The Light

by D. J. MacHale

  The cemetery had come alive with the dead.

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  It was mind-numbing. There were thousands of them. Multiple thousands. Stony Brook was four centuries old. The cemetery was loaded. They pulled themselves up from below, shook off the dirt from the ages, and began to move . . . toward me.

  The only undisturbed ground was the roadway. Though I was close to the gate, there was no way I was going to plunge into a mass of living corpses to get there. I had to stick to the road. I put my head down and ran. I didn't want to see. It was beyond a nightmare. Their moans grew. I heard the wails of men and women and probably even some children. There were no words, just the sad cry of thousands of people who shouldn't have been disturbed.

  "It's not real," I kept saying to myself. "This can't be happening."

  When somebody dies, their spirit dies with them. Or goes somewhere else. The idea that their personalities had returned to their dead bodies and somehow been reanimated was too horrific to imagine. I had to keep telling myself it was an illusion, like the speedboats and the lake serpent. . . or even my cat at the school. I kept moving with my eyes on the ground, though I sensed their presence all around me. None of them stepped onto the roadway. They were crowding the edges of the pavement, reaching out to me. I feared their cold touch, so I kept to the middle of the road. The wailing grew along with the crowd. I put my hands over my ears, but that only muffled it. Tears ran down my cheeks. I was growing closer to the gate and to the edge of sanity. There was no telling which I'd hit first. The only thing that kept me going was the belief that as soon as I stepped through the gate, the illusion would end and everything would be fine.

  I rounded the final curve in the road and dared to look up. What I hoped to see was a clear path open through the

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  metal fence. Instead I saw an old-fashioned horse-drawn hearse blocking the way. The black wagon had smoky glass sides, through which I saw the outline of a wooden coffin. The two horses that were lashed to the vehicle looked every bit as dead as the thousands of corpses that lined the walkway. Dry flesh hung from their bones, revealing rotted muscles covering yellowed bones. Did they bury horses in this cemetery too? Sitting up high in front, holding the reins, was a corpse that looked like an undertaker from two hundred years ago. He wasn't much more than a skeleton with a tall, worm-eaten top hat. He turned to me with a sly smile and tipped his rotten hat.

  I didn't return the greeting.

  Suddenly, as if the undertaker's tip of the cap was a signal, the moaning of the gathered corpses stopped. How did they all know to do that? It wasn't like this was rehearsed. At least I didn't think it was. The cemetery grew silent. The wind stopped. The rumbling was finished. The dark clouds still made the place feel like night, but the force that had pulled these people from the graves was at rest. All I wanted to do was get past the hearse and out of the cemetery. Sydney's life depended on it. Mine too. The undertaker propped his hat back on his head and snapped the reins. With the squeal of rusted wheels the dead horses pulled the hearse forward, away from the gate.

  I kept my eyes on the ground but could sense when the hearse had cleared the gate. When I was confident that the way was clear, I continued toward the gate, only to see that the swinging doors were closed. I tried not to panic. I reached up and wrapped my fingers around the metal bars, though I think I knew what was going to happen before I even tried. I pulled, but the gates wouldn't budge. I looked up, thinking I might be able to climb out, but the bars were too high and were topped off with sharp,

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  spikelike points. There was no room under the gate for me to squeeze out. I shook them hard, thinking they might only be stuck. It was a waste of energy. Gravedigger wasn't going to make it that easy.

  I glanced to the hearse. It had stopped in the middle of the road. The undertaker was looking back at me, waiting for me to realize and accept that I wouldn't be leaving. He lifted his hand and crooked his bony finger, beckoning me to follow. Going after that guy was the absolute last thing in the world I wanted to do. I looked out through the bars of the gate to the world beyond. There was no up or down out there. There were flashes of colorful light and large shadows that drifted past. I didn't want to know what they were shadows of. Even if the gates were open, I might have thought twice about stepping into that void. But it wasn't like I had a choice. There was only one thing I could do. I had to follow the hearse. Sydney was still back there somewhere--maybe he would lead me to her.

