Ten Open Graves: A Collection of Supernatural Horror

by David Wood

Trey shivered again as the wind rushed through the path, the bare branches clacking together like skeletal applause. He opened his eyes, staring down the concrete path.

  Eyes. Bright yellow eyes with crimson--

  “What the fuck is it about the eyes?”

  He continued walking. Up ahead, the path hit a T intersection. The neighborhood was filled with the damned things. He'd have to cross the street before continuing down the trail.

  A rather stout woman stood at the curb ahead, fiddling with something on the stop sign. Trey slowed. She was dressed in very heavy clothes and shivered despite them. Stray strands of blond hair darted out from beneath a blue, woolen cap.

  A pile of poster-board squares sat at her feet, gently lifting and collapsing in the wind. He stopped, watching as she picked up two of the squares and stapled them together below the red octagon.

  “Good morning,” Trey said, still some feet away from her. She turned toward him with a start. Her eyes were red as though she'd been crying. From the streaked make-up that looked at least a day old, he thought that was a pretty good guess. He raised his hands. “Sorry, ma'am. Didn't mean to scare you.”

  She nodded. “Have you seen my son?” she asked, picking up one of the poster-board squares and handing it to him.

  Trey looked at it and frowned. The sign had a black and white picture of a large boy wearing an angelic grin. Below the picture were his age, one year older than Alan, his height, 3 inches taller than Alan, and his weight, at least 30 pounds heavier than Alan.

  Trey stared at the picture. “I think I may have seen him at the school.”

  Her face brightened, the weariness disappearing in a look of desperate hope. “When did you see him? Today? Yesterday?”

  Trey paused. Fuck. Should have thought about that before I said it. The poster-board in front of him said the kid, James Keel, had been missing since Wednesday evening. He shook his head.

  “I'm sorry. I meant I think I've seen him in the past. When I pick up my son.”

  Her face fell. With a slow nod, the look of despair returning, she cast her eyes downward. “Yeah, okay,” she said. “Can you do me a favor?”

  Unsure what to say, Trey nodded back to her.

  “Will you keep an eye out for him?”

  “Yeah,” Trey said. An uncomfortable silence fell between the two of them. “Um, when did he go missing?”

  She looked at the poster-board, and then looked back up at him. “Just like the sign says.”

  It was difficult, but he somehow managed not to roll his eyes. “I mean when exactly. Was he at school?”

  The woman nodded. “He was at school all that day. And then--” She swallowed hard and wiped a tear from her cheek. “He never came home.” She raised an eyebrow at Trey. “Do you walk your boy to school?”

  He nodded. “To and from, nearly every day.”

  “Were you there that day?”

  He opened his mouth and then closed it. No, lady, he thought, I was in the booby hatch getting my shit together. “No. I was, um, on business for a couple of days.”

  “Okay,” she said in a whisper. “Just wondered.”

  “I'll talk to my son, though,” he said. “I mean someone must have seen something.”

  She nodded. “The principal's going to talk to the kids today, ask them if they know anything.”

  “Good,” Trey said. “Look, I'm sure we'll find him, Mrs. Keel.”

  “Helen,” she said.

  “Helen. I'm Trey Leger,” he said, offering his hand. She shook, but still didn't meet his eyes. “Helen,” he said, waiting until her eyes met his. “We'll find him.”

  “Sure,” she said. “I have to post more signs.”

  “Do you need help?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No. This keeps me busy.” She wiped another tear away with her chapped fingers. “I want to be home, waiting for his call, but I know I'll go crazy there.”

  “You forwarded it to your cell?” he asked.

  “Yeah. If he calls, I'll get it.”

  The silence between them stretched out. Trey wanted to hug the woman, tell her it would be okay.

  “I have to get back to work now,” she said. She reached down, picking up the remaining poster-board squares. “Nice to meet you, Trey.” She walked down the road's sidewalk, heading toward the neighbor- hood entrance.

  Trey watched her go, wondering just how many street lamps and stop signs she'd already visited that morning.

