Ten Open Graves: A Collection of Supernatural Horror

by David Wood

  “Thanks,” William said, extending a hand towards the emcee.

  The emcee shook it and returned to a purple vanity table inside the cramped dressing room. He gazed into the mirror and brushed his whiskers with a fine-toothed comb.

  Whiskers. That was the oddity about the emcee’s face he couldn’t place from the bar. He caught himself staring. For a second, their eyes met in the mirror and William looked away.

  “Go ahead and look,” the emcee said, his gravelly and authoritative voice soothing William’s worry. “Your friend Kelly has already asked me about it. Wouldn’t have got it done if I didn’t want people to take notice.”

  He smoothed and straightened the white whiskers. “You know, roosters can be quite vicious when competing for a hen. Maybe Rooster felt the competition.” His wise old eyes roved back and forth between his two visitors.

  William nodded. “Sure. I’ve heard horror stories about cock fighting. With Kelly and me-it’s not like that. Kelly and I are just…”

  “Don’t bother explaining. It is what it is.” He continued to groom his whiskers, making sure each strand was in place. “Now about these whiskers. I had a cosmetic procedure done ten years ago to have them implanted in my cheeks. I wanted to find a small way to contribute to the body modification craze. Don’t like tats. Don’t like piercing. Can’t stomach scarification or any sort of mutilation. I’ve always been drawn to cats, though. Wouldn’t mind being one; eating and sleeping all day. The perfect existence if you ask me.”

  “I think they’re adorable,” Kelly said. In her playful and innocent way she reached out and stroked the white hairs.

  He pushed her fingers away. “Careful. Wouldn’t want to incite the Rooster, would we?”

  Kelly laughed. William peeked back at the guard. Rooster stood at his post, rigid as a statue.

  Kelly rested her hip against the vanity table, looking down at Cat Whiskers. “I saw the YouTube video.”

  Cat Whiskers shrugged, reluctant to comment, the silence taut with tension.

  Kelly probed again. “I’m curious about the lady doing the radical suspension stunt.”

  Now William knew why they were here. It was her fishing trip. He feared where she intended to go with this conversation. He flinched as she continued speaking.

  “Some say she pierced through.” She threw the idea out there as if it was the most natural topic in the world.

  William watched the emcee’s jaw tighten and his shoulders hunch. William debated what was worse, a rooster’s rage or a cat’s hissy fit? If she kept prodding, they just might find out.

  “I know it’s probably a sensitive subject. I’ve been thinking a lot about piercing through lately.”

  A fist slammed down on the vanity table. Kelly jumped. Cat Whiskers looked at her with imploring eyes. He rubbed his sore fist. “All you kids have it in your head about this piercing through mumbo jumbo. The need to believe, not just this piercing through jargon, but any urban myth is compelling. I understand that, but…”

  “It’s not urban myth.”

  “Neither is Bloody Mary I suppose. You have such a strong inclination for belief. Why not believe in the bible, or god, something traditional?”

  “Do you believe the bible?”

  “No. I don’t feel the need to believe in any type of lore. I’m content to simply exist, like a cat. I’ll take my pleasures as they come my way and when it’s my time to go I’ll go. No questions asked.”

  “That’s the difference between you and me. You actually think there is some pleasure to be found in this world.”

  Kelly’s statement left a hole in William’s heart. Did she really think like that?

  “Correct me if I’m wrong. You do think there is some pleasure to be gained from this existence, right?”

  Cat Whiskers looked at her with despondent eyes. A small tear trickled down his cheek, beading on a white whisker. Kelly transferred the teardrop to her fingertip. She looked at it in disgust.

  “Too many of these floating around,” she said and flicked the tear away.

  Cat Whiskers patted her knee. “Fine, young lady. What do you need to know?”

  “Do you really not believe in piercing through?” Kelly dropped to one knee at the emcee’s side. She rested one hand on the back of the chair. “For some reason I think you do believe, somewhat anyway.”

  “Fakir Musafar. You ever hear of him?”

