Ten Open Graves: A Collection of Supernatural Horror

by David Wood

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” Alan said.

  Alan tried to step around Keel, but the boy moved back in front of him. “My brother saw your old man yesterday, freak.” Keel chuckled. “Said your old man freaked out and then went face first into the fucking pavement.” The boy spat into the dirt, right next to Alan's shoe. “Your dad's afraid of the Ice Cream Man, you wuss,” Keel said.

  Alan tried to step around him again. Keel matched the move. “Leave me alone,” Alan whispered.

  “Ah, little sissy boy. You afraid of the Ice Cream Man, too?” The other three boys behind Keel giggled again. Jimmy turned back to them, laughing. “See,” he said to them, “he's afraid too.” Jimmy turned back to Alan, bending down so his foul breath chuffed into Alan's face. “A crazy little pussy, just like your dad.”

  The lava of rage that had been building in his stomach overflowed. Alan's left leg shot up in a soccer kick that connected with Keel's balls. Keel let out a whimpering breath and fell to his knees. The three boys behind him all winced, their faces surprised o's.

  The memory of his father, laying on the pavement, his mother kneeling over him, and the Ice Cream Man standing above them filled his mind. A single tear welled up in his eye and he wiped it away. “Don't you ever talk about my dad that way again,” Alan whispered.

  He walked past Jimmy's kneeling form. Keel's bully buddies moved out of his way to let him pass. “I'm going to get you for that,” Keel shrieked from behind him.

  Alan didn't turn around. He just continued walking toward the swings where he knew Mrs. Sinclair would be.

  The rest of the afternoon, the children whispered. They wouldn't talk to him. Some looked at him with a new found reverence. Others practically crossed themselves.

  He knew what they were thinking: he was a dead man. Jimmy Keel and his friends would catch him. Not today, since his mother was coming to pick him up. But one day soon. They'd catch him, and they'd beat him up.

  When the school bell sounded, Alan stuffed his small notebook in his backpack and pulled it up. The teacher was babbling something, but Alan didn't pay attention. He made his way through the doors and into the hallway.

  Sure enough, Keel and his boys were standing at the wall near the school exit. The four of them glowered at him as he passed, but said nothing. He knew why, too. The Assistant Principal, Mr. Herman, was within earshot. Alan didn't bother making eye contact with them. He knew he'd pay for what he did, but not that day.

  Alan walked through the school doors while the smaller kids ran past him. The ice cream van's cheery, loud bells rang across the playground. A crowd had already gathered in front of the white van. Alan walked toward the parking lot and stopped. His mother wasn't there yet.

  He turned and stared back toward the ice cream van. Even through the trees, he could make out the Ice Cream Man's bobbing head as he exchanged treats for the pocket money.

  “You're fucking dead,” a voice from behind him said.

  Startled, Alan turned. Jimmy Keel stood alone, his feet on the park- ing lot's cement curb. His grim face highlighted the hate in his eyes.

  Alan felt a pang of fear, and then remembered what the boy had said about his father. “Not today,” Alan whispered.

  Keel grinned. “No,” he said, “not today. But I'll get you, you little shit.” Keel walked past him, purposely bumping him hard with his elbow.

  Alan's ribs screamed in pain but he forced himself to stay quiet. “I'm going to see the Ice Cream Man,” he said. He turned around and glared at Alan. “I'm not a pussy like your daddy.” He smiled at Alan, his eyes still filled with that glittering rage. He flipped Alan off and then made his way toward the van.

  Alan watched the boy make his way toward the Ice Cream Van. The Ice Cream Man had made short work of the crowd and most of the children had left, heading home. Jimmy Keel's tall, bulky form strutted through the copse of trees.

  “Alan!” a voice yelled behind him. He turned. His mother's car was behind him now, parked in the space. “You ready?”

  He took one look back and watched Jimmy Keel standing at the edge of the curb, staring into the Ice Cream Van.

