Jason screamed then, hoping one of his neighbors would hear and come to his rescue. But Andros yanked him into the closet and the door swung shut behind them.
Only they weren’t in the closet. Gone were the clothes, the hangers, the rod, even the walls. Instead there was only a black void that seemed both limitless and claustrophobic at the same time. As Jason’s eyes began to adjust to the gloom he made out a writhing mass in the distance. The sounds came next—moans and grunts and squeals and gasps. The scene came into sharper focus, as if without moving Jason had somehow gotten closer. It was the twelve men Jason had delivered to Andros, all of them naked and covered in sheens of sweat, seeming to be joined into one being as their flesh melded in a raw, animalistic orgy. Hard cocks plunged into tight asses, rigid members suckled by hot, hungry mouths, juice spurting into every available orifice, faces bathed in the transcendent light of orgasm. Jason was so hard it was almost painful, his erection straining to join the festivities. He tried to step forward but found himself bound in place by heavy, rusty chains.
“Quite a sight, isn’t it?” Andros said, stepping up next to the immobilized Jason. The demon was completely naked, his chest sprinkled with a fine dusting of dark hairs. A ten inch cock with large mushroom head pointed straight up from a tight nest of pubic hair, balls slicked with sweat hanging low like ripe fruit. “They certainly are having fun, aren’t they? And they never tire. They never go soft.”
Jason made a mewling sound that spoke of hunger and desire. He strained against his chains, but they were sturdy and seemed to get tighter the more he struggled.
“This is your hell,” Andros said intimately into his ear. “For eternity you get to watch the orgy, but you never get to join in, never even get to touch yourself.”
Without another word, Andros walked over to the pile of flesh and rammed his large dick into Robbie’s ass, causing the man to cry out with ecstasy and pain.
From his own private hell, Jason watched a heaven of which he would never be part.
THE BONADVENTURE
“Cane, are you sure this is a good idea?” Kinsley asked, gripping the flashlight to her chest so that the light hit the underside of her chin and spread around her face.
Cane knelt by a large angel monument, unpacking equipment from his duffle bag and lining it up on the ground next to him. “It’s a great idea. This investigation is going to put S.C.A.D.P.I.T. on the map.”
“Dude, are you still going with that name?” Topher asked, stepping onto the monument’s base and scrutinizing the angel up close.
“The Savannah College of Art and Design Paranormal Investigation Team. What’s wrong with that name?”
“Well, other than the fact that Scad Pit sounds like a condition you’d need penicillin for, the acronym is almost as long as the name itself.”
“I’m the founder of this group, so I get to name it.”
Topher hopped down from the monument. “I still vote for the Artistic Spirit Squad.”
“A.S.S.?” Kinsley said with a giggle. “You’re joking, right?”
“I think it has a certain appeal to it.”
“You would think that,” Cane said under his breath.
“What’s that? It wasn’t a homophobic slur from our fearless leader, was it?”
Cane rose to his feet. Topher was at least three inches shorter, slighter of build, but he seemed not a bit intimidated by Cane, which actually irritated Cane more than he wanted to admit. “Look, I don’t care who you have sex with. You can screw chipmunks in your spare time for all I care, but I would appreciate it if you two would stop being so loud. We are trying to fly under the radar here.”
“Gotcha,” Topher said in a stage whisper, reaching up to run his fingers across his lips as if zipping them shut.
Cane rolled his eyes then reached down to pick up the EMF reader. He held it out to Topher. “Here, you’re going to measure the electromagnetic fields tonight.”
“No way, I always do the EVPs.”
“Not this time. Kinsley’s going to have the voice recorder and ask the questions tonight.”
“How come?”
“How about because last month at 432 Abercorn you asked the ghost of the little girl if she’d ever seen Dreamgirls?”
Topher laughed and stroked his goatee. “Yeah, that was a good one.”
“See, you don’t take this seriously at all.”