  “Sure. He’s known as the father of the modern primitive.”

  “Correct, young lady. The funny thing is he’s been studying body modification and extreme rituals for over fifty years. He firmly believes that intense body manipulation can result in spiritual growth and healing. He still lectures about it at universities. You’d think if anyone knows a thing or two about piercing through it would be him. Strangely enough, he’s never mentioned it.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” She scrunched her face. “Then again, maybe it doesn’t interest him. Piercing through to a parallel dimension goes way beyond your normal spiritual enlightenment. It takes you to an entirely different level. Maybe it’s his personal choice not to pursue it.”

  “Could be,” Cat Whiskers said. He gave her a compassionate smile. “You really want to believe this, don’t you?”

  “Damn Skippy I do. So whatever happened to that performer in Chicago?”

  “Janice?”

  “I guess, if she’s the one who fell from the chains.”

  “Yeah, that was Janice all right,” Cat Whiskers said, a hint of sadness tainting his tone. “I should never have let them two try that ridiculous stunt. It was doomed from the start. The laws of physics made it impossible. They said they knew a way.”

  William’s mind started to drift. Some fanatic named Fakir, body manipulation, parallel dimensions; he had no idea what they were talking about. The tussle with Rooster had temporarily alleviated his drunken stupor, but as his mind wandered off, and the adrenaline subsided, the lingering bourbon returned like a knockout punch. He grabbed his spinning head and rode out a wave of nausea.

  He strained to hear Kelly as she pursued the conversation.

  “Yeah, pretty unfortunate what happened to Janice. In the video you helped her sit up and she just sat with a blank stare. Some woman in the audience kept screaming that she had pierced through, and the idea seemed to catch on. It seemed everyone in the audience started mumbling about it.”

  “She didn’t pierce through. Weeks after that performance she remained lost to us, withdrawn. Nothing could bring her out of her shell.”

  “What happened?”

  “We finally had her committed. She had no immediate family, so all of us involved in Sodom’s Sideshow had a meeting. We came to a unanimous decision; to the padded cell for poor Janice. What else could we do?”

  Kelly paused. William could tell she was weighing her options. “I hope this doesn’t offend you, but could you tell me what institution she’s at?”

  “It won’t do you any good.”

  “Regardless, I want to know.”

  “Like I said, it won’t do you any good. I haven’t told you the rest of the story.” He turned his chair to face Kelly. He leaned toward her like a Shaman preparing to reveal his deepest knowledge. His whiskers trembled. “You see, Janice was a great young lady, much like yourself. In fact you are too much like her for your own good. She also had this crazy obsession, like yours, about piercing through.”

  William’s heart lurched. Piercing through. The emcee was adding fuel to the fire.

  “Janice had studied up on this guy Peter Halvorson. He runs a trepanation advocacy group.”

  “Trepanation?” Kelly asked.

  “Yeah, the practice of drilling holes in the cranium. Anyway, after several correspondences with this Peter fellow, Janice became convinced that trepanation could be the key to piercing through. She became a trepanation advocate herself. Her ideas have actually taken root among piercing fanatics.”

  Kelly brimmed with excitement like a detective
uncovering a crucial clue. She pulled at her lip ring. “So this trepanation idea, what do you think about it?”

  “I believe that if piercing through is real it takes an ultimate extreme act to accomplish it, an experience that pushes one to the outer limits of endurance. In that respect, trepanation might work.”

  Kelly stood, thrusting her earnest smile inches from Cat Whiskers’ face. “You have to tell me how to reach Janice. You must.”

  “As I keep saying, it won’t do you any good.”

  “Why not?”

  The grizzled emcee turned away from Kelly and looked at his reflection in the vanity mirror. “I haven’t been totally honest with you. Janice actually recovered from her catatonia. She never contacted me after leaving the hospital and my efforts to find her always failed. Some of her friends said that after coming out of her daze she was even more obsessed with trepanation. It captivated every moment of her waking life. One of her good friends told me she actually tried it, thinking she would pierce through.”

