Ten Open Graves: A Collection of Supernatural Horror

by David Wood

  Trey took another sip of the coffee. “Yeah. I'm going to go see him today, kiddo.”

  “Will you tell him I said hello?”

  “Sure will,” Trey said. “You about ready to get to school?”

  Alan's brow furrowed. “Why were you sleeping in my room?”

  “Because,” Trey said, putting down his cup, “Mommy kept stealing the covers.”

  The boy giggled. “That's not why.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “No, it's not,” Alan said, still laughing.

  Trey leaned forward, his face inches from his son's. “Because I wanted to be in the same room as you. That's all.”

  “Why?”

  “Just wanted to,” Trey said. “You got a hat?” Alan pulled a snow cap from his jacket pocket and waved it in his father's face. “Good. Let's do it.”

  They walked out the door and into the cold. Trey shivered. Alan donned his gloves in silence as they made their way down the driveway. Trey cursed himself for not bringing gloves and a hat himself. Alan stopped in the driveway staring at Dick's house.

  “What's wrong, kiddo?” Trey asked.

  “Dick's not home,” the boy said. “Does that mean his house is lonely?”

  Trey laughed. “Yeah, something like that.” A black SUV passed by the driveway, heading to the T. Trey never could remember the neighbor's name. “Come on, kid. We gotta get moving.”

  They walked in silence. Many cars and SUVs passed them on the way out of the neighborhood or on the way to the schools. Although most of the children on their block were much older than Alan, the high school and middle school weren't far from the elementary school. It made every school morning complete bedlam for traffic, and always reminded Trey how happy he was not to drive.

  Trey slowed his pace as they came upon a stop sign. The James Keel notice was still up, but a new one had joined it. Another picture of another boy below it with the word “MISSING” in large type. “Bryan Greely,” Trey said aloud. He looked down at Alan. “Do you know him?”

  Alan looked up at Trey and shook his head. “No, Daddy. But I think he goes to my school.”

  Three bodies. At least three bodies in the warehouse.

  “Okay,” he said as he took Alan's hand, “let's get moving.” They crossed the street in silence and continued down the path. The cold began biting into Trey's ears and hands with reckless hunger. He kept one hand in his pocket, the other still clasped around Alan's. “I'm cold,” Trey said aloud. “See, this is what happens when Daddy doesn't take his own advice.”

  “So why didn't you?”

  “Because I'm dumb,” Trey laughed.

  “No, you're not,” Alan said. “You just forget things sometimes.”

  “Sometimes,” Trey agreed.

  “Daddy?” Alan asked, looking up at him.

  “Yes, son?”

  “You seem better.” Trey said nothing.

  The image of the thing from the warehouse, saliva dripping from its exposed canines, flesh pulsating in fevered breaths, filled his mind. Trey shook it off. “I am better,” he said.

  As they entered the school-yard, Alan stopped and turned to his father. “You going to be here to walk me home?”

  Trey smiled. “I will, kiddo. I'll be here.”

  Alan readjusted his pack. “Okay, Daddy,” he said. Trey bent down and Alan kissed his cheek. “See you later.”

  “Okay, Alan.” He watched as his son walked quickly toward the school entrance and joined the horde of students heading in. The school buzzer went off in two sharp bursts. Ten minutes to class. Trey grinned. He'd still managed to get Alan to school early. With a shivering sigh, Trey turned and started back to the house. As he passed more traffic signs, he realized the Greely missing notices were on every one of them.

  Three bodies.

  The cold bit, but he wasn't certain it was why he was still shivering.

  Chapter 55

  Just as Trey walked in out of the cold, his phone rang. He pulled it from his jeans pocket, teeth still chattering, and looked at the number. It wasn't one he recognized. Bracing himself for another telemarketer, he pressed the phone and held it to his ear. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Leger?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Detective Dewhurst,” the caller drawled. “May I have a moment of your time?”

  Trey took in a deep breath. “Good morning, sir. Sure.”

  “Are you going to be available today to answer some more questions? This afternoon, perhaps?”

  “I'm going to go see Dick,” Trey said. “If he's awake.”

