Ten Open Graves: A Collection of Supernatural Horror

by David Wood

  William shook his head. “That doesn’t fit. The Perforators came from the holes I drilled in her head. They took her away. She didn’t go on her own accord.”

  “Perforators? I’ve never heard them called that.”

  “Coined it myself.”

  “Fitting name. Anyway, the darkness in all of our minds serves as a gateway to the Shadowed Forest. All of us are linked to the pit. As for your friend, she must have been very close to gaining access. The Perforators more than likely nabbed her as a preemptive move. They probably wanted to capture her while they could, before she could enter and lose herself. Then they’d have to hunt her. Not an easy task. There are too many places to hide in that eternal darkness.”

  William removed his glasses. The burning incense had become less floral and more acrid, stinging his eyes. “This is all so much to process.”

  “Certainly. And I’ve probably told you too much already.”

  “One more thing. You said Kelly is as good as dead.”

  Chung bent low, pretending to busy himself with the herb jars in the aquarium display. “Oh, that. Forget I mentioned it.”

  “I can’t. She’s my friend. I gave her a black magic tattoo.”

  “Impossible. How?”

  William cringed. He thought about admitting his theft, but dismissed the notion. He would keep the stolen vials of blood his secret. He couldn’t afford to alienate the herbalist now.

  Chung glared at William with open suspicion in his eyes. “I said, how did you make a black magic tattoo? Where did you get the blood?”

  “I didn’t use blood. I tried more conventional methods of black magic; you know, the dark arts.”

  “Tell me.”

  Chung’s insistence took William aback. “You know. The usual stuff such as séances. I summoned a spirit and tried to infuse its energy with the ink. Sat in a circle of candles, uttered incantations, the whole works.”

  “Then I’m afraid your friend is doomed. It won’t work.”

  William chose his words carefully so as not to give himself away. “If I find her and bring her here, you could give her one of your black magic tattoos, your special Thai tats. That would save her, right?”

  Clucking his tongue, Chung walked to where William sat on the stool. He placed a consoling hand on his shoulder. “My friend, I don’t think you fully understand Kelly’s situation. I could give her a tattoo. That might protect her for a short time. Those

  Perforators, as you call them, will claim what is theirs eventually. That’s just how it works.”

  Thinking back to his last physical encounter with Kelly, William knew the herbalist spoke truth. He remembered the strong smell of decay permeating the air. She had called it their insurance policy, their way of ensuring victory. She could either surrender and accept her fate on the tower of flesh, or continue to flee until the atrophy in her body reduced her muscles to gelatinous rot.

  So why did they even bother with pursuit if she was doomed to die anyway? What incentive did they have to take her back to the Shadowed Forest? He didn’t have time to ask all the right questions.

  Instead, he focused on the guilt crushing his shoulders. He should have refused the trepanation. Just the basic act of piercing practiced in parlors across the country violated his principles. He couldn’t even count how many Inkenstein customers he had turned away, sticking to his ‘no piercing’ scruple. However, he had gone against his better judgment and drilled holes in Kelly’s head. He should have foreseen this mess it had created.

  He had a good idea how to right that wrong.

  “I want a white magic tattoo.”

  Chung took a step back. “No way. You’re not ready. You can’t even use black magic. What makes you think you’re ready for white magic? I won’t do it.”

  “I have to try. Please.”

  Chung turned his back and walked away. “Get lost. You’re in way over your head.”

  William launched himself off the stool. He tackled the fragile old man, rolled him over on his back and pinned him to the ground with a forearm across his chest. “I have to try, you hear me? I’m responsible for this mess and I won’t sit back and do nothing.”Chung gasped. “You really think you’re ready to make the sacrifice needed to be her protector? Do you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t care. I have to give it a shot or I’ll never be able to live with myself. Do I have to beat you to make you understand that?”

  Chung’s lips spread in a yellow gap-toothed grin. “Okay, my friend. If you insist. Now let me up.”

