume; given his occupation, Halloween wasn't much his thing. His priest collar, soft features, and light blond hair gave him a welcoming air. Naturally, people were drawn to him. Sometimes they stopped him for advice, or to confess, but most often they only wanted to chat. Like being near him somehow gave them a bit of peace or grounded them. As such, he was a bit of a local celebrity.

  People were strange like that. When they'd attended public school, Aaron had been an outcast. He was the quiet kid who sat in the corner, struggled to pay attention in class, and sometimes talked to himself. Only Vi knew that he was really talking to God. She'd warned him about doing it in public but that was no easy request, especially for a kid. More than once, the teachers wanted to have him tested for disabilities that the family knew he didn't have.

  Over time, Aaron got better at juggling the voice and acting normal. When he became a priest, the town let go of the stigma they'd attached to him. Viola, to them, would always remain the weird tattooed girl who was into even weirder stuff. They knew she worked and traveled for the church, but she would always freak them out a little. If anyone from school ever recognized her, they rarely let on. Vi was just fine with that. She'd learned a long time ago that peer approval was highly overrated.

  Turning away from her socializing stepbrother, Vi asked Grams, "So, what team is Gramps on this year?"

  "Gold Team." Grams raised a sign that read, Gold Team Is The Bold Team, and gave a loud whoop.

  Far below on the track, Gramps somehow heard his wife's holler. Grinning, he curled his arms before him and flexed. Several spectators, including Martha, shouted encouraging catcalls. Gramps was the town All-Star for his day with his very own banner hanging in the gym for most touchdowns in a single season. Occasionally, people talked about how Rick could've gone pro, but that he only ever wanted to run the family farm and marry his high school sweetheart—both of which, he did without regret.

  "What's Gold Team?" Ian asked over the noise.

  "The teams are named after the school colors." Viola pointed to the field and both teams. "There's Gold Team, which my gramps is on, and Blue Team, which we want to lose."

  The game announcer and local radio DJ came on the loudspeaker. He had a great old-timey sound and was known for his skills at improv and comedy. Oh, and a talent for getting people to donate large sums of money to charity.

  "Alright-alright, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and ghouls." As his voice cracked through the speakers, everyone sat a little straighter with anticipation. "Welcome to this year's annual Scaaaaaare Bowl!"

  The crowd gave a monstrous roar as the announcer let out a maniacal laugh. Vi joined in with her scariest war cry and Lana howled like a werewolf. Viola nudged the confused Scotsman next to her, urging him to participate. Ian gave a single shrug, inflated his chest, and let out a trembling bellow.

  The roars shifted into applause and whoops. Grinning wide, Ian clapped along. Viola gazed at him, catching some of the same twinkle in his eyes that she'd seen at the party. It amazed her that a man with so much wealth and privilege could still have a sense of wonder, especially for things as mundane as a party on the farm or a local high school sporting event.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer went on. "Your Blue Team!"

  Half the stadium cheered, while the other half applauded politely. Aaron began making his way toward his seat, having to stop often to shake hands. From the benches, players sporting blue ribbons took the field. They leapt about and hollered enthusiastically. Nearly half were in costume; Vi spotted a rodeo clown and a dead bride.

  "This year's team captain for the Blue Team is Billy Johnson—" The announcer went on to list Billy's graduating year and football stats, but Viola had tuned out with a groan.

  "Since when does he come to these?" Amy grumbled loudly. "And doesn't it figure they'd make that little prick Captain?"

  "Mom," Viola warned, not wanting her dirty laundry aired.

  Fortunately, the announcer interrupted, "Ladies and gentlemen, your Gold Team!"

  Spectators nearby jumped to their feet and her family screamed at the top of their lungs. Gramps and his team raced off the benches, gold flags hanging from their hips. They stopped midfield and performed a warm-up chant to amp themselves up.

