Ten Open Graves: A Collection of Supernatural Horror

by David Wood

  “Stop running.” Sam's whisper rang loudly in Ash’s head. “The Ancient awakens.”

  Ash spun around and swung his hands out to push Sam away, but no one was there, and he tripped over his own stumbling feet. His elbows crashed into the ground.

  “Digger!” he yelled. “You out there? Digger! Billy! Anyone!”

  The only replies were distant screams. As he turned down one cut section of mountain and then another, the sound of roaring changed. It was hard to tell at first, as it all seemed like one long grinding noise, but after a few seconds he heard a mechanical sound beneath it.

  The miner, he thought. The continuous miner's on! We have power!

  Latching onto that thought like a man reaching for a branch as he careened down a raging river, Ash stopped to gauge where he was. With practiced ears, he turned left and right, noted a slight change in the noise to his right, and ran that direction. Shadows pulled at him as he ran, inky fingers grasping for his clothes, his arms, his legs. His light crossed from rocky wall to floor to ceiling, but the center of his vision was dark, a hole that had no end. All he could do was run.

  Eventually, lights appeared in the far distance. They were dim, like the first stars at dusk, but to Ash they were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen, and with that wonderful sight came the relief of the cave finally seeming to settle. As he got closer, he saw they were the safety lights on the back of the continuous miner. At the front of it was the rolling drum of metal teeth as it churned deeper into the mountain. In confusion Ash looked around to see how or why the metal beast was operating, and as his hard hat light swept to the right what he found hit him like a punch to the gut, dropping him to his knees.

  Bodies littered the ground like empty fast food containers. Some were crushed by rocks, their heads reduced to pulp or their chests caved in so savagely internal organs erupted from their mouths. Others looked normal save for their pale skin and vacant stares. The worst of it was Digger. The miner operator sat on the floor, his legs crossed and his hands on the continuous miner's control panel sitting in his lap. He faced away from Ash, and Ash was glad for that. He didn't want to see the miner. The Bluestone Mine was filled with the stench of the dead, and shadows crept over it all, even him.

  The continuous miner suddenly emitted a horrific sound. In it he heard dogs barking, rotted trees crashing in deep woods, glaciers cracking in half, meteors screaming to the ground. It was a noise like the end of the world. The digging drum rolled and rolled until the mountain in front of it gave way beneath a rushing wave of water as dark as the shadows around it.

  His mind overloaded by pain and terror, Ash couldn’t move as the water reached for him with wet, hungry fingers. Seconds later the wave crashed into him like a wrecking ball, and his body pounded against the mine’s walls, scraped against the floor and ceiling. His bones shattered and his flesh tore, and through it all he screamed. When he had no more breath left, the mountain water rushed down his throat, filling his lungs, his throat, his stomach. The darkness was within him and without. Death laid cold fingers on his chest. But, before his heart could stop beating, he heard a terrible voice whispering in his mind, telling him secrets older than time, and as dreams of flame and flood filled his head, his body became something new, something else.

  In the darkness of the water he smiled and stared with dark eyes into the heart of the mountain.

  Chapter 1

  PLEASE COME HOME. IM SCARED.

  Kyle looked down at the text message on his phone for the fifth time in an hour as he drove the rented Jeep Wrangler north on Highway 856. A sign reading STILLWATER - 5 MILES flashed by on the right in a green rectangular smear as rain clawed jagged streaks across the windshield. Six years ago he'd put that sign in his rearview mirror with a promise that he'd never look at it again, and now here he was, going back on his word. His sister Taylor was the only person who could make him return to the one place he swore he'd never come back to.

