Ten Open Graves: A Collection of Supernatural Horror

by David Wood

  He crossed the street, making sure she would notice him coming and have a chance to gather herself.

  “Hey,” he said simply as he entered the booth, sat down opposite her.

  She gave him a broad smile that didn't reach her eyes. “Hey yourself.”

  The waitress came over, took Grant's order of coffee, and raised an eyebrow at Cassie.

  She shook her head. “That's all, thanks.”

  The waitress gave them a wink and a knowing smile as she left.

  Grant laughed. “Awkward.”

  “Let 'em think whatever they like.” Cassie grinned and raised her eyebrows.

  “I like that attitude.” And he did. Too often, she seemed beaten down, cowed even. When she showed a little spirit she was radiant.

  They sat in silence for a while, Grant sipping his coffee, Cassie playing with her straw.

  Eventually, Grant said, “So. Wanna tell me what's up?”

  “Nice.” She smirked at him. “You make me go first? Some gentleman you are.”

  “Okay, fine.” He raised both hands in mock surrender. “I found a creepy fucking book that looks like it's written in blood and bound in human skin, and while I was looking at it the pages came alive and moved and screamed.”

  Cassie sat back in her seat, wide-eyed. He saw the panic in her, a trembling like a deer as it froze, trying to decide which way to bolt.

  “You asked,” he said, before she could hightail it out of there. “And I'm pretty sure those Stallard boys are after the damn thing. Their mom came by, acting all neighborly with food and chit-chat while she stalked around the cabin looking for something. Didn't even try to hide it. Then she sent those idiot sons of hers around.”

  “And you think they want the book?” Cassie’s voice was tissue-paper thin.

  “Obviously. I don't know if there's anything else my dad might have left behind that they'd be after, but she did mention the book specifically.” He shrugged.

  “Do they know for sure you have it?” She bit her lip, tension evident in her face.

  “Not for sure, but I think they suspect. I didn't let on that I thought anything was up, and I think they don't take me seriously. Just a dumb city kid.”

  Cassie nodded, said nothing. Silence descended again.

  “So,” Grant said. “How about you tell me why that picture I was looking at spooked you so much?”

  Cassie took a deep breath, visibly steeling herself. “I think I do things at night that I don't remember in the morning. I think I'm under some kind of control or something, like I'm acting out dreams or sleepwalking or who knows what. Carl always wants to stay over. He says he needs to look after me but I don't know if he's really helping or not. Some of the nights he's been there have been the worst. And when I saw that picture, it was like I was seeing one of my dreams or sleepwalks or whatever the hell they are.”

  “You mean you dreamed a scene like that?” Grant remembered the three men, his father on one side, the ceremonial robes and all their hands on the big knife buried in the carcass of a goat.

  Cassie lowered her voice. “This going to sound nuts, but I don't know if I dreamed it. It feels too real. I think I've been there, or somewhere like it. When I saw that picture it triggered a memory and I recall, I clearly recall, a dream where I was lying strapped to a wooden table and men like that, dressed that way, were all around me. Except it can't be a dream, Grant. The memory is too... real. I remember how rough the table top was, how the damp the air was, the little bit of breeze their robes made when they swished. That can't be a dream. I don't know how else to explain it.”

  Grant pressed his lips together and kept his hands in his lap to control their trembling. After a moment, he said, “Can you remember any sounds?”

  Cassie's face creased like she was about to cry. Grant reached out, took both her hands in his across the table.

  “It's okay,” he said. “You can trust me. We can figure this stuff out.”

  Cassie just nodded, face still scrunched up as tears trickled over her cheeks.

  Grant took a deep breath. “There was a chant, wasn't there?” Cassie looked up sharply, so Grant carried on. “All the men and women, there were the voices of both, in a kind of repetitive, monotone chant. And over it all a deep, resounding drum, beating double hits like a giant heart.”

  Cassie sobbed, gripped Grant's fingers so hard he thought they might break. She stared at him with haunted eyes. “How can you know that?”

  “I had the same dream.”

  A contemplative silence hung between them as Cassie took that in.

  “What are we going to do?” she whispered.

  “I don't know,” he admitted. “But there's something weird going on, and we need to understand what it is.”

  Chapter 8

  The Religious Studies department of Stuart College consisted of one very old man with wispy white hair and skin so pale it bordered on translucent. The plate on his office door named him Professor Charles McKenzie. His rheumy eyes regarded Grant with suspicion, but brightened when they saw Cassie. Grant did not miss how they roved up and down her body. Some guys never outgrew it, he supposed.

  “I am sorry,” the professor rasped, “but I require students to make an appointment.”

  “We aren't students,” Cassie began. “We are hoping you can answer some questions we have about a religion we read about in an old book.”

  “Young lady, I might be old, but I do know how to use a telephone, and even email. Why would you drop by?” He looked like he was about to call security. Of course, if Grant or Cassie meant him ill, he'd never make it to the phone before they laid hands on him.