  "Put away your pitchforks and torches people, because here comes the Scare Bowl Marching Band." Right on cue, the high school band launched into their rendition of Thriller and marched onto the track. Like Frankenstein's monster, they each had grotesque stitches marring their faces and bolts protruding from their necks. "And don't forget to cover your veins as you give a warm welcome to the Eternally Undead Cheerleaders!"

  The team of girls flew onto the track, bouncing, flipping, and kicking all the way. They wore a custom, Gothic-styled version of their usual uniforms that looked really cool against their ashen-painted skin and blood-smeared lips. By the time they finished their routine and dare-devilish stunts, the crowd was energized and ready for some football.

  The zombie referee started the game with a coin toss, which Blue Team won, as viewers lowered onto the cold bleachers and became absorbed in the game. The announcer kept up his continual chatter, talking them through the plays and giving various stats about the players. From time to time, he'd call a raffle winner or report the charity funds raised so far. When he wasn't talking, the band played, or the cheerleaders led the audience in a chant.

  Viola ripped open her bag of candy and offered Ian some. He accepted and poured a little of his popcorn into her hand. She popped a couple in her mouth, following it immediately with a few M&Ms. Bursts of chocolate, salt, butter, and peanut butter delighted her taste buds. Viola shouted and clapped her support as Gold Team gained yardage.

  Ian leaned into her. "What was your mom talking about earlier?"

  Vi frowned, wishing he'd forgotten about it. "The captain of the Blue Team; he was my high school boyfriend and the reason I left public school."

  "What happened?"

  "Do you really want to hear my sad ex story?" She peered at him sideways.

  "I think it's more than that for you, so yes, I want to hear your story," he responded, seeming to see right through her. "That is, if you want to tell me."

  She didn't.

  "I didn't have many friends growing up. The church started giving me tattoos early on to protect me, so most parents thought I was a bad egg and wouldn't let their kids near me." She shrugged off the old hurt. "I could see and sense things that others couldn't, so it's not like I was into clothes and boy bands anyway."

  "That had to be rough," he said, as the surrounding fans jumped to their feet in excitement.

  "Sure it was, but I had Aaron and a super understanding family who made up for it." Viola stood and clapped. Ian followed her example, though they hadn't seen the big play. Watching Gramps jog out of the end zone and point to Grams, Vi added, "Like I said, though, I was constantly reminded of what's important."

  Sitting, Ian encouraged her on, "So, how did you end up dating Mr. Team Captain there?"

  "He was slick. Came off real sincere and sweet." Vi snickered at how gullible she'd been. "It was like he had a teenage romance novel that he used as his personal manual. He told me I was different from the other girls. He was the town golden boy, girls swooned for him and boys wanted to be him. He said they were all fake. No one liked him for him."

  "Was it true?"

  "If it was, I doubt it bothered him the way he let on." Shaking her head, s
he remembered the popular kids grouping together and how she was always alone on the outside. Not even the unpopular teens wanted to hang with her. "Maybe I was more desperate to be a part of their world than I realized because I bought into it completely. I thought he was my Prince and we were going to be together forever."

  "But you broke up." He leaned onto his knees, his body curving toward her.

  "I think the relationship has to be real for it to count as a breakup." She copied his posture as if they were two kids in cahoots. In truth, she could hardly stand to say the next part of her shitty story out loud. "It happened on this field in the back of his pickup truck the night before the big game. When he said he would never hurt me and wanted to be with me forever, I believed him. I thought it was all romantic—that all the cheesy bullshit was real. Then after we…" Fuck, she hated that she couldn't say it. "Well, afterward, he became cold and all of the sweet and softness about him disappeared."

  Ian swore under his breath—a politeness that struck Vi as oddly endearing—and stared at his feet.

  "I still remember how his laugh sounded, and exactly the way he leered at me when he said that bad girls were fun in the back of a truck, but they weren't the ones you married." She shook her head at how much those words had hurt. Of course, she wasn't the marrying kind but, as a teen, she was naive and hopeful. Billy was the first person to teach her that exorcists didn't get happy endings. "He didn't even take me home. He just left me standing in the middle of the field and drove off."