  The undertaker turned forward and the hearse began to move again. This time I followed. My one hope was that wherever he was taking me, I would find answers there. And Sydney. The hearse moved slowly. I kept my eyes to the ground and followed the sound of the dead horse's hooves and the steady squeak from the wooden wheels . . . or was it the grinding of the horse's dead bones? I couldn't bring myself to look up and see what was surrounding me, though I could sense it. The entire roadway was lined with corpses who crowded together, watching silently. Though I wouldn't look at them, I knew they were glaring at me. Every last one of them. What did they want? Did they think it was my fault that their eternal rest had been disturbed?

  I made the mistake of looking back. Though the roadway was completely clear in front of the hearse, the mass of dead filled in the road behind me, shuffling forward. Following.

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  I quickly looked forward and wished that the hearse would move faster.

  As we wound our way along the twisting roadway, I figured there must have been a destination. A thought so horrifying came to me that I almost dropped to my knees and stopped walking right then and there. From what I saw, every last person who was buried in that cemetery had come to life. We had just buried Cooper. Would I look up and catch a glimpse of my friend's mutilated body? As awful as that thought was, there was another that was even worse. My mother was buried in that cemetery. If I saw her, it would be the last sane moment of my life.

  We walked for around ten minutes. I think. I'd lost all track of time. I sensed that the road was growing steeper. We were going up a hill. That could only mean that the undertaker was leading me back to the oldest part of the cemetery. We walked for another few minutes when I heard the hearse squeak to a stop. Had we arrived? I squinted so I wouldn't have to see much detail and looked around. I was still standing in the middle of the roadway, surrounded by walking corpses on three sides and the hearse in front. I looked up to the undertaker, who raised his hand and pointed a bony finger off to the left. With that gesture the corpses on that side of the road obediently cleared a path. That was where I was supposed to go.

  I was too numb to fight it. Not that I would have known how. With my head still down I shuffled off the road onto the grass and through the gauntlet that the cadavers cleared for me, stepping over bits of crumbled tombstones and shattered coffins. The bodies hadn't cleared back far enough for comfort. The pathway was only a few feet wide. They could easily have reached out and touched me. I forced back my revulsion and kept walking with my eyes on the ground. The hope of finding answers, and Sydney,

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  was all that mattered. I walked maybe forty yards until I sensed that I had left my escort of corpses. Wherever I was being led to, I had arrived. When I summoned the nerve to look up, I knew it for certain.

  I was back in front of the reflecting pool where Sydney and I had been sitting when this latest nightmare began. The thousands of corpses that had pulled themselves from their graves were still there but kept their distance. They had formed a ring around the ancient memorial garden that looked to be several hundred bodies deep. I felt like a boxer in the ring, ready to do battle, while thousands of fans were gathered to witness the fight.

  And my opponent had arrived.

  Standing on the opposite side of the reflecting pool, in front of the open doors of the mausoleum, was Gravedigger. The two of us faced each other like gunslingers. The only problem was, I had no guns to sling. He also had a couple thousand backups that surrounded us
. I was totally at his mercy.

  "So?" I called out. "I'm here."

  Gravedigger responded by lifting his silver pick onto his shoulder. At that moment I wasn't scared. Not that I had suddenly gotten all brave. It was just the opposite. I was done. I had lost and I didn't even know what the game was.

  "Where is Sydney Foley?" I called out to him.

  Gravedigger smiled. That made me angry.

  "Who are you?" I shouted. "Why are you haunting me? Did I do something wrong? Have I somehow disrupted some cosmic force to deserve this? Please tell me. At least give me that much."

  Gravedigger barely reacted. He kept staring at me through hollow eyes from under the brim of his dark hat.

  "You killed my best friend," I cried. "And others, too. Why? What was the point?"