  “Unbelievable,” Kelly whispered. “Did she succeed?”

  “Who knows? You tell me. Nobody’s seen her since.”

  “So she did it. Where else could she be? Damn, she actually did it.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Who else can I talk to? Is there anyone who might know more?”

  He waved her away. “I’ve told you all I’m going to tell you. Please leave.”

  “But…”

  “I’m sorry. No more questions.” His cooperation slammed shut like a trap door. He resumed combing his whiskers, gazing into the mirror like a prima donna.

  “Just tell me one more thing.”

  “Get out. Leave. Now.” Like a true cat, the emcee’s mood swung from one end of the pendulum to the other, the hissy fit striking with tremendous force. He threw the comb to the floor and began pushing Kelly out the door, all the while shrieking at the top of his lungs. “You had to push it, didn’t you? Leave it be if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Come on. We’re out of here.” William grabbed Kelly’s elbow. He wanted to get her away from the volatile scene. She was prone to a short fuse and he didn’t want to face the wrath of both Rooster and Cat Whiskers should her temper explode.

  As they hurried past, Rooster gave them a withering look, but they managed to exit the club without escalating the unstable situation.

  The misty autumn air did wonders to clear his head. He swallowed the moist air, relieved to be free from the madness. Grindcore, exaggerated piercing rituals, an emcee with cat whiskers, a burly guard named Rooster, trepanation; it sounded like a scene from a punked up version of Through The Looking Glass.

  As they walked back to Inkenstein they passed the city’s late night drifters; tweakers, hookers, street bums and a few stragglers who had enjoyed Sodom’s Sideshow’s performance a short while ago. Jazzed up from the modern primitive exhibition, the lingering punkers, grungers and emos looked geared for trouble.

  William studied the scene with a cautious eye, pulling Kelly closer. She paid no attention, continuing to babble about Cat Whiskers.

  “He knows more than he’s saying. I’m so frustrated. I feel so close to figuring it out. Why couldn’t he just put me in touch with someone who could tell me more? I’m absolutely positive Janice figured out how to do it.”

  “I think you should forget about Cat Whiskers and this whole idea about piercing through. The guy was out of his mind. Can you really trust an old fart with cosmetically implanted whiskers? A little screwy if you ask me.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched a group of three grunge-heads lounging against the brick side of a building. They had straight long hair that ran midway down their backs, stocking caps, flannel shirts and torn jeans. They must have forgotten that the age of Nirvana had passed over a decade ago. William minded his own business and escorted Kelly around the corner onto SW Ankeny Street.

  “I don’t know silly Willy,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. “All night things have been pointing in the same direction. First, the night terrors, or the Sleep Crusher as you call it. Then the coincidence of Sodom’s Sideshow being in town and meeting the emcee, who I’m sure knows more about Janice piercing through than he admits. It’s all related somehow.”

  “Kelly, you’re not making a lick of sense. You have no proof Janice pierced through and I still don’t see how you’re connecting the dots with your night terrors.”

  “I think the world beyond piercing through is trying to give me a cue. The night terrors might be their way of reaching out to me, sort of a prompt to go ahead and do it.”

  He shivered, more from her inane talk than the chilly night air. “So what are you going to do? Trepanation?”

  “Don’t know. I’ve got a lot to think about. What a night.” She looped an arm around his waist and squeezed him tight. “Thanks for coming, really. You’re a good friend.”

  “Kelly,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. “I want you to know that if you ever want to talk, you know, about things that are really bothering you I’d gladly listen. I mean it. Anything, anytime.”

  “I know.”

  Once, Chung had told him about the Shadowed Forest, a spiritual plane where dead souls wandered in search of transcendence. Tattoos served as talismans to ward off malicious beings seeking to devour the dead souls before they can reach Nirvana.

  Maybe piercing through represented something similar to the Shadowed Forest. If so, then Kelly treaded on dangerous ground and maybe his ambition to pursue black magic tattoos had been motivated by more than wanting to have his own share of secrets. Maybe all along he had sensed her reckless leanings and knew in his heart he would one day be her protector.