“Come on, dude. You think the dead don’t have a sense of humor just because you don’t?”
Cane said nothing, just stared at Topher until the other young man relented and took the device. Next he handed the voice recorder to Kinsley.
“I still don’t know if we should be doing this. We had permission to be in all the other places we investigated. You know no one’s supposed to be in the cemetery after 5 p.m. unless they’re part of an official tour.”
Topher sidled up next to Kinsley and threw an arm around her shoulders. “If I didn’t go where I wasn’t supposed to go, I’d miss out on an awful lot of fun.”
“This isn’t exactly the same as sneaking into some underground club,” Cane said. “We’re doing an exhaustive and in-depth paranormal investigation of one of the most famous cemeteries in America. This is going to—”
“—put us on the map,” Topher and Kinsley finished in unison.
“Mock all you want, but I think it’s a shame that Savannah has the reputation as the most haunted city in the country and yet S.C.A.D. doesn’t have a single sanctioned paranormal organization. And they won’t approve any new groups or clubs without a minimum of five members. Look around and do the math; you’ll see we’re short.”
“And you really think this will help?” Kinsley asked.
“Hell yes. Once word gets out that we did an all-night investigation of Bonaventure Cemetery, people are going to be lining up, begging to get in.”
“Just like some underground club,” Topher said with a snarky grin.
Ignoring him, Cane selected the digital video recorder with infrared night-vision. “When we get sanctioned by the school and start collecting membership fees, we can finally get some decent equipment like the professional outfits use.”
“Maybe we can even get Chip Coffey to pay us a visit,” Topher said. Cane shot him a heated glare, and Topher pulled the corners of his lips down in a severe, exaggerated frown. “Sorry, forgot I was supposed to be Mr. Serious.”
“Enough fooling around. Let’s start over at little Gracie’s grave.”
The trio headed to one of the many roads that cut through the expansive graveyard. Topher remained silent for about ten seconds, which was pretty much his limit, then said, “So I think I’ve come up with a name for this little excursion.” Cane didn’t respond, but he knew that wouldn’t stop Topher. “The Bonadventure. What do you think?”
“I think that sounds ridiculous.”
“It’s fun and whimsical, like me.”
“I want this organization to be taken seriously, not seen as some colossal joke.”
“Yes, God forbid anyone laugh at the Scad Pit.”
“Look Topher, I know you think you should be in charge of this group, just because you lead those little walking ghost tours around the downtown area, but you’re not.”
“Hey, my ghost tours are the most popular in the city, and one hundred percent historically accurate, so don’t go shooting your fat mouth off.”
“I’ll say whatever—”
“Guys,” Kinsley said, stepping between the two. “Whatever happened to keeping our voices down? I suggest you save the pissing contest for later so we can get the job done.”
Cane and Topher stared at one another for a few seconds, then turned without a word and continued down the road.
So far S.C.A.D.P.I.T. had done three investigations, Bonaventure being the fourth. Already Cane was sick to death of Topher and his unprofessional demeanor. Other than their interest in the paranormal they had absolutely nothing in common. Their personalities clashed like a cold an
d warm front colliding to create a massive thunderstorm. More than once he’d considered kicking the jokester off the team, but seeing as he already hurt for members, he couldn’t really afford to give anyone the boot. Besides, much as it pained Cane to admit it, the guy’s tours were immensely popular and could potentially draw in new members.
As they approached the grave of six year old Gracie Watson, Cane started up the recorder, looking at the display screen to check the picture quality. The night-vision rendered everything a glowing green, but the picture was clear and focused. “Anything registering on the EMF?” he asked without glancing at Topher.
“Everything’s in normal range, Cap’n.”
They stopped before the grave, enclosed by a tall wrought-iron fence. Inside, the life-sized marble statue of the girl shone ghostly in the moonlight, startlingly lifelike in its detail. Foliage exploded around it. Cane positioned the camera through the bars and trained it on the statue. “Still nothing?” he asked Topher.
