Ten Open Graves: A Collection of Supernatural Horror

by David Wood

  The shrieking bells of the ice cream van in the distance, were a constant soundtrack to the triphammer of his heart and ragged breathing. Every part of his body burned, but he only felt the deep black starting to take him over.

  “ALAN!” he screamed across the vacant playground.

  Nothing.

  Bells. He turned his head. Bells. Already the truck would be heading toward his house. Trey pumped his aching legs, heading for the main street leading to his block. Another car horn; a frustrated driver rolled down a window to scream at him.

  Trey kept moving, his long dark hair bouncing in a tangled mess. Sweat drenched his shirt in the cold air. He wanted to scream Alan's name again, but couldn't find his voice.

  He imagined the thing in the van munching on a wet, muscled femur as it drove with one sticky, blood soaked claw. The thing. The ghoul. It was humming to itself in the gore streaked van cabin, its gravelly voice turning a child's rhyme into something obscene and odious.

  Trey could see the back of the van now. It rambled down the street.

  “STOP!” Trey managed to scream. The sound was as broken and ragged as his breathing. Each footstep brought him closer to the van, and the darkness in his soul threatened to collapse him.

  Alan was in there. Alan was dead. Alan was nothing more than a gutted human husk hanging from a hook, bloody juices dripping into a puddle on the floor. Alan's face would be frozen in a scream of confusion and terror.

  Trey was getting closer, but his steps were slowing. He had pushed himself close to collapse and his vision was fading in and out. He stumbled, but managed to keep upright. With each footstep, his body screamed in pain.

  The van was so close now. He saw a face in its side mirror. Blood streaked across the hollow cheekbone of a half grinning face. Eyes glowed yellow, those crimson swirls glaring at him. It laughed.

  The van stopped. Trey slowed his pace as its door opened and the thing climbed out.

  Its once white uniform was streaked with gore and gray matter. It opened its mouth in greeting.

  “Your son was exquisite,” it growled.

  Trey screamed again, lost his balance and fell to the concrete.

  Chapter 20

  The hospital smelled of Pinesol. Trey sat in the bed, a blanket wrapped around him. He'd gone into shock in the ER, and they'd admitted him immediately. Carolyn had given the doctor Trey's somewhat formidable list of medications and it had taken a while for them to come to the conclusion there was very little pain medication they could give him other than Advil.

  He'd nearly passed out while they took x-rays of his broken arm and dug the gravel from his face. They set and cast his arm and he had blacked out.

  Trey woke in the hospital bed, Carolyn at his side in a plastic chair, Alan fast asleep in her lap.

  “You should go,” he whispered.

  She looked up at him and smiled. “How do you feel?”

  Trey blinked and then winced. His arm still hurt like hell, but at least the bones no longer clicked together. “Like I'm broken.”

  She nodded. “I didn't want to leave until you woke up. I--” She swallowed. “I left you alone last time, and I'm not going to do that again.”

  He smiled, wishing he could hold out his hand to her, feel her fingers entwined in his. But the thought of moving the arm brought fresh stabs of pain.

  “I know I'm not alone, Carolyn,” he whispered. “Why don't you take Alan home?”

  A tear welled up in her eye and she nodded. “You're going to be okay here?”

  “I'm going to be okay. I'm sure Kinkaid will be here soon.”

  Carolyn sniffed back a sob. Alan twitched in her arms. “I'll come by tomorrow?”

  “Call me,” Trey said. “You have Kinkaid's number too?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Alan murmured something and his arms tightened around her neck.

  She patted his shoulder. “Alan?” she said. “It's time to go home.”

  “Where's Daddy?” the boy said.

  “I'm right here, kiddo,” Trey said.

  Alan turned to him, a sad smile on his face. “You look hurt. But you look better than you did.” Alan's smile turned into a frown. “I'm sorry I didn't wait for you, Daddy. I didn't mean--”

  “No,” Trey said, “you did what you were supposed to do--you went home.” Trey grimaced as a bolt of pain lashed up his broken arm. “If I had come the other way, I'd have seen you. It's my fault, kiddo, not yours.”

