by Brian Rowe
But when her shovel touched the top of the coffin, she shook her head, surprised that nothing out of the ordinary had yet occurred.
Streams of water poured into the little hole she had made for herself, a small pool of brown gunk reaching the top of her feet. She didn’t have much time. Soon she’d be drowning in the own mess she’d created for herself.
Brin pulled on the side of the coffin. The opening seemed to be stuck.
“Oh come on,” she said. “This isn’t happening. Open up!”
She pulled again. Still nothing.
“Come on,” she said, closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths. “One… two…”
She kicked the side of the coffin and opened it with a determined pull. Brin looked down into the casket. She expected to see her dad as a scary figure from Night of the Living Dead, or, in some ways worse, as mere skeletal remains.
Brin opened her mouth in amazement. There was nothing inside the coffin.
“What the…”
She reached down and pressed her hands against the gentle red fabric. She could feel her dad’s presence, the shadow of his former self. She reached toward the bottom, where she found her dirty white golf glove.
“Oh my God,” she said. She picked it up and examined it. She had forgotten about the glove.
She could feel her eyes welling up with tears, but she tried to suppress them. She touched the crinkly glove and was transported back in time, back to a simpler moment with her loving father.
“Take this,” he had said, as he stepped with the seven-year-old Brin toward the driving range, his goofy plaid golf pants barely long enough to cover his ankles.
“What do I need this for, Dad?”
He kneeled down and took her hand in his. He pulled the glove over her fingers and pushed the two pieces of Velcro together. She flexed her hand a few times.
“A perfect fit,” her dad said.
“Do I have to wear it?”
“Yes. It helps with your golf game, and, more important, it gives you good luck.”
“Really? You expect me to believe that?” Even at age seven, Brin was a sassy one.
“Keep it with you, and you’ll see. As long as we’re together, honey, this glove will keep you happy and healthy, and great at your golf game.”
“OK, Dad, whatever,” she said. “Can I hit now?”
“Of course. Start with your sand wedge. And work your way up.”
Brin stretched for a few seconds, then performed a few practice swings. Her grip on the club was stronger with the glove, and when she approached the pyramid of golf balls, she found an overwhelming confidence take hold of her. When she crushed her first shot, sending the ball eighty yards down the center, a new record for Brin with her tiny sand wedge, she turned to her dad and grinned.
“You see?” he said. “You’re gonna be the best player ever.”
While she had made the golf team her freshman year and was ultimately voted the MVP of all twelve players, Brin had declined the chance at playing her sophomore year, after her dad died.
“He would have wanted you to continue,” Coach Haley told her a year ago. “This is the only sport you play, Brin. You should think long and hard about this. It’s not going to look good on your transcript if you skipped out on golf for a year. Plus, you love it. You’re too good of a player to give this up.”
Her dad had passed away barely two months prior. “I just can’t, Coach. I’m really sorry.”
When she threw that original golf glove into her father’s coffin—a glove she had outgrown over the years but had kept for posterity’s sake—she not only threw her golf game away with it, but also, in some ways, her hopes and dreams.
Brin tried to let her devastating memories fall to the wayside as she lifted the glove out of the coffin and slid it down into her jeans pocket. She closed the coffin and crawled her way back up the muddy hole in the ground. For a few seconds she felt like she was stuck in quicksand, with no way out, with only the morbid reality of sinking into a cold, forever abyss.
But she wasn’t going to let that happen; she climbed so fast she made sure the worst death of all deaths could never happen. She gave herself a powerful kick and rolled over on her side, immediately facing the dark clouds above.
Brin didn’t know what to make of her dad’s disappearance. Did his vacancy from the coffin mean he really had come back from the dead? Had that really been his hand that popped out of the ground? Or was her dad’s body never put in the ground in the first place, for some reason that her mother never cared to share with her?
The third possibility seemed the most believable, but the one Brin didn’t want to believe. She wanted to believe her dad had returned, maybe because of his undying love for his only daughter, because he couldn’t spend an eternity without her.
Brin glanced in every direction. “Dad? Are you there? Can you hear me?”
She stood up but almost fell back down again. The wind had picked up even more, like a fluke tornado was headed toward northern Nevada. She didn’t know what to do next. She thought about heading back to her car, since she had given her father an ample amount of time to surprise her with his presence.
She twirled in a circle, getting one last look at her surroundings. And there it was.
Brin opened her mouth wide and immediately ran for the nearest tree. She knew it wouldn’t be easy to hide in these surroundings, but it was a better idea than simply standing there in the open. She squinted her eyes and tried to see what was in the distance. She could tell now: it certainly wasn’t an animal.
It’s a person, Brin thought. But is it my…
She didn’t want to say it; she didn’t want to even think it. The Z word had definitely crossed her mind once or twice in the last few days, but she had already dealt with vampires. She didn’t want to have to handle two supernatural creatures (at least for this month).
She pushed her forehead against the crust of the tree, closed her left eye all the way, and opened her right eye as big as possible. The figure in the distance started walking toward her.