  William helped the old man to his feet. “Sorry about that. I’m just desperate. I can’t let her down.”

  “Well you know how I feel about it. She’s a walking dead man, or should I say dead girl. I can't deny your wish if it's what you truly want. So what will it be?”

  “What?”

  “What kind of white magic tattoo do you want?”

  William thought back to Klahan’s extraction ritual and the forceful spirit he had fought to control. “How about that Yaoguai? That seemed pretty powerful. I bet that demon could stand up to the Perforators.”

  The herbalist clucked his tongue again. “Out of the question. Even for Klahan that was a stretch and that was for an extraction ritual only. For white magic you have to choose something you can coexist with forever. It can never leave your soul or the magic stops.”

  “What would you recommend?”

  “Something along the lines of a python or a panther. No, I got it. A monkey. Yes, a monkey will do just fine.”

  A monkey? Not what he had envisioned. Then he remembered Kelly’s adventures in the Shadowed Forest. She had told him of a simian shape rising up to confront the Perforators.

  “All right, a monkey it is. So what do I have to do?”

  Chung grabbed William by the elbow and drew him over to the stool. “Sit. I’ll be back. Try to calm your energy. Your mind must be empty for this to work. Spirits can’t occupy a cluttered vessel.”

  Dear Jesus. Was he referring to possession?

  The panic he experienced when the Perforators had tried to enter his soul returned. He shuddered. His teeth clattered. He forced himself to draw in deep breaths followed by long exhales. By the time Chung returned, he had managed to enter a state of relative tranquility.

  Then he saw the ropes in the man’s hands. His heart accelerated. His mind raced.

  “I don’t need that.”

  “I’m afraid so. Possession is not a natural thing for the body to endure. Even with your mind emptied, the body will obey a natural instinct to flee. So we use the ropes.”

  William looked down at his Mother Mary tattoo and considered offering her a prayer.

  “You still think you’re ready for this?”

  William nodded. “Doesn’t matter. I have to try. For Kelly.”

  “Right, for Kelly then.” Chung wrapped a length of rope around William’s ankles, binding them to the stool. He tied his hands behind his back and duct taped his mouth shut.

  William closed his eyes and concentrated on reducing his terror. He felt like a hostage being subjected to a paranormal experiment.

  “The key is to let the monkey enter your empty mind. You must contain it, trap it, and make it one with your flesh. When that is accomplished I’ll use invisible palm ink to tattoo your skin. The spirit will then be trapped forever in your flesh. You still want this?”

  William’s eyes opened wide. He couldn’t get his vocals past the duct tape. He nodded.

  “Okay. Bring yourself down. Meditate. You’re too wired.”

  William nodded again, and focused inward. He kept his eyes shut and tried to reach the ever elusive transcendental state. As he neared the point of serenity, a wet thud at the foot of the stool forced his eyes open. A small furry object rested near his feet. In the dim light it could have been anything; a dead rat, or something worse.

  Squirming against his restraints, William flicked his eyes from Chung to the thing on the floor.

 
; “Oh, that?” Chung said. “A monkey’s paw. It will summon our friend. A wandering spirit is always drawn back to reminders of its fleshly existence. Fur, claws, a skull, a tongue; any former body part would do the trick.”

  Mention of the monkey paw took William back to tenth grade English when they had read the short story The Monkey’s Paw. In it, the old couple was granted three wishes by having possession of the cursed paw. For their second wish they had attempted to cheat death by wishing for the resurrection of their recently departed son. He returned from the grave, not how they wanted, but how he had entered it, as a mangled monstrosity.

  After reading the story, the teacher had asked what lessons could be learned from the tale. Charlie Lewis, the class bookworm, had simply answered, “Sometimes it is best just to let things be.”

  The monkey paw on the floor reminded William of Charlie’s words; just let it be. He couldn’t. If there was the slightest possibility Kelly still lived he planned on attempting a rescue. Like the mourning mother in The Monkey’s Paw, he felt there wasn’t any other choice.