  He picked up his feet and continued down the path. Did his parents go through something similar when the Grubby Man had kidnapped him? Did they cover the neighborhood with posters? He couldn't remember. With both of them dead now, he'd never know what happened.

  He crossed the street and headed deeper into the forest area. The wind still managed to bite him through the heavy growth, but he'd stopped shivering. Another twenty minutes and he'd be home. He hoped James Keel would be home soon too.

  Chapter 43

  The morning led to afternoon. According to the thermometer hanging from the pine nearest the house, the temperature was 52 degrees.

  Trey sighed. The damned thing always lied. It was in the shade all year round so it never managed to be accurate during daytime. The bright sun had been unfettered all day, free to cast its rays upon the world.

  Remembering just how cold he'd been that morning, Trey bundled himself in a fleece and shrugged into his leather jacket. Once he started walking, he was sure it would get too warm.

  He stretched his back. He'd spent the day in his chair pouring through dozens and dozens of emails. Responding back to his client regarding a work stoppage was always tricky. Also, the folks in Bangalore were pissed he hadn't explained why he'd dumped their code. It never ended.

  Another file of code cleaned up. Another round of passed tests. Getting back into the routine was good, but every time he stopped running the code through his head, Helen Keel popped into his mind.

  James. That baby-fat, angelic face staring back at him from white paper. Was Helen done posting all those signs in the neighborhood? Had she moved on to other neighborhoods?

  He walked out the door and into the sunlight. As soon as he started walking down the road and toward the school, he knew he'd been right about dressing too warmly. He sighed to himself, putting one foot in front of the other. A few cars passed him on the road, stay-at-home Moms and Dads heading to pick up their kids. He didn't understand why more of them didn't just walk.

  The school became visible through the trees. Trey looked toward the far end. The ice cream van, its bells silent and panel door closed, was parked just beyond the trees. In a few minutes, it would open and the Ice Cream Man would wait for the children to come streaming out of the school.

  Although Trey had a difficult time imagining anyone buying ice cream on a day like today, there was always the candy.

  He walked up through the parking lot. Cars lined the street at the side of the school, crowding the turnabout beneath the awning, engines running. There were no other adults standing at the curb near the playground. Trey frowned. Had he missed something? Or...

  Trey nodded to himself. As he had walked to the school, every stop sign, yield sign, and “Slow Children At Play” sign had been plastered with the Keel poster. The Boogeyman was among them. Everyone was certain of it. Kids would walk in large groups, be forbidden from playing outside without adult supervision. They would be carted everywhere when possible.

  He turned to look at the ice cream van. He saw nothing behind the tinted driver side window. But that wasn't surprising. The Grubby Man would-- Trey shook his head. “He's not the Grubby Man,” Trey whispered. “He's not.”

  The school buzzer sounded, the insect-like drone drowning out the low collective rumble of idling engines. Trey watched the van's side panel rise. The Ice Cream Man locked the hinges into place. As before, the shadowy darkness of the van's interior made the man appear spectral.

  “Not,” he told himself, “the grubby man.”

>   He heard the sound of swinging doors and the sudden cacophony of conversation.

  “And here come the kids,” he said aloud. The smile on his face felt awkward. The children weren't running. They weren't streaming toward the ice cream van the way they did last time he was there.

  His brow furrowed.

  Through the crowd of children, he spied Alan. While the rest of the kids walked fast, either toward the parking lot to meet their parents or toward the playground, Alan walked with a slow, deliberate pace. Trey smiled. His son looked less than happy, but at least he was there, safe and sound. “Hey, kiddo,” Trey said as Alan approached. “How was your day?”

  Alan's lips curved up just the slightest bit. “Hi, Daddy.” He stopped in front of his father, holding his pack by one strap. “It was okay, I guess.”

  Trey nodded. “Then why so glum?”

  Dropping his pack to the ground, Alan rummaged and brought out a slip of paper. He handed it to his father, holding it between thumb and forefinger. Alan looked as though the paper might bite him.

  Trey took it from his son and opened it. He scanned it and then looked back at Alan. “Do you know this boy?”

