Ten Open Graves: A Collection of Supernatural Horror

by David Wood

“So how is this going to save me?” she asked, keeping her eyes averted as if she did not want to witness the tragedy being done to her flesh. “A tat on my arm? This better do the trick or I’ll have your eyes for dinner.”

  He chuckled and resumed inking the circular figure. “It’ll work. It's just I can’t tell you how or what you’ll need to do. You’ll have to discover that yourself. That’s how these things work.”

  “A whole hell of a lot of good that’ll do me when I’ve got the wraiths breathing down my neck.”

  Her words hit a nerve. Already his tats were distressed as if responding to some sort of stimulus. William thought he knew why. He remembered the same reaction during Kelly’s trepanning episode. If his hunch was right he needed to conclude this tat session fast.

  He flinched from a sudden pain. It felt as if the Grim Reaper above his navel had sunk its scythe into his gut. His body clinched.

  “Ouch!” Kelly yelled, jerking her arm away.

  “Sorry. Went a little too deep there. Feeling a bit rushed.”

  Kelly gasped. “You should be. Look.”

  William followed her wide-eyed stare to the front of the shop. Two pierced wraiths gazed through the front glass window.

  “Christ, the door’s unlocked,” he said.

  “Don’t worry. I locked it behind me. Becomes second nature after so many days of pursuit.”

  “Good. That should buy us enough time to finish.” He turned back to the task, willing his hands to stop shaking.

  “Actually, not a whole lot of time. Doors, walls, tanks; nothing can stop them. They’ll come right on through.”

  Before she even finished her sentence, he saw the wraiths press themselves against the window. He quickened his pace and hoped for no mistakes.

  “Hurry.” Kelly’s eyes were glued to the front, watching the pierced wraiths gradually inch their way through the glass.

  He finished the last few swipes, wiping nervous sweat from his brow. “Done.”

  She drew her gaze away from the glass entrance and studied the artwork on her arm. “What the hell is that? A snake biting its tail?”

  “Ouroboros. You’ve seen it before on my arm. Represents the continuous cycle of life and death. The perfect tat if you want my opinion.”

  He took a glance at the front of the shop. The glass looked like a billion dancing dots, as if the pierced wraiths had magically separated the individual atoms that made the window a composite, making it easy for them to pass through.

  Not needing further encouragement, He escorted Kelly down the hall, opening the cracked wooden door at the rear of the shop.

  She paused before stepping into the dark alley. “How does this work again?”

  “You have to discover that on your own. Just follow your instincts.”

  “Sounds like a crock of bull to me.”

  “Trust me. The tattoo will let you know what to do? Now go. I’ll delay them as long as I can.”

  She kissed his cheek, running her palm across his stubbly skin. “Be careful. Thanks for everything.”

  “Good luck. Now scram.” He shut the door and turned back down the hallway. The air quivered. The ink on his skin grew increasingly restless, crawling like frantic ants. The intensity of his skin’s irritation and the insidious energy in the air meant one thing. Two wraiths rounded the corner and started down the hall.

  “Where is she?” the lead wraith asked, its tinny voice unnerving. It sounded like an old LP recording full of pops and scratches. Its eyes danced with tiny dots like the dancing atoms in the window they had just floated through.

  “Who?” William stood his ground.

  “Ah, he wishes to play games.” The second pierced wraith pushed past his comrade, its television static eyes filling William’s mind with an unbearable din.

  William recoiled as the jangling chains with their meat infested hooks elicited horrible premonitions.

  “Last chance. Where is she?”

  “Blow yourself.”

  “Have it your way.”

  Both wraiths shot forward, converging on William. In such close proximity, their iridescence blinded him. He raised his arms. The stench of decomposition and the sound of rattling chains sent him into a downward spiral.

  He flailed his arms, trying to fend them off. He felt himself being pushed to the ground. Despite their ghostly constitution, the pierced villains sported much strength. The static in his head intensified.