  “Yeah, Mom.” He turned back toward her. She looked like she'd had a rough day. He felt...like crying. She looked a little lost, a little scared. He choked back the feeling and forced himself to smile. “Daddy isn't here to make her smile,” he thought, “so it's my job now.”

  Chapter 32

  Dinner was blessedly short. Mommy took Alan to Chipotle where they each had a burrito, although Alan didn't feel much like eating. He knew from the moment she picked him up that she'd seen Daddy. The worried look on her face and the way her eyes didn't make contact with his told him everything he needed to know. But Mommy still tried to talk to him, as best she could.

  In as few words as possible, he related his day, leaving out the confrontation with Jimmy Keel and the hallway whispers. She didn't need to know any of that.

  When he asked how her day was, her face grew pale. “It was a day,” she'd told him. “Daddy said he loves you.”

  Alan had smiled at that. “Is Daddy okay?”

  Mommy nodded. “Dr. Kinkaid is taking care of him. They've got his broken arm all fixed up and he's sleeping a lot.”

  Although he didn't say it, Alan knew what that meant. Daddy was sleeping a lot because they were making him sleep. Daddy had looked so lost in the hospital. Lost and in pain. Alan had wiped at his eyes, but said nothing.

  Sitting in the living room with his math book in front of him, Alan read the word problem again and again, but none of it made sense. His mother sat on the couch, a book splayed open on her lap. He didn't think she was really reading either

  “Mommy?”

  She looked up from the book. “Yes, dear?”

  “When can I see Daddy?”

  Her face froze and then slowly relaxed. “Daddy will let us know.”

  Alan nodded. “Is it bad?” Mommy didn't answer. She broke eye contact with him, staring down again at the book in her lap. Alan felt a wave of depression wash over him.

  “Is it as bad as last time?”

  She didn't look up. “I don't know,” she whispered. “I just don't know.” A tear slid down her face.

  “Mommy?” She wiped her face and looked at him. “It's going to be okay. Daddy will be back. Right?”

  A reluctant smile spread across her face. “Yes, honey. Daddy will be back.”

  Alan let the conversation drop and stared back down into his book.

  “Alan?” she said after a few minutes.

  “Yes, Mommy?”

  She cleared her throat. “I want you to stay away from the Ice Cream Man.”

  The shiver in her voice caught his attention. “I will, Mommy. I don't like him.”

  “Good,” she said, staring back into her book. “Now finish your homework, kiddo. It's getting late.”

  Alan stared back down at the numbers on the page.

  The Ice Cream Man.

  He looked up at his mother.

  The whispers. The eyes. Should he tell her? He looked back down at the page, feeling his heart race. It wasn't real. No more real than The Closet Man. Mommy didn't need to hear about the whispers. She didn't need to know about the eyes.

  The pencil moved on the notebook next to the book as he scrawled answers, showing his work as always. Ten more math problems, and then he could... what? Go to sleep? Read more Harry Potter? He looked up at Mommy again. She was staring into her book, but her eyes weren't moving across the page.

  As fast as he could, Alan ran through the problems. His pencil raced down the page. As he wrote the answer to the last homework problem, he put the pencil down and took a deep breath.

  “I'm done, Mommy,” he said in a breathy whisper.

  She looked up from the book. “What, honey?”

  “I'm done.”

  “That's my boy,” she said. “Why don't you go and get ready for bed?”

  His heart beat faster in his chest.
“You'll come tuck me in?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  Alan grinned. “Okay,” he said. He closed the book and shoved it into his pack. With a yawn, he carried the pack to the front door and hung it from the credenza hook. He turned to the dark stairway.

  He reached for the light switch.

  “Alan,” a voice whispered in his mind.

  Alan closed his eyes.

  “Alan,” it whispered again. “I'm waiting for you.”

  Alan flicked the light switch and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes. The stairwell was lit, the shadows and darkness had retreated. With a shuddering exhale, he trudged up the stairs and into the hallway. He walked forward and then stopped. His parents' bedroom was to his left, the open door leaving a gaping rectangle of darkness.

  “Won't be there if I don't look,” he whispered. He took another deep breath and walked past the bedroom without glancing inside.