  Grant figured that a career of outmaneuvering sneaky college students had sharpened the old man's wits to the point that trying to bullshit him would likely be futile, so he tried the truth. “We think my father might have been involved in a cult, but the name is one we've never heard before, and we can't find anything online about it. We found a couple of his books and, frankly, they're disturbing. We were in town and this is the only college for two hundred miles. We struck out at the library, but one of the ladies there suggested we speak to you.”

  “What is the name?”

  “We didn't get her name,” Grant said.

  “No, young man. What is the name of the religion in which you suspect your father was involved?”

  Grant and Cassie exchanged looks. He'd never said the word aloud and the thought filled him with an irrational dread.

  “Kaletherex.”

  McKenzie looked poleaxed. He blanched, his pallid face stunned.

  “Do not say that word out loud,” he whispered in a harsh voice. “Wait here.” He wobbled over to his desk and, with a shaky hand, scribbled something onto a slip of paper. “Here.” He thrust it into Grant's hand. “This is my home address. Meet me there in two hours.”

  And he closed the door in their faces.

  They made their way back to Grant's car in silence, both taken aback by the intensity of the man's response. Clearly, Kaletherex was more than just a name in an old book.

  “That was weird,” Grant said as he navigated through the narrow parking lot, careful to avoid the college kids who were either too oblivious or arrogant not to step out in front of a moving vehicle. “But he knows something. That's a good sign.”

  “Maybe he can tell me why I keep having those...” Cassie frowned as she glanced into the side-view mirror, then whipped around.

  “What is it?”

  “I thought I saw Jed and Cliff Stallard back there.” She turned back around and forced a mirthless laugh. “Like those two have ever been on a college campus.”

  “You think they might be following us?” His anger surged and he balled one hand into a fist, barely stopping himself from punching the dashboard. He didn't know if he could handle the two of them at once, but if he laid eyes on them, he just might try.

  Cassie shrugged. “Probably not. Just my imagination. Paranoid.”

  Gran
t wasn't ready to chalk it up to a flight of fancy just yet. He remembered the old saying, Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you. He turned the car around and they made two circuits of the parking lot, but saw neither the young men, nor any pickups with Scott County plates. Finally, they headed out onto the highway, Grant keeping an eye on the rear-view mirror for any signs of pursuit.

  They stopped at a nearby coffee shop where they killed the next hour-and-a-half ignoring their iced mochas and talking about anything but what was truly on their minds. Cassie told him about her alcoholic father and her weird relationship with Carl, who wanted to control her, always wanted to play around, yet never pushed her for actual sex. Grant agreed that was pretty strange behavior for a young man. She told him that the only real passion Carl showed when he touched her was when it was due to the occasional bout of temper. At that, Grant shifted uncomfortably in his seat, dark thoughts in his head, but she told him to forget about it.

  When she was finished, he talked about his distant relationship with his own father, and his confusion about his future. He told her how he had been in a long term relationship with Suzanne since they were both sixteen, and how she had walked out on him, dumping him via voicemail. He didn’t mention how recently it had happened. Cassie was suitably appalled. They finally lapsed into a companionable silence, watching the clock as it crawled toward the appointed hour.

  When it was time, they hopped back into the car and headed for McKenzie's house, which was not far from campus. They hadn't made it far when Cassie cried out. Grant hit the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt in the middle of the street.

  “See all those police cars?” She pointed to a parking lot up ahead where a half-dozen squad cars and campus police vehicles were parked haphazardly, lights flashing. “That's the parking lot we came out of.”

  She was right. Grant's stomach sank as they drew closer. There was no rational reason to believe it had anything to do with him or Cassie, but he was sure it did. He pulled up alongside a cluster of students who were circled in intense conversation.

  Cassie rolled down the window.

  “Hey, what happened up there?”

  A young man in a knit hat with a fringe down the center that make him look like a rooster walked over to the car, propped his elbows on the window, and leaned inside. Grant caught a whiff of clove cigarettes on his breath as he spoke.

  “Dude, one of the professors got whacked right outside the building. Somebody beat him to death. Blood everywhere.” He grinned. “Guess he gave one too many C-minuses.”

  “Who was it?” Grant asked, as tremors of fear rattled through him.

  “Professor McKenzie. The religious studies guy.”

  Cassie made a strangled noise and Grant felt the blood drain from his cheeks. “Beat him to death?” he stammered.

  Clove Breath laughed. “Can you imagine? Right outside the faculty door and nobody saw a thing. How jacked-up is that? Everybody says the cops have got nothing.”

  Grant nodded, his mind swimming in glue as he tried to get his head around it. “Well, shit,” he managed. “Poor bastard.”

  “Yep.”

  Grant pulled away from the curb, knuckles white on the wheel. His breath was fast and shallow, his heart pounded.

  “I did see the Stallard boys,” Cassie said in a thin, high voice. “They killed him!”

  “They didn’t just kill him,” Grant said. “They beat him to death. In public. What the fuck are we dealing with here? Who can do something like that?” Anger battled terror in his gut. He wanted to lash out and do some beating of his own, but he wanted to run away too.

  Cassie began to sob, muttering things Grant couldn’t hear through the blood rushing in his ears.

  “We have to go,” he said, staring down the road. “We just have to get the fuck away from here. Fuck everything and everyone in Wallen’s Gap!”