  “Ah,” Dewhurst said. “That's actually a good thing. Last I checked, they moved him out of ICU and into a regular room.” Dewhurst paused. In the background, Trey heard the sounds of a truck backing up and voices. “What time do you think you'll be there?”

  How the fuck was he going to get to the medical center? “I, um, I don't drive, Detective. I'll have to find a way to get there.”

  “You don't drive?” Dewhurst asked, shock in his voice.

  “Um, no. I'd rather not--”

  “How do you get around Houston and not drive? That's gotta be a pain.”

  Trey nodded. “It is, sir. It is. I'll try and be there around 11:30 or so.”

  “Okay,” Dewhurst said. “I'll be there around 12:30. I have to wrap up a few things here first. I have questions I can ask, but I'd rather they be in person.”

  Trey didn't like the sinking feeling in his gut. Dewhurst sounded anxious and excited at the same time. “Sure,” he said. “Sure.”

  “Mr. Leger?” Dewhurst asked. “You okay?”

  With a sigh, Trey clucked his tongue. “Yeah. No. Maybe. Look, I'll see you at the hospital.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Dewhurst said. The line went dead.

  Trey pocketed the phone and tapped his foot. He had to get downtown. Fuck. There were only two ways to do it. Take a cab or take the bus. Trey picked up his wallet and looked inside. Five crisp twenties. It would be enough for one way. But he'd have to take the bus to get back. He sighed and went to his computer.

  Cab companies in The Woodlands were few and far between, but they did exist--they just cost an arm and a leg. Plus, 30 miles just to get downtown was not a small distance for the meter. Trey pulled up the number for a cab company and started dialing.

  Chapter 56

  He'd called Carolyn while in the cab and told her where he was going. She asked if he thought he would be home in time to walk Alan from school. He assured her he would. When the cab reached the Medical Center, Trey gave up four twenties to pay the fare. The driver grumbled about the small tip. He felt bad not giving the driver more, but Trey knew he'd have to hang on to the last twenty to pay for the train and the buses to get back home.

  The Medical Center was bustling. Nurses and doctors wearing jackets over their scrubs walked along the wide sidewalks beside the light rail. They held coffee or sodas in their cold hands, looking dazed as they stepped off the train and onto the platforms. Others departed from the medical buildings, heading to the train. Shift change. Trey watched the shivering mass of people as they passed one another.

  People on canes, walkers, and crutches wandered the sidewalks, heading to or from their doctors' offices. Tests. Medication. Every one seemed to come here to see a specialist at some point or another. Trey walked through them, heading toward the tall white building jutting from the street.

  He thought about entering through the emergency entrance, but one look inside told him that was a bad idea. The waiting room was stuffed with Latinos wearing denim and holding their coughing children as well as street people of various colors hiding in the building's warmth. During the winter months, when the temperature might actually drop below 50, the emergency rooms were filled to the brim with uninsured people.

  Trey headed toward the hospital's main entrance around the corner.

  The cold air retreated as he walked through the revolving door. The wide foyer was strangely empty save for the cou
nter staffed by two women dressed in white. Trey shivered off the last of the cold, enjoying the relatively warm air. He walked to the counter. One of the two staffers looked up at him with casual boredom. “May I help you?” she asked in a husky voice.

  “Hi,” Trey stuttered. “I'm here to see a patient.” She stared at him and pursed her lips. The pause lingered. “Oh,” Trey said and blushed, “his name is Dick Dickerson.”

  Her lips curved up in a smile, but her eyes were stern. Trey wanted to ask how a stick had gotten shoved up her ass, but said nothing.

  “He's in room 334,” she said. “Visiting time ends in an hour.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Elevator's over there.” She pointed toward the bank to the left.

  Trey walked toward them and made his way into an open elevator. He stabbed the button for floor three. The door closed and Trey felt the pressure on his feet as the elevator rose. Trey felt a little claustrophobic, but it wasn't the usual weight that threatened to crush his brain into jelly. He wondered for the second time if those days were finally over.

  The elevator dinged and the doors opened to a scene of busy people doing busy things. The nurse's station was alive with conversation and clacking keys. Families waited in a row of cushioned seats, all looking as though they hadn't slept in days. Trey stepped out, nervous to see so many people. A cart made its way down one of the halls.