  Now that Cat Whiskers had planted fresh seedlings in her mind, William feared that little sand remained in the hourglass, making him feel obligated to activate the black magic ink on his skin as soon as possible.

  He rolled up his jean jacket and examined the Ouroboros tat on his left forearm. It lay there resplendent in its suggestion of power, much like a Giger biomechanical painting. In the end, however, his tats were just tats, and Giger’s paintings were just paintings; useless to do anything but inspire awe and speculative talk.

  If the task of protecting Kelly was the moment his obsession with black magic tattoos was leading to then he needed to find a way to unlock the dormant ink before Kelly opened doors that should never be opened.

  He vigorously rubbed the Ouroboros with force. It failed to respond. He looked at Kelly and sighed. He couldn’t fail her. He just couldn’t.

  Damn this passive ink.

  Back at Inkenstein William did not sleep away the few hours until dawn. Kelly slept in the reclining patient’s chair while he immersed himself in the black magic tattoo book one more time. He poured over it, looking for any clue, however slight, that could assist him in finding answers.

  It proved to be a fruitless effort. By dawn the ink on his skin remained as dormant as a drunken sorority girl passed out on the floor.

  Chapter 9: Apostle Peter

  It felt good to be home. Kelly stretched out across her red comforter, not attempting to block the rays spilling through her second story bedroom window onto her face. The October sun warmed her cheeks. She enjoyed the last bit of UV radiation knowing the glowing orb in the sky would soon hibernate, as it did every winter in Oregon.

  She had slept at Inkenstein until William woke her minutes before opening for business. She went to Voodoo Doughnuts and bought him a Cock and Balls for breakfast before catching the bus back home.

  Having showered and changed into checkered pajama pants and a fresh Dr. Acula band shirt, her mind drifted to the previous night’s activities. Cat Whiskers had given her a lot to chew on.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, she reached down and booted up the PC on the floor. She grabbed the keyboard from the dresser and with it nestled in her lap she Google searched Peter Halvorson. Plenty of links to the apostle of modern da
y trepanning filled the screen.

  When Cat Whiskers had first mentioned trepanning she imagined it to be nothing more than an extreme body modification ritual. However, it seemed the act had an extensive history. It could be traced back to Neolithic times where holes were drilled in heads to free trapped spirits. Before modern medicine, it was also believed to be a cure for seizures, migraines and mental insanity.

  Navigating back a couple pages, she returned to a link she previously passed over. The headline read The Hole Story. It related the account of Peter Halvorson’s self-trepanation. While in Amsterdam, Peter had suffered a period of debilitating depression. His answer? Trepanation. He attached a cordless drill to the ceiling and pushed up against it until he penetrated the cranium. The incredible feat garnered him cult status among the subculture crowd who misinterpreted it as a radical form of body modification.

  Curiosity aroused, she filtered through hundreds of more links, not finding one shred of evidence that Peter Halvorson advocated piercing through. So what had convinced Janice that the two were connected?

  She kept scrolling through screen after screen of Google links. Minutes passed before she clicked on a link that took her to a blog titled Mod Prims. The writer, a modern day primitive proponent, had several archived entries that mentioned piercing through. Mostly he wrote from the perspective that piercing through was an urban legend gaining popularity with the piercing crowd. One entry recounted various methods used to try to pierce through and trepanning was listed among them.

  The blogger admitted that in his home city, Atlanta, he had interviewed several people who had tried unconventional methods to pierce through, such as self-flagellation, tongue splitting and eyeball tattooing. However, the most popular and vaulted method came down to trepanning. Most in the alternative arts agreed trepanning produced the best and most consistent results.

  There it was; the one shred of evidence Kelly’s mind required to turn a far-fetched hunch into reality. She knew the Internet was full of misinformation and deceit, but sometimes you wanted to believe badly enough that discarding rationality became a cinch.