  The text message was only the latest in a month-long string of messages from his little sister about their dad. Those who lived in the shadows of the Appalachians were a hard people, and those who made their livelihood in the cramped darkness of the coal mines were harder still, but Gus Mason was a hard man even by those standards. A young Kyle had often watched his dad wash away a long day down in the dark with a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon, his eyes glued to the blurry images on their television while the rest of the world faded away. A lot of abused children would have seen Gus's apathy as a blessing, but Kyle didn't. He knew, deep down in his heart, that his dad didn't love him or his sister, probably didn't even love his wife, and the sting of that apathy hurt as much as a slap to the face. If the emails and text message were right and their dad had become physical, then the situation could quickly become more serious than what Taylor had told him about.

  Since Kyle’s Army unit was Stateside and not due to head back to the sand for months yet, taking some annual leave had been as simple as filling out paperwork and handing it to his platoon's First Sergeant. Two plane rides and a car rental later, here he was, driving back to Stillwater, West Virginia, wishing like hell he wasn't. Fat gray clouds overhead pissed on the world, mirroring his mood.

  Ahead of him a car sat parked on the side of the road with its hazard lights flashing. It was the first vehicle he'd seen for miles – either coming or going – so the sudden appearance of the broken down car was surprising. Kyle wasn't sure what sort of tools the rented Jeep came with, but he had his two hands, and was always willing to help if needed. He lifted his foot off the gas pedal and let the vehicle coast to a stop.

  Seen up close, he wasn't sure where to even start figuring out what might be wrong. The Honda Civic looked like it was twenty hard and weary years old, the red paint faded and chipped where it wasn't freckled with Bondo spots. The balding tires were small enough to dunk in a cup of coffee, but as he looked the car over he noticed that the front passenger side was dipped, indicating a flat tire. It was a good thing he'd come along, because if there wasn't a spare in that clunker's trunk, the walk to anywhere able to help was a long one, especially in the rain.

  In the driver’s seat sat a woman with a cell phone up to her left ear and her free hand pummeling the steering wheel. Whoever was on the other end of the call was getting a scorching earful. She was pretty, from what little he could see of her face, with skin a creamy coffee color and hair a riot of black curls that fell to the shoulders of a silky black blouse. When she turned and noticed his parked Jeep, strikingly blue eyes lit up in surprise.

  “Need any help?” He gave a friendly wave and exaggerated his pronunciation so that she could tell what he was saying.

  The skin between her eyes bunching together as her upper lip twitched. He thought she was mad at him for having the gall to stop and attempt to be helpful, but she quickly turned her head and hit the steering wheel again as she pulled the phone around so that she could yell directly into the mouthpiece. Once she was done speaking her shoulders sagged and her eyes closed. When she reopened them a moment later, she turned back to Kyle and waved him forward repeatedly while shaking her head hard enough to send her curls bouncing.

  Kyle paused, the Good Samaritan in him unwilling to leave a stranded woman on the side of the road, but she was a big girl, and if she didn't want his help, he wasn't going to push it on her. It was the Twenty-First Century, after all. He waved back and nodded, then slipped the Jeep into DRIVE and rolled away. He had enough problems without carrying other peoples’ burdens. In a few miles he'd be back in Stillwater, and soon after that he'd be knocking on his parents' door. He wasn't looking forward to any of it, so the sooner he got there and sorted the situation out, the sooner he could put the town behind him once and for all.

  “An hour?” Maya fumed. “To come out and change a flat tire? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Her left hand ached from the tight grip she held on her cell phone, and the heel of her right palm was red from repeatedly hitting her car's
steering wheel. If she'd had a neck in front of her she'd have strangled it with a smile, especially the neck of the idiot on the other end of the phone.

  From the corner of her left eye Maya noticed headlights come to a stop next to her window. She turned her head hoping it was the insurance company's courtesy truck pulling up in spite of what the agent just said, but it wasn't. Instead she saw a guy sitting in spiffy looking Jeep waving at her and talking like she could hear him. Part of her was glad that someone was nice enough to stop and offer help, but a larger part – despite being nearly twenty-four years old – remembered all the warnings her parents had given her about strange men, even the friendly looking ones.

  “There's no need for that kind of language, ma'am.” The voice’s prissy tone drove into her ear like a long, rusty nail. “I'm only trying to be of assistance.”