  Trey looked up at the signs. Rooms 300-350 were on the far hallway. With a deep breath, Trey walked in that direction.

  He passed open doors with people coughing, quiet conversation, and the occasional moan of pain. All the rooms on that side were private, but that didn't change the fact it was a hospital. The sounds of oxygen machines, the beeps of monitors, were all wrapped up in a quiet, but ever pervasive drone.

  As Trey reached room 334, he stopped next to the entry. How would Dick react when he saw him?

  “Shit,” Trey thought, “I should have called.” He steeled himself, forced a smile, and walked into the room.

  He stopped dead in his tracks. Dick's body was stretched out on the bed, his face pale and haggard. Clear, plastic oxygen tubes snaked up his nostrils. Although he was covered in blankets, he shivered.

  “Dick? You awake?” Trey asked from the doorway.

  Dick's eyes slowly opened. He turned his head, blinking into the light. A wan smile lit his face. “Yeah,” he said in a raspy whisper. “I'm awake.” Dick raised his right hand a little, waving Trey in.

  “You look like shit.” Trey said it with the best smile he could manage, forcing a chuckle as he finished the sentence.

  “Fuck you,” Dick said back.

  “So,” Trey said, grabbing a chair and pulling it to the bed, “want to go play some disc golf?”

  Dick held up his middle finger. “Suck it,” he said between breaths, smiling.

  “That's better. You already look more alive.” Trey shook his head, his smile fading. Dick looked bad. Very bad. “What they say?”

  “Had a heart attack,” he said in a breathy whisper. “You know, that thing where your heart fucks up.”

  Trey nodded. “Yeah, I heard that, but what else did they say?”

  Beads of sweat dotted Dick's forehead as well as his face. He shivered once more. “Have a fever,” Dick said. “They're not sure what caused it.” Dick idly scratched at his chest. “Guess the fucker cut me with something that wasn't sterilized.”

  Trey sat up. “Dick? Can you tell me what you saw?”

  Dick closed his eyes, his face turned down in a frown. “Don't-- Don't know. Doesn't make sense.”

  “Dick? I need to know, man. What did you see?”

  “You're the crazy one,” Dick breathed. “You tell me.”

  Trey blew out a hiss between his teeth. “I-- I saw it. The thing.”

  “The thing,” Dick repeated.

  “Yeah,” Trey agreed. “The thing.”

  “You remember those aisles of boxes?” he asked. Trey nodded. “I-- I had my flashlight pointed down there. Saw something move.” Dick turned his head and coughed. It sounded like broken glass being shaken in a jar. “It came up from the floor, Trey.” He stared into Trey's eyes with a haunted look. “Like it had been there all along, scuttling, or slithering there.”

  Trey felt a shiver creep up his spine. Dick pointed toward the water bottle sitting on a metal tray. Trey picked it up and placed the straw between Dick's chapped lips. Dick managed a few sips from it before letting the plastic straw pop from his mouth. He nodded.

  “You're welcome.”

  “Bastard rose up from the floor,” Dick said. “Stood there. I--” Dick swallowed a sob. “I just froze, man. The flashlight beam lit up those, those teeth. The lips. Saliva dripping...” Dick shook his head, tears leak- ing from his tired eyes. “I just froze.”

  “Shh,” Trey said. He reached out and held Dick's hand. The skin was hot and clammy. “It's okay, Dick. No more, man. Just let--”

  “It said something to me. Said something. And then those claws...” Dick let the words drift off, his eyes closing tight. “It attacked me. One swipe.”

  “Yes,” Trey agreed. A tear tried to escape his eyes, but he fought it. “It's over now.”

  “The cops,” Dick said, swallowing hard, “they get him yet?”

  Trey shook his head. “No, Dick. But they will.”

  Dick opened his eyes, struggled to sit up, and clenched Trey's hand. “Did you tell them?” he asked, his voice practically a yell.

  Trey flinched. “I told them--”

  “Did you tell them he's--he's not human?”

  Trey opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it.

  “They wouldn't believe us anyway,” Dick whispered. He closed his eyes. Dick's grip went limp. Trey tucked his friend's hand back under the sheets, but refused to let go. He sat, watching Dick's chest rise and fall in an uneven, ill rhythm.