  Alan nodded.

  Trey folded the piece of paper and slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans. “I saw his mother this morning.”

  Alan looked up at him. “He's still not home, is he?”

  Trey shook his head. “No, kiddo. He's not.” Trey placed his hand on his son's shoulder. “When did you last see him?”

  Alan said nothing for a moment.

  “Come on, give.”

  “We had a fight the other day.”

  “Um, fight?” Trey asked. “What kind of fight?”

  Alan stared down at the ground. “Jimmy's a bully, Dad.”

  “Ah,” Trey said. “So what happened?”

  Alan shrugged again. “He said some mean things, so I kicked him in the balls.”

  Struggling to keep from laughing, Trey managed to keep his face serious. “That, um, that's not good, Alan.”

  “No,” he said. “It's not.”

  Trey sighed. “Come on, let's walk.” Alan looked up at Trey, his expression confused. “Oh, you're in trouble, all right. But,” he said, kissing the top of Alan's forehead, “I can tell you're being punished already.” Alan blinked his eyes and then dropped them again. “Let's walk.”

  Alan lifted the pack back up, making sure to loop both arms through the straps. They walked toward the road, Trey's eyes locked on the ice cream van. There were only two kids getting treats.

  “Did you see Jimmy again after that?”

  Alan nodded. “He met me here the day Mommy picked me up.” Alan followed Trey's gaze to the Ice Cream Man. “He said he was going to get me.”

  “Sounds about normal,” Trey said. “What happened then?”

  With a shrug, Alan pointed toward the ice cream van. “He went that way. I think he went to buy something from the Ice Cream Man.” Alan wrinkled his nose. “I don't like him.”

  “No one likes bullies, Alan. Except for other bullies.”

  Alan shook his head. “No, Daddy. I don't like Jimmy, but I don't like the Ice Cream Man even more.”

  The Grubby Man, Trey thought. No, it's not the grubby man. “I understand that, too,” Trey whispered. They walked in front of the van, still far enough away he could barely make out the man's hands as he exchanged money with the two young customers. “So what did you and Jimmy fight about?”

  Alan said nothing.

  “Alan?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” Alan said, refusing to look up at his father.

  “What did you fight about?”

  “You,” Alan whispered.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” Alan said. “He heard about... your accident.”

  “Ah,” Trey said with a nod. “So. What did he say?”

  “That you were crazy. That you were afraid of the Ice Cream Man.”

  “And that bothered you?”

  “Yes,” Alan agreed.

  “Why?”

  Alan looked up at him. They had made it past the ice cream van without Trey seeing anything. Alan swung a quick look back toward it and then stared up at his father. “Because you're not crazy,” Alan said. “You're my Daddy and you're not crazy.”

  The two continued walking in silence for a moment, watching the cars make their way up the street. “Do you think you're crazy because I am?” Trey asked.

  “You're not crazy,” Alan snarled.

  “I am, you know.” He pinched his thumb and forefinger nearly together and smiled wide. “But just a little bit.”

  Alan giggled. “Okay, Daddy. Maybe a little.”

  “But,” Trey said, his voice losing all trace of humor, “that doesn't mean you are. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Alan said in return, his voice flat. “I don't like the Ice Cream Man.”

  Trey nodded. “I don't either.”

  “He--” Alan broke off and cleared his throat. “I saw--” He stopped speaking again. What had he seen? Something moving through the woods. Something near the ice cream van. But he had no idea what it was.

  “What's that, Alan? What'd you see?”

  “Nothing,” Alan said. “I saw nothing.”

  They walked in silence the rest of the way home. Alan watched the tree line, looking to see if anything followed them, but there was nothing there. A part of him wished there was, so he could show Daddy. So he could prove neither of them was crazy. But nothing happened. They didn't see the ice cream van on the way home.

  Chapter 44

  The winter wind rose and fell. Behind closed eyes, Trey imagined the pines and the naked oaks swaying to the beat. A branch outside the windows scratched at the Hardie Plank. Meant to trim that one, Trey thought.