  An odd sensation of being pricked erupted across the landscape of his flesh. He imagined millions of miniscule holes plastering his entire body. A sticky substance oozed into the holes left by the perforations. The wraiths were trying to enter his soul the way they had entered the glass window. He wondered if they would break down his body into a billion atoms the way they had the glass.

  William’s tattoos responded to his terror. They left trails of fire on his skin as they scampered like a pack of frightened dogs.

  He screamed. He couldn’t help it. Perforations, possession, rioting tattoos; the bombardment on his senses pushed him to the edge. He felt like an empath forced to witness the infamous death showers at Auschwitz.

  He screamed again, his hold on reality crumbling. Just as he closed his eyes to give in there sounded a guttural roar as something leaped from his skin. He heard a couple metallic shrieks and the sticky ooze invading his system retreated like an ebbing tide. He heard a brief struggle then everything settled, including his protesting tats.

  Sitting with his back propped up against the hallway wall, he opened his eyes and tried to assess his bewildered frame of mind.

  He recalled the sensation of being pricked, how it fired up every nerve in his body. It had felt like a million tattoo needles striking his flesh at the same time. He rubbed his arms, legs and torso, disgusted by the memory.

  Perforations.

  That seemed an appropriate way to categorize the sensation. From now on he would call the pierced wraiths Perforators. He shuddered at the revolting thought of their attempt to possess him.

  Standing, he steadied himself against the wall, his senses still reeling from the Perforators’ assault. He sauntered to the front of the shop and plopped down on the chair behind his maple wood desk. He ran a forefinger across the hardcover of Chung’s black magic tattoo book.

  For years William had ensured that every inked patch of skin on his physique had been a black magic rendering. They had sat dormant for years, only recently showing slight signs of life such as itching or burning.

  However, something had chased the Perforators away.

  He recalled the roar, and the feeling of something leaping from his skin. He looked at the images married to his epidermis. After a few brief scans, he settled in on the Ouroboros. It took a few seconds for him to see the almost imperceptible change.

  A pale pigmentation had formed around the upper edge of the Ouroboros circle, the skin looking as if it had not seen a ray of sun in decades. It gave William the impression that the Ouroboros had tried to settle back into its original position, but missed the mark by less than a millimeter.

  Signs of life.

  He smiled, reassured by this sudden insight. The tats did possess mystical powers after all and if Kelly played her cards right, she could win the battle.

  Chapter 17: Pursuit

  “I can’t believe you’ve taken the Goth Lolita look public. I thought it was to ward off the ogre.” Trish had just met Kelly in the coffee shop ten minutes prior, but it was already the fourth time she had commented on Kelly’s appearance.

  “It was mainly a self-defense mechanism used to disgust my stepfather. I have to admit, though, that I’ve grown fond of it.”

  She sympathized with her friend’s shock. She did look like a completely transformed version of her old self; her T-shirts and tight black jeans traded in for permanent vegetan Gothic attire. Short cropped brown hair sprouted where she once boasted an eggplant pageboy cut. She used to wear the ghostly white foundation and corpse blue lipstick lightl
y, but now it had become a full blown assault in an attempt to hide the scars from where the chains had been yanked out.

  “Even more shocking; you got yourself a tat,” she said, her mouth wide open. She rubbed the skin on Kelly’s forearm, tracing the black ink. “I still can't believe it. Well, I suppose it’s intriguing.”

  “Intriguing?” Kelly fought the urge to flick her eyes across the crowded coffee house. The constant desire to flee kept her fidgeting like a squirrel eating nuts in a coyote den. “I went against all my principles and got this freaking worm tat and all you can say is intriguing?”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be my first choice.”

  “I know. Princess.”

  Trish leaned forward. “Good lord. Those scars. What about those?”

  Kelly took a sip from her double soy latte, hoping to mask her irritation. She studied Trish’s damaged face. “You first. What’s up with the black eye and the bruises on your neck?”

  Trish averted her gaze, looking into the steaming hot cocoa placed in front of her. She tapped her fingers on the redwood table. “The city’s changed. Different groups aren’t tolerating each other anymore. You know what I mean? Like grungers not getting love from punkers. Even tattoo and piercing supporters are becoming divided. Haven’t you noticed?”