  Cassie’s breath hitched. “I can’t! My family, my life, it’s all there.”

  Grant turned on her, his eyes dark and furious. “What fucking life?” he demanded, his voice painfully loud in the confines of the car.

  Cassie’s anger rose to meet his. “Fuck you! It might not be much but it’s all I know. You can’t just run away from something like this, leave it unfinished, Grant. Don’t you understand that?”

  The echo of Suzanne’s words stung him, fuelled his anger. “What the hell should we go back for? To get killed by the fucking Stallards ourselves?”

  Cassie pointed out the back window. “That poor man was beaten to death, Grant. Because of us!”

  “And what are we supposed to do about that now?” He was still shouting but Cassie’s words were digging in. When she showed vigor like this it transformed her. Perhaps it was the sudden proximity of death as much as her unexpected fury, but Grant found himself battling lust along with his fear and anger.

  “I don’t know what we do,” Cassie yelled, “but running away is not the answer!” She devolved into tears again, holding her face in her hands.

  Shame rose up in Grant. “I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his voice as much as possible. “The last thing we need to do is turn on each other.”

  Cassie nodded, saying nothing.

  They drove on in heavy silence. Grant breathed deeply, one hand on Cassie's knee as she cried softly. He had no idea what to say to her. When they reached the highway he turned numbly for Wallen's Gap and stared at the road, mind still blank.

  Professor McKenzie had known something, was going to share it with them. Grant hammered a punch onto the steering wheel that made Cassie jump. “Fuck! What was he going to tell us?”

  “Well, he was clearly very scared and didn't want to talk there,” Cassie said quietly. “Who knows what he might have told us. But if he knew something, perhaps someone else does.”

  Grant caught a thought that had been skittering around the edges of his mind. “If those boys followed us up there, and followed us to McKenzie, we have to assume they're going to follow us everywhere.”

  Cassie twisted in her seat to look out the back. “They could be following us now!”

  “I'm sure they're at least looking for us.”

  She took hold of his hand and squeezed so hard it hurt.

  He squeezed back, a calm resolve settling over him. Professor McKenzie died because they asked him questions. He needed to honor the man’s death by at least trying to get some answers. But maybe they needed to look for those answers somewhere a long way from Wallen’s Gap. “Nothing is likely to happen right now,” he said. “They wanted to make sure we didn’t ask any more questions and I’m sure they wanted to send us a message. Scare us.”

  “They did a fine job of it.”

  Grant nodded. “So let’s just keep our heads down and act like it, for now. You can go home, get your things together. I’ll do the same. There’s no rush if they think they’re in control.”

  “And leaving Wallen’s Gap?” Cassie asked.

  “Only if and when you’re ready.” Grant cursed himself, but the thought persisted that he could leave any time he wanted. If Cassie wouldn’t let him help her, take her away, then he could always simply leave Wallen’s Gap as he had found it. He didn’t really owe anyone anything, though he hated himself for thinking that. And he could try to find out more from afar, safe from the killing fists of the Stallards. But he would do his best to help Cassie first. He admired her resolve. “Don't worry. We'll deal with this.”

  “Really? How?” She stared at him, but he couldn't meet her eye.

  Thoughts of his father’s funeral, of Suzanne walking out on him, all seemed so far away. He couldn’t still the subtle trembling in his chest. “I don't know yet. But we will.”

  Chapter 9

  It was dark when they cruised back into Wallen's Gap. The events of the day had taken on a surreal quality, like they had happened to someone else. Grant steered the Camaro up the hill towards Cassie's place: a little house on a dirt road near the church.
>
  Cassie sucked in a sharp breath as they pulled close.

  “What?” Grant asked.

  She nodded towards her house, where the headlights shone on two men sitting on the porch drinking cans of beer. One was Carl. The other was a rangy, stubbled man with mean eyes plainly visible even from a distance.

  “Your dad?”

  Cassie nodded, lips pressed into a flat line.

  The men were deep in conversation and looked up as the car approached. “I could just drive on by,” Grant said. “Why don't you come and stay with me tonight? No funny business,” he added quickly. “Just for some peace and quiet, you know?”

  “It's too late,” she said, her voice dull, her expression flat. “They've seen us.”

  Grant cursed under his breath, pulled the car up to the curb. The men on the porch stood, beers held lazily at hip height, eyes narrowed. Grant cut the engine and made to open his door and Cassie put a hand on his thigh. Her touch thrilled him, but her intent made him cold.

  “Don't,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

  “I just wanted to see you to the door. You know, make sure you're okay.”

  “It'll only make them mad if you come with me. Look at them, they're already worked up just because we're together.”

  He glanced at the men, who scowled down at him. Carl shifted back and forth, as if summoning the courage to confront Grant.

  “If they hurt you...”Grant began.

  “It'll be just like any other day.”

  Grant hated the casual indifference to physical violence that was clearly a part of Cassie's make-up, but he supposed there had to be some kind of self-preservation system at work. “I can take you away, you know. Are you really that tied to this place?”

  Cassie stared into his eyes for a moment, but could not hold the intensity there. “It's not that easy.”