  Chapter 57

  “Mr. Leger?” a quiet voice asked.

  Trey's eyes fluttered open. For a moment, he didn't know where he was. He felt something warm and clammy in his left hand and turned to look. He was still holding Dick's hand. “Shit,” he whispered.

  “Trey?” the quiet voice said.

  Trey turned and looked at the room's door. Dressed in a crisp suit, not a hair out of place, Detective Dewhurst stood in the doorway with a calm, almost disinterested expression on his face.

  He looked back at Dick. His friend was still asleep, his breathing uneven and shallow. Trey let go Dick's hand. It dropped without resistance. He tucked Dick's hand back under the sheet. “Get better,” he whispered.

  As quietly as possible, Trey stood from the chair and walked to the door. He fought the urge to turn and look back at his friend. Dewhurst nodded toward the hallway. Trey returned the nod and the two men left the open doorway. They walked in silence toward the bank of elevators, Dewhurst in the lead. Trey's back twinged. He wondered how long he'd been asleep in that chair, listening to his friend struggle to breathe.

  Dewhurst turned around. “Cafeteria?” he drawled.

  Trey shook his head. “I need a smoke.” Dewhurst smiled and then nodded. The elevator took its time in coming, but it gave Trey a moment to shake off the sleep. He stood as straight as he could and then leaned back from the waist. His back popped like bubble wrap. Even with the din of the nurse's station, it was loud enough for Dewhurst to raise an eyebrow at him. They rode the elevator in uncomfortable silence.

  When the doors opened on the lobby, Trey walked out, Dewhurst following, and headed toward the revolving glass doors. The cold bit into him immediately. After the hospital's warmth, the air seemed colder than ever. Shivering, Trey pulled out his pack of smokes, slotted one between his lips and lit up, his teeth chattering.

  “Nasty habit,” Dewhurst said with a smile. “Mind passing one over?”

  Trey blinked at him and then silently handed over the pack and his lighter.

  “Used to smoke these all the time. Afraid the departmen
t frowns on it, but every once in a while, I just have to have one.” Trey nodded, looking at the sky. “How is Mr. Dickerson?”

  Trey shrugged. “Bad fever. I talked with the nurse a little after I convinced her to let me stay.” Trey took a long drag. “She said the heart attack was minor. The infection that's causing the fever may require them to send him back to ICU.” Trey exhaled smoke from his nostrils and turned to regard Dewhurst. “Guess he didn't get off so light after all.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that.”

  “What did you want to talk about, Detective?” Trey asked.

  “Are you, um,” Dewhurst coughed into a hand, “sure you're up to talking about yesterday?” Trey nodded. Dewhurst cleared his throat. “After he attacked Mr. Dickerson, why didn't he attack you?”

  Trey shrugged. “I don't know, Detective. He could have.” Trey turned from the slate sky to regard Dewhurst. “I was on the floor, behind Dick. All I had was the damned flashlight in my hands. I'd sort of dropped the wrecking bar.” Trey blushed against the cold. “Afraid I didn't make much of a stand.”

  Dewhurst nodded. “Doesn't make sense, though, does it? I mean after he attacked Mr. Dickerson, sounds like he could have killed both of you. Or at least attacked you without any interference from Mr. Dickerson.”

  “Yeah,” Trey said. The taste of the cigarette grew sour, and the sudden surge of acid in his stomach didn't make it any better. Trey ignored both and took another long drag. “Maybe he thought we'd already called you guys,” Trey said. “Fuck, I don't know, Detective.”

  “There was another freezer,” Dewhurst said quietly.

  Trey dropped his cigarette to the concrete sidewalk. The breeze rolled it away into the street. “Another freezer?”

  Dewhurst nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Do I want to know?” The sudden pained expression on Dewhurst's face gave him the answer. “Fuck.”

  “We figure six children. Altogether. Six, Mr. Leger. Six.”

  Trey shook his head. “How is that... You identified them, yet?”

  Dewhurst shook his head. “It'll be days before we manage that. Going to have to go against missing persons and then against dental records. By the looks of things, I will bet that the other four children were from the poorer side of town. Maybe from one of the wards.”