  “I'm sorry--”

  “Hey,” Trey said, “it's not your fault, okay?”

  Alan nodded, sniffling. “Okay, Daddy.” Alan loosened his arms from around Carolyn's shoulder and went around to the left side of Trey's bed. His blue eyes locked with Trey's. “Come home soon, Daddy. Get better.” The boy hugged him.

  Trey squeezed Alan, managing to hold his emotions in check. “I will.” The boy let go of him, smiling. “Now go home and sleep.”

  Alan nodded to him. “You sleep too.” Alan tousled Trey's hair. Trey chuckled. Alan squeezed his father's shoulder and then made his way to the door.

  Carolyn kissed Trey on the forehead. “You call me. I'll keep my mobile on. You call,” she whispered and kissed him again, “if you need me. I'll be here.” Trey smiled at her but said nothing. She wiped a tear from her eye and turned toward Alan. “Let's go, kiddo.” Alan looked back at Trey from the doorway, a tired smile on his face. He waved to Trey and Trey waved back with his left hand.

  Then they were gone.

  Closing his eyes, Trey shifted to try and find a comfortable position. His arm itched and ached. When Kinkaid arrived, maybe they'd finally get him some meds that worked.

  Kinkaid.

  As Carolyn had driven him to the ER, he'd called Kinkaid through gritted teeth. He told her he'd hurt himself and Carolyn was taking him to the hospital. “I want to come in,” he'd told her.

  After a moment of silence, she'd asked if Trey was committing himself.

  Eyes scrunched together through the pain, Trey had told her “Yes.”

  He wanted to sleep, wanted to wake up and find himself back on the couch. The alarm would wake him from his nap, and he'd walk to meet Alan as always. No ice cream man; no bells shattering the silence of the winter afternoon. Just he and his son walking the path back home, and Carolyn joining them for dinner; everything as it should be.

  He let out a hiss through his teeth. The arm hurt, dammit. His face burned from where they removed bits of gravel and glass.

  “Scooby-dooby-doo” a voice sang.

  Trey opened his eyes and scanned the room. No one was there. “Fuck you, Scooby,” he whispered.

  As he closed his eyes once more, he realized he was afraid to fall asleep.

  Chapter 21

  Alan slept on the ride home. Carolyn cast nervous glances at him as she drove through the evening rain. The boy had been frantic on the way to pick up Trey, asking a million questions about his father. She'd calmed him as best she could, but he was still a nervous wreck when they finally put Trey in the car and headed to the hospital.

  But, she marveled, Alan was always a different boy in Trey's presence. Whenever he saw his father, no matter how weak or muddled he was, Alan became less prone to panic. She smiled at him in the rearview mirror, all buckled up in the seat belt and snoring. Alan became an adult when Trey had his “bad times.”

  They had spent a long time explaining to Alan his father's condition. Alan didn't seem to understand it all--he only knew that sometimes Daddy needed help. That had brought something very protective out of the boy.

  She made her way into the neighborhood, cursing the rain in silence. The pit pat of the drops against the windshield was the only sound in the car, apart from Alan's soft snores. She'd have to put him into bed and she had no doubt he'd fall asleep again immediately. She hoped he wouldn't wake up until morning.

  The questions would come, and then worry, and concern. She wasn't sure she had the strength to deal with that.

&nb
sp; Carolyn wiped a single tear from her cheek. She wound through the streets and turned onto Moss. The cold, light rain had barely puddled against the old concrete curb. She parked the car beneath the stripped oak canopies and the overgrown green pines and turned off the ignition.

  “Mom?” Alan's sleep addled voice said from the back seat.

  “Yes, Alan?” She glanced back at him in the rearview mirror.

  He frowned at her. “Daddy's going to be gone for a little while?”

  She nodded. The pain in Alan's voice was enough to force her to choke back a sob. “Yes, Daddy's going to be gone for a little while. But I'll take you to see him tomorrow if he's well enough, okay?”

  “You mean today?” he asked with a sideways smile.