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  Gravedigger lifted the pick over his head as if ready to strike. I heard the far-off rumble of thunder. He clutched the pick with one bony hand and brought it down to the ground, hard. The sharp pick stuck in the dirt. At that exact moment the wind picked up again, but not from any storm. It blew from out of the open door of the mausoleum behind

  Grave-digger making his dark cloak billow. I wanted to turn and run, but to where? I was trapped by thousands of dead bodies.

  I sensed movement inside the mausoleum. We weren't alone.

  "Sydney?" I called out.

  A shadow appeared at the door. Whoever it was, it wasn't Sydney. This new guy was big. And a guy. Even though he was a shadow, I could see that he was built like a defensive end. He had to duck down to clear the doorway of the tomb. I was surrounded by thousands of walking corpses, yet the sight of this brute stepping across the threshold and standing up to his full height made my stomach turn. Not out of disgust. . . but from fear.

  He looked like a spirit from another time. And place. He wore leather sandals and a white tunic that seemed like something they wore in ancient Greece or Rome. His legs and arms were muscular. This was no mummified corpse. The seams of his white clothing were trimmed with gold thread, making it seem like he might have been a ruler of some kind. Or a warrior. Or another freakin' illusion. I was hoping for that.

  All those details were window dressing. I couldn't take my eyes off his face. He had short dark hair and coal black eyes. Ruthless eyes. I had no doubt that he had been in more than one battle--his face was crisscrossed with dozens of scars that cut him up like a confused roadmap. This guy had suffered, and I'd bet anything he'd caused just as much suffering right back.

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  He stepped out of the mausoleum and walked up behind Gravedigger. He towered over my tormentor by at least a foot. Gravedigger didn't react. The big spirit raised a clenched fist into the air and brought it down hard ... on Gravedigger's head. Gravedigger crumbled like chalk dust. The black hat and cloak fluttered to the ground next to the pick, coming to rest on a pile of dried bone. The spirit had literally crushed the demon. Gravedigger was no more. Maybe he never was.

  With that one violent act I realized that like everything else I had seen, Gravedigger was an illusion. He had no power. I never had anything to fear from him.

  The spirit who was to be feared had finally made himself known and was standing across from me.

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  Chapter 24

  I stood across the reflecting pool from this imposing spirit, fighting the urge to drop to my knees and beg for mercy.

  "Are you the one who's been haunting me?" I called out.

  The giant kept his dead doll-eyes on me. He nodded.

  "Are you real or an illusion?" I asked.

  He cocked his head as if it were a question he had never been asked. He thought about it, then twisted his lips into a smile. He wanted to keep me guessing.

  "Did you kill my friend?" I asked.

  "His journey has begun," he growled. His voice was the same low rumble that came from Gravedigger. It sounded like bones rattling in the bottom of a grave.

  "On the Morpheus Road?" I asked.

  He nodded.

  "What is the Morpheus Road?" I asked.

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  "It is the way of life and death," he replied. "A road that all must travel."

  "Not me," I said quickly.

  The giant bent down and grabbed Gravedigger's pick. He admired it and let out a low, guttural laugh. He was enjoying himself. "All must travel," he repeated.

  "Do you have a name?"

  "I am Damon," he replied.

  "Are you a spirit?"

  "I know of spirits."

  "Why are you haunting me?" I asked. "What do you want?"

  "The poleax" was his answer.

  "The what?"

  "Bring it to me," he said.

  I felt as if he had just revealed the reason for this entire nightmare. I'd heard the word before, but it still meant nothing to me.

  "Hey, I don't even know what a poleax is, so if all this was to try to get me to bring one to you, you've been wasting your time because I'm the wrong guy to . . . whoa!"

  Damon reared back and flung the pick at me. I ducked, but I wasn't the target. The sharp pick spun through the air and nailed a corpse standing behind me. The corpse practically exploded, sending shattered body parts flying. None of the other corpses even flinched. I sure did. I didn't want to get hit by any gore. I covered my head and waited until the sound of falling body parts ended.