  A sharp laugh shot out of Maya's mouth. “Yeah, right. My insurance company telling me I have to wait an hour to get someone out to help me isn't exactly what I'd call assistance.”

  “I understand your frustration, ma'am.” The customer service agent’s placating tones made her want to scream. “The closest courtesy truck to you is in Welch, but at the moment they're helping another customer, so the best estimate I have of how quickly they can get to you is an hour. You might get lucky and get help sooner, but I'd rather not underestimate the time and have you angry even more.”

  Maya's jaw muscles jumped as she pressed her molars together. “Trust me, I don't think it’s possible for me to be more angry than I am right now.”

  A distant sigh fluttered against her ear like a moth batting its wings in a jar. “I understand, ma'am. Let me see if our service technician thinks he can hurry along to you a bit faster. Please hold.”

  Maya took the phone in both hands like it was a lifeline being pulled away from her. “No, please don't put me on ho—”

  A loud click followed by soft jazz cut her off. She closed her eyes and wondered what the universe had against her. Whatever she'd done in a past life, she was sorry as all hell for it.

  When she reopened her eyes, the Jeep was still beside her, and the guy driving it looked at her like a dog eager to please. His dirty blond hair and blue eyes set off a handsome face, and to her surprise she noticed a barely perceptible aura the color of sun-dappled water glittering against his skin. It was a good sign. Most people didn’t have auras strong enough to see, and if they did they were usually grim and dark. In any other situation she would have been tempted to roll down her window and flirt. Flirting, though, was the last thing on her mind. All her energies were focused on getting her insurance company to provide a service she paid them for; paid – she might add – just so she could avoid dicey situations like this. So, hoping he understood her and didn't take offense, she waved him off and pointed in the direction they were both headed. He didn't leave immediately, so she waved faster until he eventually got the hint and drove on. As taillights pulled away she hoped she hadn't made a huge mistake.

  “All right, I think I have good news for you.” The customer service broke through a sleepy rendition of “Dream A Little Dream Of Me.” “Our service technician informed me that he has completed his job in Welch and will be on his way to you shortly. He should be at your location in thirty minutes.”

  Maya's mother once told her that she should be grateful for favors, even the small ones, so she resisted the impulse to curse and bang on the steering wheel again. “Alright, if that's the best you can do. It's not like I have much choice.”

  “Very well then. Before we disconnect, I'd like to ask you a few questions about the level of service I've provi—”

  Maya hung up before he could finish. She'd gotten all she could out of him, and hearing him drone on was something she refused to do. With the call over, she plugged her phone into the car charger and set it down in a cup holder to cool off. She was half surprised it wasn't crushed. She then turned on the car radio and settled into her seat to wait out the minutes until help arrived. As she thought about the service tech, her mind went to the flat tire, then went to the spare tire hidden away in the hatchback, then to the pile of equipment sitting on top of it.

  “What did I do to deserve this?” she asked the empty air before reaching for the latch that unlocked the hatchback. The last thing she needed was some mechanic seeing her gear and asking what it was for. She didn't like talking about her job, especially with strangers, so if she wanted to avoid an awkward conversation she knew she'd have to move all of the cameras, laptop, night vision goggles, and EM meters to the back seat. That meant getting out into the rain and walking around in sandals that weren't meant for muddy potholes. Hoping to avoid that had been half the reason she'd called for help in the first place. Not knowing the first thing about changing a tire was the other half.

  Knowing that she had no other alternative, Maya sighed, grit her teeth together, and opened her car door. The only bright spot in that dismal moment was knowing that somewhere up above her father was chuckling his ghostly ass off.

  “Real funny, Dad.” She put her feet through the door and stood up. “Real damn funny.”

  As the last word passed her lips, the drizzle of rain turned into a downpour. The noise it made hitting the roof of her car sounded oddly like laughter.