  With the hall light, the bathroom light, and that of his bedroom, few shadows remained. He brushed his teeth and made his way back to his room. He left the door open as he undressed and put on his pajamas. He turned on his lamp and then turned off the overhead light. As he crawled between the sheets, he heard the sound of his mother's footsteps on the stairs. He pulled the blankets up to his neck and stared at the ceiling.

  “Alan?” she called from the hallway with a laugh, “did you have to turn on every light in the house?”

  Alan blushed as she entered the room. “Sorry, Mommy. Forgot to turn them off,” he lied.

  She nodded to him. She sat on the edge of his bed and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “You going to sleep now?”

  He nodded. “I'm tired.”

  “So am I” she yawned. “Get some sleep, kiddo. I'll take you to school tomorrow, okay?”

  “Yes, Mommy,” Alan said.

  She smiled at him. “Good night, baby.” She kissed his cheek, rose from the bed, and headed for the door.

  “Mommy?” She stopped and turned, her brows raised. He opened his mouth and then closed it. “Good night.”

  She smiled at him and walked out of the bedroom. The lights in the hallway went out. He took a deep breath and then snapped off the lamp. The room instantly fell into darkness. Alan lay on his back, the covers up to his neck, and closed his eyes.

  “You afraid of the Ice Cream Man too?” Jimmy Keel's hateful voice whispered in his mind.

  “Yes,” Alan whispered.

  “I am.”

  “You should be,” a rasping voice answered back.

  Alan opened his eyes and stared around the room, but nothing was there. No yellow eyes staring back at him. No menacing silhouette in the darkness. He took in a shuddering breath, closed his eyes and tried to keep the whispers at bay.

  Chapter 33

  She'd checked her work email the night before. She was going to have to go in. There was no question about it, really. A pain in the ass client was demanding another meeting to go through the final contract details. Carolyn was going to have to placate the asshole, again.

  She surely wasn't going to tell Trey about Alan having to walk home by himself. That wasn't something he'd be able to handle right now. She made a mental note to call Kinkaid when she got to the office the next morning and find out how he was doing.

  Alan had been very quiet. The two of them had shared the living room in silence while she pretended to read a book and he pretended to study. She knew he wasn't able to concentrate. She wanted to talk to him about it, but she just didn't have the energy.

  He went to bed without a fuss. She'd managed some sleep, but not much. Trey's frightened, haggard face kept flashing through her mind. The shadowy face of Reggie the Ice Cream Man did the same.

  Even in her dreams, she heard Alan saying “I want Daddy to protect us from the Ice Cream Man.”

  When her alarm finally screeched in the darkness, she was glad. Once she made sure Alan was awake, she returned to her normal work ritual: shower, make-up, the choosing of clothes from the closet, the hunt for hose that didn't have a run, and the frantic effort to get coffee made and swallow down some breakfast before having to jump in the car and head for work. On top of all that, she'd also have to get Alan to school.

  As they made their way toward the school, she glanced at him. “You going to be okay walking home from school?”

  Alan nodded, his face pressed against the window. The clouds had disappeared leaving a bright, blue sky in their place. “Yes, Mommy.”

  “Good. I want you to come straight home, okay?”

  He turned to her. “Okay. I'll come home and get my homework done, in case we get to see Daddy tonight.”

  She pulled into the side street and parked near the thicket of pines. “You okay to walk from here?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said with a smile. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Bye, Mommy.”

  “Love you,” she said. “Have a good day.”

  He opened the door and bounded out, his backpack slapping against his back as he ran up the curb.

  She shook her head and drove down the side street away from the school.

  Chapter 34

  The small windowless room was dark. Light from the hallway streamed through the small glass rectangle set into the door, barely illuminating the bottom of the sheets. Trey turned his head, looking for a clock he knew wasn't there.

  Day. Night. Didn't matter anymore. Every waking moment was just a brief interlude before the next descent into dreamless sleep. He didn't know how long he'd been awake, only that the light in the hallway had been disturbed three times by people walking past it.