“No unusual spikes in the electromagnetic field. Maybe she’s sleeping?”
Cane pointed the camera at the collection of dolls and trinkets that had been left just outside the fence. Little Gracie’s grave was purported to be one of the most haunted sites at Bonaventure Cemetery. People claimed they could sometimes hear Gracie, who had died of pneumonia in 1889, laughing or singing, sometimes even crying. Supposedly, the statue even wept blood at times. Cane highly doubted the latter, but there may be truth to the other tales. He hoped to find out tonight.
“Okay, Kinsley, you’re up.”
She seemed distracted, staring off at something to the left of them. Cane called her name again before she turned on the recorder. “Okay, um, here we go. Is the spirit of Grace Watson with us?”
Kinsley paused, and they all remained silent, even Topher. The night seemed to be totally devoid of sound. Even the insects held their breath. All Cane could hear was the rustling of leaves. But with electronic voice phenomena, the answers could often not be registered by the human ear. Only when the recordings were played back could the voices of the dead be heard.
“Are you lonely?” Kinsley asked. “Do you want someone to play with you?”
Cane zoomed in on the toys, hoping that maybe one of them would move, but nothing.
“Do you miss your parents? Are you looking for them?”
“Have you tried a Google search?” Topher said in a quiet voice.
Cane instantly turned on him and growled, “Will you knock that shit off? You’re not helping.”
“What is your problem? Why do you think ghosts are more likely to manifest to sour-faced stick-in-the-muds? Maybe the dead could use a little levity. Ever think about that?”
“I really don’t get you, man. I mean, I’ve taken one of your tours and you don’t act like this.”
“Well, I get paid for the tours.”
“Oh, I see, so it’s all about the paycheck for you. Since you’re not making anything from this trip, why don’t you just go home?”
“Hey, you can’t kick me out of here?”
“I founded this organization so I assure you I most certainly can.”
“Fine, maybe I will leave. And the first cop I find, I’ll just report to him that I know of two individuals who are in the cemetery after hours.”
“You little bastard, I ought to—”
“Enough!” Kinsley hissed. “I’m sick of dealing with your bickering. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you were an old married couple. Maybe we should just pack up our stuff and get out of here, call the investigation off.”
“No way,” Cane said. “This is too important.”
“I’m not leaving either,” Topher said. “Whatever our fearless leader may think of my personality, I am very devoted to paranormal studies. I’m just as interested in finding hard evidence about the afterlife as you are, even if we approach things differently.”
Cane felt a sharp retort bubbling up like vomit, but he swallowed it down and took a moment to calm himself. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and took out a crumpled twenty, slapping it into Topher’s palm. “There, you’re getting paid now. If you’re going to stay, I expect some professionalism.”
Topher just stared down at the bill in his hand for a while, before he stuffed it into his back pocket. “You got it, boss.”
With a sigh, Cane said, “We’re getting nothing from Gracie right now. I say we move on, come back later and try again.”
Topher nodded, but Kinsley just walked past him, heading to the left. She stopped before a large plant. The thing was almost as tall as her, with large palm frond-like leaves, and cupped in the center of the fronds were some kind of round spores as big as basketballs. It looked tropical. “What exactly is this?” she asked.
Cane walked over, scrutinizing the plant. “I think it’s a Sago Palm.”
“You’re just an expert on everything, aren’t you?” Topher said, stepping up next to him.
“Of the three of us, I’m the only one actually from Savannah, and these are fairly common.”
“I don’t recall seeing anything quite like it before,” Kinsley said. “But they’re all over the cemetery. What are these big spores?”
“I think it’s the plant’s fruit, or seed, or whatever.”
Kinsley shone her flashlight on one of the spores. “They look almost woven from vines, creating some kind of mesh. And I think—” With a startled yelp, she jumped back.
“What’s wrong?” Topher asked.
“I swear there was something moving in there, inside the spore.”
Cane laughed. “You’re just spooked.”