  Ian shook his head but still didn't look at her.

  "The next day, he told everyone that I was a Satanist who performed some kind of sex ritual on him." Viola could barely whisper the rest. "His friends held me down in the school hallway. I fought back—got in a few good shots, too—but there were too many. They beat on me while one of the girls cut my shirt off, others wrote nasty things on my face and body with permanent markers." She remembered vividly the pain and humiliation, the kids chanting witch and whore at her. Then, she remembered the fear and heartbreak as Billy appeared in her blurry vision. "After they were done, Billy poured a bucket of water on me and said it was holy water."

  "Christ." His hands clenched, nearly strained to the point of shaking. "How can you stand to come back here?"

  "It wasn't everyone. Someone got a teacher and made it stop. Weeks later, I received letters from a few students apologizing that they hadn't been brave enough to step in." Vi glanced at Ian, touched by his concern. Strangely, it made it easier to let go of her own lingering pain. "The kids were suspended, and my brother and I were educated by the church after that. I decided a long time ago that I couldn't hate this town or this school because of what Billy and his friends had done."

  Ian growled and stretched his torso, releasing some tension. "Wow, I really want to kick that bastard's ass."

  "Nah." With a shrug, she shook her head. "Like you said, we've all been hurt before."

  "Not like that we haven't. I guess I can't blame you for—" He cut himself off, staring at her with a steely resolve in his eyes. "Well…for before. I hope he gets whatever evil comes his way."

  Turning her attention to the game, Viola swallowed down the guilt she felt for breaking things off. Ian wasn't a bad guy. He deserved a traditional life with a love he could count on, and that's exactly why Vi had to stay away from him. Sadly, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was losing out on someone really great. Inhaling her disappointment, she let out a whoop and joined the crowd's cheers.

  Viola felt a sudden tug deep in her soul, followed by the telltale chill that rolled along her spine. Her clapping hands stilled. Vi swept her gaze around the bleachers, looking for the cause. Another insistent tug made her knee bounce. Whatever was out there felt familiar—like blood, fire, and greed.

  "What's wrong?" Ian asked, having noticed her sudden change.

  She couldn't stop searching. "Something is near. Something evil."

  17

  The crowd was on their feet, jumping, screaming, whistling, squeezing blow horns—going utterly insane as Gramps ran it in for a game-ending touchdown. Throwing the ball to the ground, his teammates rushed him. The noise in the stadium completely drowned out the announcer, and it grew louder as the winning team launched into a celebratory line dance.

  "I can't believe they did it!" Bouncing, Viola threw her arms around Ian.

  "What a game." He squeezed and lifted Vi off her feet. As the crowd roared around them and the band trumpeted victoriously, Ian set her down but didn't let go. "Amazing! Thank you so much for bringing me to this."

  Vi stared at the gleam in his eyes, sucked in as if his gaze was a vacuum. "I'm glad you came. I—"

  She cut herself off, shocked at how easily it was to get caught up in her feelings for him. She needed to be more careful. Clearing her throat, Viola shifted out of his arms. She ignored his confused expression and turned to hug the others.

  The cheering continued as the announcer shouted their charity earnings; a record year. As the stadium began to quickly empty, Viola's group melded into the flow, making a beeline for the field at the first opportunity. This, unfortunately, got them stuck in a bottleneck.

  Forced to wait, it was impossible to ignore the tug at her soul. The intensity of the game had provided a fantastic distraction, but now she could hardly think of anything other than the evil nearby. She stretched her neck, her muscles growing tenser with each passing second. The thing—or possibly things—she sensed wasn't going to strike with so many people around, but it wasn't leaving either.