  "You possessed a crucible," he said.

  "Crucible? I don't know what that is either."

  "You destroyed it."

  My mind raced. What was he talking about? Then I remembered. "You mean that ball with the blood? Was it yours? Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to break it."

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  "The search has brought me to you," he said as he stepped onto the cloak that used to belong to Gravedigger. He started to make his way around the reflecting pool toward me. "You are the source," he added.

  "Me? Why me? Look, I'm sorry I broke the blood-ball thing, but I don't know anything about a poleax."

  He continued to round the reflecting pool. I moved the opposite way. No way I wanted this creep getting any closer to me.

  "You will find it and bring it to me," he said.

  "Why? You've made my life a nightmare. You killed my friend! You could haunt me forever and I still wouldn't help you."

  "There is no forever," he said. "When you walk the road, you will see."

  "No, I won't because I'm not going anywhere," I said stubbornly.

  "You do not have a choice."

  All around us the ring of corpses had been slowly tightening.

  "There are many routes to take along the Morpheus Road," he said. "Your journey could be peaceful or filled with grief."

  He lashed out, grabbed one of the walking dead by the throat, and pulled it toward him. With a mighty snap of his arm he shook the corpse violently, flicking off bones that clattered to the ground. He was left holding the spinal cord. The only bone still attached was the skull. He held it up like a trophy.

  "I have haunted your thoughts," he said with a proud smile. "I know what frightens you."

  He snapped the spine like a whip. The skull flew off and I had to duck or it would have nailed me in the chest. My stomach twisted, but I managed to keep it together.

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  "Why scare me?" I asked. "And why did you kill my friend?"

  "To reach you."

  My knees buckled. It was true. Cooper's death was about me. But why? Why did this ghost think I could help him find his pole thing?

  "Then you made a mistake," I said. "If you think I'm going to help you, you're wrong."

  "And what of the girl?" he asked with a superior sneer.

  I felt dizzy but kept moving away from him.

  "Where is she?" I asked.

  "All must travel the road."

  "Is she . . . dead?"

  "Find the poleax," he demanded. "It is here. In the Light. If you wish to remain, you will find it and bring it to me."

  "What light? You mean the sun?"<
br />
  "The Light is the beginning of the road."

  "And what happens if I find this poleax thing?" I asked. "Will you leave me alone? And Sydney?"

  Damon laughed. It was hideous. I had been thinking that he was a mindless ghost warrior from another time, but he had more going on than that. He was crafty. He knew how to work me and others. That had been proven over the last week. He had pulled Gravedigger out of my head to haunt me. He twisted my familiar life into a grisly house of horrors. He had driven people to insanity and death. This guy was smart and he had plans. Bad plans.

  "So many questions," he said, sounding bored.

  "I want to understand," I replied.

  "You do not matter!" he bellowed, suddenly losing his patience.

  "Really? Then you're spending an awful lot of energy on somebody who doesn't matter. I think maybe I'm pretty important or you'd get somebody else to help you."

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  Damon leaned back and let out an angry howl that shook the ground.

  I was frustrating him, which may have been a really bad move. But at that point there was nothing to lose, so I added, "I think maybe you need me or you'll never find this poleax thing."

  Damon stopped moving and fixed his eyes on me. I shuddered. Looking into them was like gazing into the depths of a grave. My grave.

  "You will bring me the weapon," he said through clenched teeth.

  "Weapon? The poleax is a weapon?"

  "It is my weapon. I created it."

  "So create another one," I said.

  "There is no other. I will not be denied again."

  "Again? You've been through this before?"

  "Find it!" he shouted.

  "Sorry, but I have no idea where it is."

  Damon looked out over the sea of corpses. What was he thinking? Was he going to lash out and grab me the way he had that corpse? I didn't move. Where would I go? This was his show.