“I’m telling you, I saw something moving.”
She shone the flashlight on the spore again. Cane and Topher leaned forward to get a better view. Nothing.
Kinsley looked at the two men, the blush in her cheeks evident even in the scant light. “Stop looking at me like I’m crazy. I know what I saw.”
“It could be a haunted plant,” Topher said. “That would be a first, huh?”
Kinsley slapped his arm. “Knock it off.”
“I think we’ve all wasted enough time,” Cane said. “Let’s do a tour of the cemetery to see if we get EMF spikes in any particular location. If so, we’ll concentrate there for a while.”
Cane and Topher started off. Kinsley remained, staring at the strange plant, before she followed.
***
They’d been at it for hours and they had absolutely zilch to show for it. There wasn’t anything on the camera and no unusual EMF readings. Cane could only hope they’d caught an EVP or two, otherwise this night was proving to be a total bust.
They were taking a break near the Wilmington River, while Kinsley changed out the batteries in the digital voice recorder. When she first announced the batteries were dying, Cane got excited. Inexplicable draining of batteries was often a sign of spirits trying to manifest. But then Topher admitted he’d forgotten to charge the batteries before they left.
“Do we really have to keep this up ‘til dawn?” Kinsley asked.
“That’s what we all signed on for.”
“Yeah, but it’s dead out here.”
“Pardon the pun,” Topher added. He stood on the base of a large monument, taking a closer look at a life-sized statue of Jesus that was partially covered in moss. The statue had one hand stretched out, and which Topher grabbed it as if they were shaking. “Hey, someone get my picture. Topher Bridges and the Son of God, having a meeting of the minds.”
Kinsley laughed, but Cane just sighed. He sat on the ground with his back propped against a tombstone. He was tired. No, beyond that. Exhausted. He had such high hopes for this investigation, truly believing it would be the one to put S.C.A.D.P.I.T. on the map. How could Bonaventure have yielded nothing? The prior three investigations had all resulted in some findings. Nothing definitive or earth-shattering, but a few orbs and EMF spikes, and outside the Mercer House they’d captured some garbled static on the voice re
corder that sounded like someone (Jim Williams?) hissing, “I was poisoned.”
But here, at a site purported to be one of the most haunted places on the planet, they were coming up empty-handed. It didn’t seem possible. Worse, he’d bragged to several people about this investigation (although he’d sworn Topher and Kinsley to absolute secrecy). How would he face them later to admit he had nothing to show from spending the entire night in the cemetery?
With another weary sigh, Cane said, “Let’s just call it a night.”
Topher, who had gone on to pretend the Jesus statue was strangling him, straightened up so suddenly that he almost toppled off the monument. “Are you serious, dude?”
“Yes, I’m serious. Let’s just pack everything in and go home.”
Hope and doubt seemed to be warring in Kinsley’s eyes. “Even though we haven’t found anything yet?”
“That’s precisely why we’re calling it quits.” Cane stood up. “If anything was going to happen, it would have happened by now.”
Topher jumped down and walked over. “It’s not like you to give up. You feeling okay?”
“I just don’t see the point of continuing a fruitless investigation. Having zero findings isn’t going to earn us any recognition or get the group any closer to being sanctioned by the school.”
“Yeah, but we’ll try again, right?”
Cane looked from Topher to Kinsley, making an effort to rekindle his passion for the hunt, but he just felt drained. Maybe his father was right. Maybe this whole paranormal investigation thing was a childish waste of time. “Why don’t we—”
He was interrupted by a loud noise that startled them all. It sounded like cables snapping. Lots of them. Coming from all around.
“What the hell is that?” Kinsley said, sidling up behind Cane to grip his elbow.
Cane took a moment to thrill at her touch—when he’d first met her at school he had harbored a major crush, but once she joined the group he had put such thoughts out of his mind.
The sound of cables snapping intensified . . .
Flowers in a Dumpster Page 6