  He closed his eyes and tried to relax. He heard Chung making preparations, perhaps gathering needles and palm oil for the tattooing. The sounds of the herbalist’s pattering faded as William entered his inner eye.

  He had never been sold on the notion of meditation, but had to admit it felt good. His mind became a blank slate, as if he had wiped clean a chalkboard covered in scrawl. To start fresh from a place of such calm, perhaps that’s how Buddhists began the journey towards nirvana.

  A buzzing drone like a swarm of locust invaded his inner peace. Beginning at the distant borders of his mind, the sound encroached until it exploded between his ears. Crackling static bounced off the confines of his skull as if he had thrust his head into a thriving beehive.

  Was this the possession? Had the summoned spirit arrived, drawn to the monkey paw like a ghost to a grave site? The escalating static defeated his efforts to remain tranquil. All he could think of was the incredible din between his ears and the sudden itching of his tats.

  “The girl. Where is she?” William recognized the strange voice. He had compared its tinny and scratchy quality to an LP recording he had heard on an old Victrola record player at his grandparents’ house.

  His eyes flicked open. Even before his pupils swam back into focus he knew what he would see.

  They had not summoned the misplaced spirit of a gibbon monkey. Their efforts had summoned much worse; the Perforators.

  The two demons floated through the closed shop door. Despite his terror, he marveled at their ability to reduce physical objects to their rudimentary forms and walk through the millions of dancing atoms as if walking through a sheet of water. However, his marvel turned to horror when he realized they had him trapped. He struggled against the ropes.

  Chung took one look at the overly pierced wraiths with their hooks of rotting meat and bolted into action. He dashed forward pulling a knife from his tunic pocket. He swung around to the back of the stool and with one swipe of the sharp blade cut loose the rope binding William’s hands.

  He didn’t have time for anything else. One of the Perforators pounced on him, its wraith-like form spinning the old man’s frail frame like a child’s toy top. He stumbled backwards, arms flailing, looking as if he was trapped in a luminescent dust devil.

  The remaining Perforator closed in on William. Thousands of pricks erupted across his body as the wraith poured its spirit essence into his fleshly tissues. The individual cells of his body started to disassemble like the atoms in the door.

  Using his freed hands, William worked at the rope fastening his ankles. No use. Chung had tied a complicated knot. William looked around for some other means of escape and saw the knife a few feet away. The herbalist must have dropped it during his struggle with the wraith.

  The approaching Perforator floated less than six feet away. William rocked his body hard to the left. Unbalanced, the stool toppled over. With his legs still tied to the stool, he twisted his torso and used his hands to pull himself across the floor, coming within reach of the knife. He grabbed it and sawed through the rope. He reached up and with a painful yank tore the duct tape from his lips.

  Adjusting his glasses, he assessed the situation. Chung sat with his back against the base of the aquarium, his arms and hands fully extended outward. Somehow that inane pose kept the other Perforator at bay.

  “Chung?”

  The herbalist watery eyes focused on William. The energy he used to neutralize the Perforator exacted a toll. His cheeks twitched, his eyebrows bounced up and down and his lips pulled back in a grimace.

  “Go!” he shouted. “Run.”

  William stared, transfixed by indecision.

  “Run. For Kelly’s sake, go now.”

  Yes. That’s what all this was about. Chung had sworn to a life of sacrifice and was doing his best to help William save Kelly.

  Hoping the Chinese herbalist had enough tricks up his sleeve to deal with the Perforators, William dashed for the door. He felt another blast of static coat his mind as the pursuing wraith sought to incapacitate him. Determination to save Kelly enabled him to push on.

  He came to the closed door. The dancing atoms had resolved back to their composite form. He grabbed the handle and flung the door open. He ran down the cramped passageway to Davis Street, hearing a piercing metallic howl from the frustrated Perforator.