  Kelly looked around the room. The popular coffee house bustled with Friday night energy. Puddle Town Coffee, when it opened a year ago in a former meat packing facility in the Pearl District, struck a chord with Portland’s angst-ridden youth who were angry at everything, including the unchangeable fact that they lived in a city where it rains over 150 days each year.

  There did appear to be an undercurrent of animosity far beyond the normal teenage squabbling over books, films, fashion and Oregon weather. Usually Portland’s liberal stance allowed various factions to coexist. However, there seemed to be more apparent divisions, more cliques separating the teens and young adults than normal.

  “So what happened?” Kelly asked, fiddling with her nose ring.

  “At school this group of girls, piercing junkies like you, were following me on the way to gym class. They started making fun of my ‘PRINCESS’ tat. They started catcalling and asking if I put out and saying I must because why else would I have a tramp stamp. They circled me right outside the gymnasium door. First they just pushed and shoved. It gradually got rougher until I slipped and fell. One kicked me in the eye, the other put her foot on my neck, pushing down hard and calling me a cute little tramp over and over again.”

  “Jesus, I’m so sorry,” Kelly said. Her eyes darted around the room. She snarled at two Japonophiles perched on the rail overlooking the first floor. They gave her a steely stare. She knew the Caucasian boys from school. The ultra white boys had taken their love of all things Japanese-manga, anime, sashimi-to a heightened level. They had died their blond hair jet-black, copied Japanese fashion by often wearing bikini-pants and even went so far as to have their eyelids cosmetically altered to mimic the oriental slant.

  “Your turn. What about those scars?”

  Kelly struggled with an answer. She hadn’t told Trish she had succeeded in piercing through. Instead, she told her she had ridden Amtrak to Santa Cruz to visit her cousins. That was the alibi she had created to explain her weeks of absence. She decided to elaborate on that particular lie.

  “It was crazy. My cousins are into this piercing through thing like me. We decided to attempt a scarification ritual. We thought if we scarred ourselves up real good we would do it, pierce through and all.”

  “Those are all self-inflicted?” Trish’s incredulous expression almost made Kelly laugh. “Why on earth would you do that?”

  “Come on, Trish. You know why. These days, all I can think about is piercing through.”

  “It didn’t work, did it? You’re still here and now you’ll have those scars for life. Maybe you should just forget this obsession of yours. “

  Kelly frowned. “I’ll think about it.”

  She wondered why William hadn’t broached the subject of her marred flesh. Perhaps he had figured out the connection between her scars and the escape from the tower of flesh. Maybe his silence was a gracious gesture, intended to alleviate her self-consciousness.

  Kelly maintained her nervous scrutiny of the crowd. She sensed the aggressive vibes bouncing around the eatery but didn’t fear it. She was more concerned with the pierced wraiths. She had chosen Puddle Town Coffee as a place to reunite with Trish, knowing it would be packed to the gills on a Friday night.

  So far the pierced wraiths had shown an aversion to public appearances, only revealing themselves in private, secretive fashion. She doubted they would rear their unholy faces in such a busy environment. Still, it seemed prudent to maintain a vigilant eye.

  “Man, Trish, it’s really good to see you again,” she said, raising the white ceramic coffee mug to her lips. She loved the large blue raindrop painted on the cup, just below the inscribed name of the shop.

  “Same here. Hey look. It seems a little edgy in here tonight. You want to go somewhere quieter?”

  Kelly grimaced. She lifted herself off the seat to peer over the railing. The tension was as palpable on the first floor as it was on the balcony. However, she didn’t relish the idea of stepping out onto the dim-lit streets. Despite the anxious vibe, she felt less vulnerable immersed in the crowd.

  “Nah, don’t worry. Nothing is going to happen.”

  “You’re not the one who took a boot in the eye for having a tattoo on my lower back.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you chose not to wear pants that show off your crack tonight,” Kelly said with a smile. She watched two young men, both displaying a heavy accruement of studs, barbells, captive bead rings and plugs. Her type all the way. They stared at three statuesque females, cheerleader types with long flowing hair and cardigan sweaters. Their aggressive stares were not of a sexual nature, but clearly radiated resentment, or disgust.