Brin watched in fascination as the person came into full view. She first saw the long, blonde hair, followed by the fantastical bosoms. Then there was the thin, angular face, and the stylish, uppity clothes.
Then she saw the wound on her neck.
“Somebody,” the girl said. “Somebody… help me…”
Brin couldn’t believe it.
The girl coming toward her was Lavender.
Chapter Fourteen
Does she see me? Then she thought: Is she still Lavender?
Brin quarreled with herself about whether or not she should make herself known. Lavender was no stranger, but the girl had obviously gone off the deep end: she was wandering aimlessly through a rain-drenched graveyard late on a Friday night.
But then she thought: you are too, moron.
Brin stepped out from the tree and revealed herself to the confused girl.
“Lavender?” Brin took a step forward. “Lavender, is that you?”
“Home,” Lavender said.
“What?”
“Cold,” Lavender said. “It’s cold… I’m wet…”
Brin marched toward the girl. She didn’t know what had happened to her, but something was definitely wrong. The girl was talking like she barely understood the English language.
“Home,” Lavender said again. “I want… I want to go home…”
“I know you do,” Brin said. “Come here.”
Brin reached out for her, slowly, prepared for anything. She thought it was possible—no, more like probable—that Lavender would leap out for Brin and start munching on her throat. Maybe it would be Lavender, not her dad, who would fasten a tight grip on Brin’s arms and bring her down underneath the graveyard. She had already gone down hundreds of feet below Bodie Ghost Town; how could the underground of a mere cemetery compare to that?
But much to Brin’s astonishment, Lavender didn’t attack her. All she did was put
her hands on Brin’s shoulders and smile.
“Friend,” Lavender said.
“Actually, we don’t know each other that well. I would call you more of an acquaintance.”
“You’re my friend. Brin.”
Brin realized Lavender couldn’t understand her. She could start talking about Martians mating with monkeys, and the girl wouldn’t bat an eyelid. Is she drunk or something? “Yes, that’s right.”
“Mmm. Brin.”
Now Brin thought she might be the one to attack her. “Lavender, answer me this question. What are you doing out here? In the rain? In the cemetery?”
“What are you doing out here in the rain in the cemetery?” Lavender repeated.
Brin decided to answer. “It’s a long story.”
“It’s a long story,” Lavender repeated.
It was like Lavender was de-aging into a little girl or something. She was speaking like a five-year-old.
“Do you need me to take you home?” Brin said.
Lavender smiled and leaned against Brin’s chest. “You’re my friend… my good friend.”
“Umm, OK.”
“Did our movie turn out good? Did I give good acting?”
First Brin tried to make sense of Lavender’s slurring. But then it hit her. It wasn’t that small neck wound, possibly turning Lavender into a vampire, that brought the girl out here. She was obviously having a mental breakdown. The trauma of the events of Bodie Ghost Town had come back to haunt her.
“You’re in shock,” Brin said. “I know you are, Lavender. I am, too.”
“Sawyer… Chace…” The girl started to cry. The tears were so big that Brin could see them through all the falling raindrops. “We just… left them there.”
“We’ve talked about this,” Brin said. “There was nothing we could do.”
“Now… dead…”
“I know.”
“Chace… I loved him…”
“You did?”
Lavender nodded and planted her face against Brin’s shoulder. Brin couldn’t tell what was weirder: the Cirque de Soleil from Hell in Bodie, or the surreal events currently taking place in Grisly Cemetery.
Brin grabbed Lavender’s hand. “Let me take you home.”
“Home,” Lavender said. “Home… I need home…”
“All right, then. Come with me.”
Brin kept a death grip on Lavender’s hand as she turned around to see the big hole in the ground in front of her father’s tombstone. She knew she should shovel the mud back into its rightful place, make it look like she had never been there. But she had to decide to either spend thirty minutes in the rain filling in the hole, or take Lavender home and possibly save the girl’s life.
She had already watched Chace and Sawyer die. She wasn’t about to let Lavender die, too.
They’re gonna think I stole Dad’s body, Brin thought. When they find the grave empty, that’s what they’re gonna think.
The idea made her shudder as she walked hand-in-hand with Lavender across the wet cemetery, back to the puddle-ridden parking lot where her car sat in waiting: Kidnapping Dad’s body—any body—from a cemetery and bringing it home. She was supposed to be reading Frankenstein for English class; maybe the authorities would think Brin, with her strong imagination and love of literature and film, would attempt to regenerate all of her father’s brain cells and bring his rotting corpse back to life?
Brin reached the parking lot and turned back to Lavender. She was looking every which way, her mouth agape, drool forming below her lower lip, now appearing not like a five-year-old, but like a toddler.
She pushed Lavender into the passenger side of her car, almost slamming the door on one of her legs in the process, and ran over to the driver’s seat. She turned the car on and blasted the AC.
Would I want my dad back? Brin thought. Even if it wasn’t really him? Even if he was a member of the undead and wanted nothing more than to consume my brains?
It was a question Brin never wanted to have to answer. Thankfully, at this moment, she didn’t have to.
Lavender had another question for her.
“Am I home now?”