  The howl turned his heart to ice, but he kept running, taking a silent vow not to waste the gracious opportunity Mister Chung had afforded him.

  Chapter 19: Seeking Resolution

  Sipping a steaming double soy latte, Kelly sat at a window stool at Stumptown Coffee so as to keep an eye on the sidewalks. Her vigilant eyes scanned all directions, always on the lookout.

  Another bout of rain plagued the city, forcing her to seek shelter in the coffee shop. For her it was just another day spent bouncing from one business establishment to the next, never lingering long enough for the pierced wraiths to pick up her trail. She wandered the streets, careful to avoid visiting the same locations twice, until late at night exhaustion forced her into a hotel, a different one each night. The routine taxed her, depleting her reserve of strength with each passing day.

  The skin near her removed tattoo itched, but she refused to look. It had been two days since she had heeded Trish’s advice. The removal process had gone well. Because the Ouroboros tat had been a simple design and needled in black ink only, most of the image had disappeared after one treatment. It now looked like a faded remnant of its prior glory. She wasn't through yet. She wouldn’t be satisfied until new pigmentation covered the dragon completely. One more session would probably do the trick.

  The doctor had warned her of some discomfort, thus the need to apply a fresh bandage and ointment each night. This new itching sensation, however, differed and she feared what it might represent.

  Kelly took another sip from her espresso, allowing her eyes to rove up and down Third Avenue, trying to ignore the persistent scratching on her forearm.

  After emptying her coffee mug, she had little else to distract her from the itching.

  Might as well get it over with. She removed her leather jacket, exposing the bandage. As she feared, the itching originated from an area outside the treated area, a couple inches up her forearm towards the bicep. The source of the irritation was obvious; the dragon had reappeared, poking its head beyond the border of the bandage, appearing as bold and fresh as the day Willy had inked it.

  How in god’s green earth?

  Dismayed, she yanked off the bandage, throwing it next to her mug and saucer. She wiped the congealing ointment away with a napkin. The faint outline of the former tattoo still remained, a ghostly image of its former self, but the new head extended from where the first left off.

  She cringed. She couldn’t believe the tattoo was still progressing up her arm, poking its head out of the laser-treated patch of skin.

  What did it want? She let her arm
fall to the side, sickened by the sight. Rage boiled in her veins like coffee in a percolator. She tried to quell the vengeful desire taking seed in her mind.

  Willy should have known better. The tattoo was a direct affront to her piercing purist constitution. So what had possessed him into giving her a tat? He had claimed the black magic ink would somehow protect her but all it had done so far was give her nightmares.

  Every night; the same dream. It always came on hard and fast like a speeding freight train. The imagery it played out in her mental theater shook her to the core. The Ouroboros would creep up her shoulder, cross her breasts and sink its fangs into her heart, killing her on the spot.

  The dream’s clarity gave it the quality of prophecy. Did the Ouroboros intend to finish what the pierced wraiths had started? That thought made her tired beyond her limit. Feeling fatigued, she ached for a place to lay down her head for more than a few hours every night.

  Returning home crossed her mind, but the pierced wraiths would anticipate her return. She needed some place off the radar where she wouldn’t have to worry about constantly moving.

  Her usual haunts were all in the inner city. Perhaps a move to the outskirts of town would suffice in throwing the ghostly hounds off her scent long enough to restore her exhausted senses and for her to devise a more effective plan that didn’t involve hopping from one place to another.

  As she stood to leave the smell of rotten boiled eggs floated up to greet her. Kelly scrunched up her nose. No matter how often she showered, scouring her tender skin until it blossomed cherry red, the odor prevailed. No amount of perfume or body spray masked the offending scent.

  She picked up her vegetan leather jacket and something dropped from one of the pockets. She spotted the pharmacy pill bottle sitting next to a chair leg and scooped it up. She had forgotten about her mother’s morphine pills. A handful of narcotics would be the easy way out of her predicament. She put the pills back in her pocket. Not yet. She still had a lot of fight left.