  Carolyn. He wanted to call Carolyn. He wanted to talk to Alan. He wanted--

  The lights in the room began to glow. Soft. Even the gradual change from darkness to twilight stung his eyes. Trey forced them to stay open. The pain slowly subsided as the light grew and grew. After a minute or so, the darkness had fled the room. He took a deep breath and stared at the door. Was this real? Would the thing come through the door?

  As if on cue, the rectangle darkened. Someone was in the hallway. Trey took a deep breath, not knowing what to expect. His diaphragm primed itself for another throat-shredding scream.

  The door opened and a man rolled a wheelchair into the room. “Good afternoon, Mr. Leger. You have visitors.”

  Trey blinked at the man. He couldn't remember the orderly's name, although he'd seen him more than once. “Visitors?” The man nodded. “my little boy?”

  The man's brow furrowed. He dropped his eyes and finished rolling the wheelchair next to the bed. “Let's go, Mr. Leger.”

  Alan. Seeing Alan would make all this more real. It would banish the boogeyman, make the Ice Cream Man rest in peace. Somehow. Alan would--

  “Mr. Leger?” the orderly said again. Trey swiveled his eyes toward him, blinking. “You all right?”

  He smiled. “Sorry. That happens sometimes.” The man nodded to him. Trey made his way off the bed and dropped into the chair. They'd removed his restraints sometime during the night. Although his wrists still itched, at least he no longer felt like a prisoner.

  The orderly said nothing as he rolled Trey out of the room and into the hallway.

  They passed a number of other rooms. Some were quiet; others buzzed with whispered ramblings. Trey shivered. Was that what he sounded like when the Ice Cream Man came to visit? “Am I really that insane?” he wondered.

  The hallway curved around to a much more friendly part of the ward. The walls weren't painted white, but blue. Trey smelled coffee, lunches being eaten at desks. The scents of normalcy. He sighed aloud, eyes closed, letting the aromas fill his nostrils.

  The wheelchair turned. Trey opened his eyes. The orderly wheeled him into a large room with a steel table bolted to the floor. A goateed man stood from his chair at the table, a smile on his face. Dark hair, tied back in a loose pony tail. Stylish, silver rectangular glasses glinting beneath the bright fluorescents.

  “Hello, Trey,” the man said.


  Trey blinked at him.

  The man's voice was smooth, a medium tone, a slight lilt in the syllables. “My name is Tony Downs.”

  Trey said nothing as the wheelchair stopped in front of the metal table.

  “Thank you, Stephen,” Tony said to the orderly.

  Trey didn't turn, but heard the padded footsteps as the man left the room, closing the door behind him. Tony offered Trey his hand. Trey tepidly shook with his good hand.

  “Dr. Kinkaid asked if I'd look in on you.”

  “That quack,” Trey said. “She too busy to see her favorite psycho?”

  Tony laughed, his eyes dancing behind the lenses. “Not at all,” Tony said. “Think of this as more of a consult.”

  Trey turned toward the glass on one wall. He waved his good hand at it. “Hi, doc!” he yelled with a smile.

  “Right,” Tony said. “Crazy, not stupid.”

  Trey returned Tony's smile and placed his good hand on the table.

  Trey tapped his foot and stared into Tony's face. The man exuded intelligence, but also a kind of sadness. He furrowed a brow.

  “So, Tony, there something on your mind?”

  Leaning back in his chair, Tony crossed his arms in front of his chest. He tilted his head slightly, the smile disappearing from his face. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  The man stopped speaking. If not for the occasional blink of his eyes and the nearly imperceptible rise and fall of his chest, it would have been difficult to tell he was alive. The silence was broken only by muffled hallway conversations and the occasional squeak of a gurney. Trey sighed. “You going to tell me what?”

  “Glad you asked,” Tony said, his lips pursing into a reserved smile. “I have a question for you. I've had it since Dr. Kinkaid told me about you.”

  “Okay,” Trey said. “Shoot.”

  Tony nodded. “I want to know who your Ice Cream Man is.”