Brin shook her head. She was more concerned for the girl’s sanity with each passing minute. “No, not yet. But I’m going to take you there.”
“But I thought… I already was home…”
As Brin pulled out of the parking lot, leaving her dad’s empty grave in her rearview mirror, she decided that she would take any incarnation of her father.
Even if it wasn’t the real him, I would take it. I would learn to love it.
They drove in silence the rest of the way to Lavender’s house. Once Brin was able to pry the address out of the girl, Lavender leaned her head against the window and fell asleep. Brin didn’t know what kind of drugs the girl was on, or if she had been smoking too many miracle plants, but she knew the girl had to have something wicked and damaging in her system. But she didn’t want to embarrass Lavender in front of her family. They had both been through a lot these last few days, and the less that could be said for Lavender’s erratic behavior, the better.
Brin pulled up to the side of Lavender’s impressive estate, at the end of a large cul-de-sac, where two giant mansions stood at the top of a hill. One made mostly of glass and shiny lights was on the left, while Lavender’s house on the right, designed from top to bottom with the kind of gothic architecture one would find in sixteenth century Paris, looked out over all of Grisly; even the cemetery was in plain view.
Brin turned to her right. Lavender was still sleeping. She nudged her a few times; nothing. Then she slapped her across the face.
“Uh… huh… what…” Lavender blinked her eyes. She appeared more normal.
“Hey. You OK? I brought you home.”
“Home.” She turned toward the house. “Thank you, Brin. You’re very helpful.”
“No problem.” Brin was still freaked out by the odd tone of Lavender’s speaking, but at least the popular cheerleader, now more of a whacked-out cheerleader with a tendency to slur her words, could talk in full sentences. “Did you want me to walk you in? Can you make it to the house?”
“I’ll be fine. I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“I can take care of myself—”
Lavender slurred the end of that last word as she slumped forward and slammed her head against the glove compartment. Brin watched the unbelievable turn of events in slow motion, like it was something out of a movie. One minute Lavender seemed fine, almost normal, and the next she had her head slumped down against the floor mat.
Is she having a seizure?
“Lavender! Oh my God!”
Brin pulled the girl back up and kept her up. Lavender was still conscious but barely. She was blinking her eyes and licking her lips like she had just awoken from a three-hour nap. She didn’t say a word.
Brin could feel a yawn coming on. She was tired and this had been an emotionally charged night of weirdness she wanted to soon forget. She needed to go home and go to bed. She needed to get Lavender out of the car.
She sighed. “All right. Can you walk?”
Lavender didn’t say a word. She just kept staring forward. Brin realized she had just asked a very stupid question.
She kicked her door open and stepped outside. The rain had stopped, but she could hear water roaring down into the nearby gutter. She walked to the passenger door and opened it.
“OK, Lavender, it’s time to go home.”
The girl looked deathly pale, like she was going to upchuck all over her recently detailed interior.
“Home,” Lavender said.
Brin leaned over Lavender to unbuckle her seatbelt, and she felt the abnormally hot breath from Lavender’s mouth hit the side of her face.
“OK, let’s go, Lav—”
Before Brin could finish her sentence, Lavender shoved her against the glove compartment and clasped her mouth around her neck.
Chapter
Fifteen
“Oh my God!” Brin screamed as Lavender bellowed an uneasy growl that sounded like she was no longer human. “Lavender! Not you, too!”
Brin could feel Lavender’s teeth graze up against the top of her shoulder, but before the girl could take a bite, Brin pushed the girl back, kicked her in the face, and knocked her over on her stomach.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God.” Brin rolled out of the car, her face and arms smashing against the rush of water alongside the curb.
She thought she had knocked the girl out, but Lavender appeared again, this time latching onto Brin’s right leg.
“AHHHHHH!” Lavender screamed as she pulled Brin back toward the car.
“Noooooo! Oh my God!” Brin tried to shake her away, but the girl had a death grip. “Get off me! I was just trying to help you!”
Lavender tried to get a bite of anything—Brin’s foot, leg, big toe—but to no avail. Brin weaseled her foot out of her grip and kicked her in the face, hard, five times, before Lavender finally slumped forward and stopped moving.
Brin tried to catch her breath. She scooted all the way to the front lawn of Lavender’s house before she felt safe. She had expected all sorts of crazy things tonight, but Lavender trying to take a chunk out of her skin was something she hadn’t been prepared for.
She got up on her feet and surveyed the damage. She didn’t see any blood dripping from Lavender’s face, but she did see something disconcerting. On the wet pavement, just below her face, was a small piece of skin.
“Ewwww,” Brin said. It was a chunk of Lavender’s cheek.
Brin turned around to see the porch light in front of Lavender’s house go on. Nobody had seen her with Lavender; she could pretend like this little adventure had never happened. But someone—worse, a member of the cheerleader’s family—could see her and report her to the police. It was certain; she needed to get out of there now.
Brin pulled Lavender out onto the lawn and immediately ran back to her car. She could see an old man stepping out on the front porch of the house, so she didn’t take a moment to make sure Lavender was still alive. She turned on the ignition and sped down the street, fast enough to warrant a dozen speeding tickets.