  Four Juggalos huddled over a redwood table along the west wall, their faces painted in imitation of their beloved Insane Clown Posse. Their eyes, staring out through black and white makeup, threw daggers of malicious intent at any who glanced in their direction.

  The segregated room continued to surprise Kelly.

  “How long has this been going on?” she asked.

  “What? People acting all crazy? I don’t know. What ever happened to tolerance?”

  “Gives a new perspective to the phrase ‘birds of a feather flocking together’,” Kelly said. In a city known for diversity, it was strange to see people seeking security among their own type. The sudden desire to divide up into defensive factions scared her. What were they frightened of?

  She dismissed her musing. Something more important needed to be unloaded from her thoughts. “So Trish, do you notice anything funny about my arm?”

  Trish scooted her mug of cocoa to the side and leaned closer, scrutinizing the skin below the Ouroboros tat with the thoroughness of a dermatologist.

  “Look close.”

  “That is strange. It looks like, I don’t know, bleach. Did you bleach your skin?”

  “No. That’s where the tat used to sit. Willy inked it right there, in a circular shape. The dragon was biting its own tail.”

  “It’s not biting its tail anymore. It’s straight. How in the world?”

  Kelly threw up her hands and looked over the railing. A biker dude, tatted up and decked in leather head to toe, took the stairs two at a time, his chest thrust forward like a rooster declaring his prowess. He emitted the same nervous energy already prevalent in the air.

  “Kelly, how is that possible?”

  She turned back to her friend. “I don’t know. It started a few days ago. I woke up and noticed it was no longer a circle and it had moved a few centimeters up my arm. Sometimes it itches unbearably. I just want to rip it out. It’s a tat, though, not a piercing. You just can’t yank it out when you’re tired of it. I should have never let him talk me into it.”

/>   Trish looked up from examining the white circular pigmentation. “You mean this tat wasn’t your idea? Why did you do it? You’ve always hated tattoos.”

  “Too complicated to explain. Call it a heat of the moment thing.”

  Trish grinned. “Ah. Trying to impress the Tat Man. Figured you could worm your way into his heart with some ink of your own, right?”

  Kelly drew her lips inward and dropped her eyebrows. Sometimes she just couldn’t understand how Trish’s mind worked. “Yeah, whatever you want to think. It's unimportant now. I need to figure this creepy tat out. It's got me freaking.”

  “I’m sure your boyfriend can help you out. He’s the expert. What’s he say?”

  “Trish, I don’t know how to say this, but I can’t go back to Willy. I mean I care for him and all, but something’s going on right now.”

  “No need to explain. I get it. You slept with him and now you can’t face your regrets. It happens more than you think.”

  “Oh, that is so wrong.” Kelly rubbed her forehead. “This isn’t helping any.”

  “Okay, I got it.” Trish’s eyes widened. “Get the damn thing removed. I know all kinds of ways to do it. I wanted to make sure I could get rid of mine if I changed my mind down the road. So I did a lot of research; laser removal, dermabrasion, chemical peels, acid peels. There’s all types of ways.”

  “Not a half bad idea,” Kelly said, wondering why she hadn’t thought of it herself. “I might look into it.” She drained the last contents of her mug, gritting her teeth as sludge from loose espresso grounds coated the back of her tongue.

  The nervous energy had revved itself up over the past few minutes. Fewer people sat at the redwood tables, preferring to pace back and forth.

  With the pierced wraiths hunting her, Kelly had been feeling and acting like a prey animal for weeks, expecting her pursuers to emerge at any given moment. She hadn’t expected to find everyone at Puddle Town Coffee exhibiting the same frantic mannerisms. Everyone seemed on edge, starting to panic like woodland animals sensing an oncoming earthquake.

  The Juggalos squared off with a group of motley costumed kids, SlipKnot fans that assertively referred to themselves as Maggots and who conspicuously dressed like their adored band members.