  Exhaling in frustration, Vi glared around the people in front of her and wondered what the hold-up was. That's when she noticed Billy. She froze. He was sweaty and grinning, despite having lost the game—and he was headed her way. Thankfully, Billy hadn't seen Viola, but he was going to walk right by her and, with the slow pace of the crowd, it was unlikely that he wouldn't notice her when he did.

  What was she going to do when that happened? She'd spent most of her adult life pushing aside that old anger. Now, with him so close, she felt it surging up. Of course, the tug didn't help. She wanted to kill something—call forth the soul of Hell and toss in some fresh meat. Billy Johnson wasn't a demon, but he could do in a pinch. She cracked her knuckles. Ian was right, Billy deserved whatever evil came his way. Maybe it should come from her—

  Vi was yanked off her feet. Ian swung her around, positioning himself between her and Billy. As she blinked in confusion, Aaron and Ron moved around her. Viola realized that they were shielding her. Billy approached, gave the men a curt nod, but never looked hard enough to see Viola hidden behind them. She relaxed as he disappeared into the sea of people.

  Okay, so—Viola didn't need men to protect her, but she also couldn't help being grateful for these three. They knew she could defend herself, that she was strong, but they loved her and would do anything to spare her pain. That simple act made her feel loved in a way that she rarely got to feel.

  After they broke free of the bottleneck and maneuvered through the pack of vampire cheerleaders, it was all open track. Gramps was shaking hands and wiping a towel across his face when they found him. Standing on the field, he appeared strong. It was as if age had no effect on him and his wife.

  "Well done, Gramps!" Viola pulled him into a hug.

  "Amazing game, sir." Ian shook his hand.

  "We really walloped them there at the end, didn't we?" He chuckled proudly.

  Viola gave the others a chance to pass on their congratulations. For the hundredth time, she peered around the stadium. There was no sign of the things she felt. The bleachers were nearly empty now and most spectators had filed into the parking lot. A line of cars clogged the road as they attempted to leave all at once.

  "Lana?" Vi called over her shoulder, her gaze dancing through the dozens of head beams.

  The girl appeared instantly at her side. "Yeah, boss?"

  "You brought the duffel, didn't you?"

  "Of course. I stashed it under the bl
eachers." She twisted, poised to retrieve it. Lana had a remarkable talent for sneaking the duffel into nearly anywhere. "You want me to get it?"

  "Yeah, we're gonna need it." Vi turned and shouted as Lana hurried off. "Be careful!"

  Watching Lana run past, Amy asked, "What's going on?"

  Gradually, the mirth on her family's faces slipped away, replaced with concern. Vi was a pro, yet there was always the likelihood that one of these days she wouldn't come home. She wished they didn't have to live with that knowledge and fear, wished that she wasn't the cause, but it was an unavoidable part of the job.

  "You guys should head home," she answered softly. The less they knew, the better. Despite what some may say, what's out there is truly worse than what the mind can imagine. "I think I'm going to hang back for a while."

  Aaron stepped toward her, withdrawing his rosary and bible from inside his jacket pocket. "You sense something?"

  "We definitely have some business to attend to tonight." She smirked a little at the understatement. Demons were afoot, and they were eager to come out and play. So was she. "Ian, you should probably go with them."

  "Not a chance," he scoffed and shoved his hands in his jean pockets, making him look even more like a cocksure cowboy.

  The humor left Vi. "It's not safe, and I'm here to keep you alive."

  Crossing the well-trimmed grass, he walked right up to her. "Where you go, I go."

  Viola met his stare, ready to insist that he leave. Something was about to go down and Viola couldn't be worried about him. With her parent's house warded, there, he'd be totally safe. But that steely strength had returned to Ian's eyes, telling her that he was immovable on this point.

  "That's effing stubborn." Vi crossed her arms, the leather jacket she wore over her costume creaked from her movements. "You should trust my judgment."

  "I do, but I also trust my instincts and my instincts tell me not to leave your side." Dammit, why did Ian have to say sexy things like that?

  With a sigh, she peered around. "I sure hope your instincts aren't wrong."