  The sigh that escaped her was frustrated and relieved at the same time. Alan always knew when to be a smart-ass to make her smile. “Yes, hon. Today. We'll go see Daddy today. After I get home from work.”

  Alan nodded. “I walk home from school by myself?”

  “No, I think I'll be able to pick you up. I'll drop you off at school and come get you if I can.”

  “Okay, Mommy.”

  “Is that okay?”

  “Yes, Mommy,” he said, his smile widening. “I'm a big boy. I'm not afraid to walk home if I have to. But,” he said, his face stern, “don't tell Daddy I said that. I like that he walks me to and from school.”

  She nodded, a genuine smile on her face. “He loves you, Alan. He's very protective of you.”

  “I know.” Alan's smile faltered. “Mommy?” he asked, unbuckling his seat belt.

  “Yes?”

  Alan reached for the door handle, his hand clasping it, but not pull- ing. “Daddy's going to come back to us, right?”

  The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach returned, as did the sob threatening to choke off her air. “Yes. Daddy'll be back.”

  “Good,” Alan said. “I like my Daddy.”

  “I know you do,” she said, casting her face downward to hide another tear.

  “Mommy?” Alan asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Can you unlock the door? I'm very sleepy.”

  She looked up at him in the rearview mirror, wiping away another tear. “Yes, baby,” she said. She opened the door and climbed out into the rain. The canopy of pines and skeletal oaks blocked most of the drops, but she still felt the cold sting of water against her bare skin. She walked to Alan's door and opened it. Alan climbed out from the car and shivered.

  “Let's go inside, Mommy.”

  She was glad for the rain as they walked to the front door. She didn't want Alan to see her tears.

  Chapter 22

  “Trey?” a female voice asked from the doorway. “Trey, you awake?”

  He opened his eyes. The room was dark. At some point, he'd fallen asleep. He guessed one of the nurses had clicked off the lights. The figure at his open door was backlit by the bright hallway fluorescents. “Who are you?” he croaked.

  “It's Kinkaid, you idiot.”

  “Oh,” Trey said. “Should have known by your bedside manner,” he chuckled. “Come on in, the lithium's fine.”

  She clucked her tongue, walking into the darkened room. He could barely make out her features, but saw she was wearing a leather jacket and blue jeans. The jacket was still zipped up. With night in full swing, he'd no doubt it had become very cold outside. “There's no lithium here,” she said. “Nothing but cuckoo juice.”

  “Yeah,” he whispered. “I can tell.”

  Folding her hands, Kinkaid leaned forward. “How's your arm?”

  “Hurts like fucking hell,” he said. “But I guess that's to be expected.”

  She nodded. “I'm trying to figure out some pain meds for you, but right now, I think it's best if we keep your system clean. Can you deal?”

  “I can deal,” he responded and yawned. “What fucking time is it anyway?”

  “It's two a.m., slugger. Afraid I couldn't get here any sooner.”

  He harrumphed. “Again with the beside manner.”

  She shrugged. “Had to sober up.”

  “I'll bet,” Trey said. “Us crazy people driving you to drink?”

  “Something like that,” she laughed. “Now. You want to talk about it?”

  He told her everything, about waking up and finding Alan gone. The panic, the visions of the fiend in the van, running to catch it, and then falling to the concrete. As the words poured from his mouth, he realized she looked strange without a notebook in front of her and a pen scratching marks into the sheets of paper.

  When Trey finished, they sat in silence. He looked down at the bedsheets, and then drew the covers around himself. He'd begun to shiver during the retelling, goose pimples prickling his skin.

  The silence was broken only by soft footsteps in the hall, the occasional monotone of some words over the hospital intercom, and muffled voices from the nurses' station.

  Kinkaid clucked her tongue. “Why'd you nap?” she asked in flat, toneless voice.

  Trey blinked at her. The dim light cast from the hallway barely illuminated one side of her face. He saw the frown on her face and smiled in the dark. “I don't know,” he said. “Felt tired. Thought I'd just lay down.”

  “But you slept through the alarm?”

  “Yeah, it was still going off when I woke up.”

  She nodded. “Did you dream?”