  Chapter 2

  Stillwater looked worse than Kyle remembered, an aging coma patient waiting for someone to come along and pull the plug. It hadn't always been that way, though. To hear the old timers tell it, Stillwater had once been a boomtown riding a coal train to fortune and glory. Once prospectors saw how rich the area was with coal, they built a dam across Stillwater Creek to create a water reservoir, and erected the town of Stillwater on the other side. In those early days, a lot of coal was dug and a lot of money was made, though those who did the digging never seemed to get a fair amount of the riches made from their sweat and broken backs.

  Eventually, though, the veins of coal died out, and the town died out with them. In West Virginia, this was nothing new. The state is riddled with empty towns populated by ghosts and the faint oily scent of coal. Those who could afford to pack up and move did so. Those who couldn't, like his family, turned to the mines that were still operating in the surrounding counties. It made for long drives, but folks did what they had to do.

  Kyle’s folks had assumed he would work in the mines when he graduated, slogging away in the dark with his dad. Kyle had assumed the same thing until the day his father came home early with a back so hurt tears poured down his face. It was the first time he'd seen his dad cry. There’d been a lot of self-pity in those tears, and more than a little anger and resentment.

  Rita Mason was the glue that held the family together, a fair woman who deserved better but didn't have the good sense to know it. Kyle loved her, but he hated her too. She'd lived under the same roof, felt the same apathy and neglect, but instead of taking her children and striking out for a better life – and, really, anything would have been better than living with Gus Mason – she lowered her chin and took it. Her children took it too.

  Taylor had been the one shining light in their house. Eight years younger than Kyle, she'd been light and happy and joyful, a dandelion floating on her own breeze. Kyle had done all he could to care for her, gave her the love she needed, bought her what toys and trinkets he could afford. She was the only reason he’d considered staying in Stillwater. In the end, it hadn't been enough. The memory of his father, broken and hurt and miserable, was just too powerful. What made leaving bearable was knowing that she was strong, like him, and she’d be able to deal with their father until her own moment of freedom came. But now something felt different. Their father had changed, and he wanted to find out why.

  Kyle turned down one street after another, driving mostly on muscle memory, until he eventually crossed onto King Drive His parents’ house lay two driveways down on the left. He’d driven the hard packed dirt road more times than he cared to think about, but it felt different now. The shadows under carp
orts and door eves seemed darker, and wind pushed against the Jeep like it was warning him away.

  The parking apron in front of his parents' house was empty. That wasn't unusual. They only owned one vehicle, and his dad needed it to drive back and forth to work. Empty or not, he didn’t feel right pulling onto the apron, so Kyle stopped on the street. Parking on the apron felt too...familiar.

  When the Jeep stopped, he slipped it into PARK, turned off the engine, and allowed himself one solitary sigh to brace himself before he opened the door. When his feet hit the walkway leading to the front door, he felt like gongs should have sounded. He almost felt the vibrations in his feet, the chipped and dirty concrete path trying to reject him before he could take another step.

  “You don't have to like it any more than I do,” he told the walkway, then continued on. The rain lightened, but that didn't make his journey any easier. When he finally arrived at the front door, he felt like he'd walked a mile. That was nothing to the weight that pressed down on him as he raised his right hand and rang the doorbell.

  The woman who opened the door wasn't his mother. She had the same vague shape, the same penciled-on eyebrows and beauty mark above the right side of her frowning mouth, but it wasn't her. Rita Mason was a smiler, a woman who carried sunshine on her face even when the darkest clouds gathered. The woman at the door was pallid and stooped, while his mom had been a proud woman, maybe too proud, who always stood straight and square shouldered. The woman standing behind the screen door looked something like what he remembered, but with none of the life, the light. This wasn't the mother he’d driven away from six years ago, and her first words confirmed it.

  “Well hell, look what the rain washed in. What do you want?”

  The breath Kyle hadn’t realized he’d held whooshed out of him. “Wow. Love you too, Mom.”