  The bathroom door opened and he heard Carolyn's soft footsteps across the carpet. The bed barely moved as she lay down next to him, pulling the covers up over her body. He felt her cool flesh rub up against him, her breasts pressing against his back.

  He purred. “Ready to go to sleep?”

  She kissed the side of his neck and wrapped an arm around him. “How you doing, baby?” she asked.

  He smiled in the darkness. “I'm doing okay.”

  “Did you--” She paused for a moment. He listened to her breathing, the feel of her heart beating in her chest. “Did you see anything today?”

  “No,” Trey said. “Nothing to speak of.”

  “Good,” she whispered. For a moment, neither said a word. Trey felt the gentle tug of sleep and began to fall into its void when she said “Alan was pretty quiet tonight.”

  As much as he wanted to let go and disappear into sleep, he fought to stay awake. “We didn't talk about James Keel tonight,” Trey whispered.

  “I read the slip of paper he brought home.”

  “Yes,” Trey said. “Alan knows the Keel kid.” He paused. “I met his mother this morning.” He listened as Carolyn took in a deep breath. “I watched her putting up those signs. Poor woman was freezing.”

  “Jesus, Trey,” she whispered.

  “Yeah.” Trey rolled onto his back. Carolyn sidled over a bit to allow him more room, and then lay her head on his shoulder, her legs entwin- ing with his. “I told her we'd find the kid.”

  “Where do you think he is?”

  Trey shrugged. “I don't know, baby. But Alan had a fight with him the day he disappeared. Think he's feeling pretty guilty.”

  “What did they fight about?”

  “Me,” Trey said with a sigh. Carolyn was silent. “Guess James said some unflattering things about me.” He chuckled. “Alan took exception and nutted him.”

  “Oh, boy,” Carolyn said. She squeezed him close to her. “Is Alan okay?”

  “I told him that wasn't the right thing to do. I handled it.”

  “Okay,” she said and kissed his neck once more. “Should I talk to him about it?”

  Trey yawned. “Let him come to you, baby. He's pretty embarrasse
d about it.”

  She curled her fingers in his chest hair. “Okay,” she said again, kissing him again on the neck, her lips lingering longer than before.

  “Better stop that,” he said with a sigh.

  “Just glad you're home, baby,” she whispered in his ear. Her hand moved lower, grasping him. He let out a soft growl.

  “Getting up early to play disc golf with Dick,” he mumbled as she caressed him.

  She chuckled. “Then I better get started,” she said, nibbling his ear.

  Chapter 45

  Wind, driving rain, and the apocalypse were the only natural conditions that would ever keep Dick from playing disc golf. At least that's what he always told Trey. Saturday morning, Trey dressed in his sweat pants, a thick pair of socks, and a Houston Aeros sweatshirt.

  Carolyn and Alan had already left the house, on some mission of errands he guessed. That meant there might be breakfast when he got home. The thought made him smile.

  He filled a travel mug with coffee, grabbed his disc bag, and headed out the front door. Dick was already in his driveway, disc gear in hand, and leaning against the Regretta.

  Trey smiled. “We ready to rock?” he yelled across the street.

  Dick looked at him and then the sky. It had clouded up overnight, sealing in the chill. “Yeah, I think it's just about cold enough to whip your ass but good,” he drawled.

  “I bet,” Trey said with a laugh.

  Dick waved him over, opened the trunk, and Trey tossed in his bag of discs. Dick followed suit with his own and closed the trunk with a bang. The car shuddered. Trey laughed. “You sure you didn't break it this time?”

  “Shit, you kidding?” Dick stepped in and put the key in the ignition. The car chuffed and spat as he tried to start it. “Fuck,” he said.

  Trey laughed, opening the passenger door. “You want me to push?” Dick turned his head, eyes glaring at Trey. “Okay, forget I asked.” Trey sipped his coffee.

  Dick stomped on the gas pedal and turned the key at the same time. The engine roared to life and then settled into a constant purr. “There we go,” Dick said. He gave Trey the finger, took the car out of park and they rolled down the driveway.