  He opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it. Did he dream?Something about “Scooby-Doo?” The vision was murky, just random images without cohesion. He shook his head. “I think so, but I don't remember anything. Something about childhood. But--” He paused, frowning in the near darkness. “But I don't really remember it.”

  She nodded again. “What do you think about the ice cream man?” she asked.

  The ice cream man. The fiend. The ghoul. The man in the gore covered, offal dripping jumpsuit. He shook the image away from his mind.

  “He's not real,” Trey said.

  She blinked at him.

  “I mean, he's real. He was there. And he called Alan. But he's not some...thing. He's a person.”

  “That's a good start,” she whispered. “I want you to sleep now, if you can. I'm going to have the nurses wake you every couple of hours and check on you.” She reached out a hand and patted his left arm. “I think you need to stay here a couple of days for observation, okay?”

  Trey smiled. “No rubber room?”

  “Not this time, mister.” She rose from her chair. “The delusion has passed and I don't think you should be pissing in the corner if you know that.” She leaned over and pulled the covers around him, readjusting the blanket on the bed. “Now, you looney,” she said, “get some sleep. I'll come back later today and we'll talk again, okay?”

  “Yeah,” he whispered. She nodded to him and turned toward the door. “Thanks, doc.”

  “Have to keep you healthy,” she said walking to the door. “You're my next paper in psychotics monthly.”

  Trey snorted as she disappeared into the hallway. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 23

  As she turned off the bathroom light, Carolyn stared into the bedroom's blackness. She heaved a sigh, pulled off the robe, and walked to the bed. She slipped beneath the sheets naked, shivering a little as she wrapped herself in the cold fabric. Trey was usually in bed before her, and the sheets were always warm with his heat.

  She rolled onto her side, sniffing in the scent of his body still on his pillow. Another night with him gone. Another night without a partner.

  This was the fourth time since they'd been married that he'd committed himself. The first two times were medication changes that backfired. But the last time was the scary one.

  Carolyn still didn't quite understand what happened. She'd come home from work one day and found Alan inside the house, laying in the middle of the floor and surrounded by his toys. Scooby-Doo was playing on the television. Alan was four years old. “Where's Daddy?” she ask
ed Alan.

  “Hi, Mommy. Daddy's outside.” He smiled up at her and giggled. “Daddy's pretending.”

  “Pretending?” she asked.

  Alan nodded and giggled again.

  She felt a cold stab of fear in the pit of her stomach. “What do you mean he's pretending?”

  “He's pretending there's someone to talk to.”

  A shiver raced up her spine. “Okay, champ,” she said in a broken voice. “Can you stay out of trouble for a few minutes?”

  He nodded. “I've been a good boy. I want a popsicle.”

  “When I get back, we'll talk about it, okay?”

  He went back to playing with his toys.

  Carolyn took a deep breath and slipped out into the sunroom. She stopped as soon as she slid the glass door closed. Voices. Two distinct voices. She froze in the middle of the room. Trey and whomever he was talking to were around the corner and in the middle of the deck. She couldn't see them, and suddenly she didn't want to.

  “I don't understand why you're so angry,” Trey's voice said.

  Without a pause, another voice spoke, sending chills down her spine. “You don't understand?” the alien voice growled. It's timbre was so unlike Trey's, deep beyond measure, somehow a mix of a growl and a scream. “You broke the rules”

  Trey let out a sob. “No, I haven't broken--”

  “You forfeit the boy.”

  “No, goddammit!” Trey screamed. “You leave him the fuck alone.”

  She shivered as the other voice, the thing that wasn't Trey, loosed a low chuckle. “You brought him here, Trey. You made him. And you didn't ask permission.”

  “Fuck you,” Trey whispered. “I'm not giving him to you.”

  “It doesn't matter,” the other whispered. “I'll take him anyway.”

  “Fuck you!” Trey yelled.

  Carolyn took a step backward. There was the sound of flesh against metal and the tinkle of shattering glass.

  Carolyn threw open the screen door with a single sharp palm to the latch. The pneumatic piston broke from the impact, but she didn't notice. She turned through the threshold and stopped, her mouth open.