Grave Girl

by Amy Cross

  Sam nods.

  "What a coincidence," he continues. "It's mine too." With that, he turns and walks away.

  "He seems nice," Anna says forlornly, still sitting nearby.

  "I'm not sure that's quite the word I'd use," Sam replies.

  "You should go to dinner with him, though," Anna continues. "I mean, if the world's gonna end, you might as well have some fun first."

  "The world's not ending."

  "Sure feels like it right now," Anna says, "and that guy was right. There is something moving underground. It's deep, but I can feel it. It's like something's slowly turning and disturbing the soil. Don't tell me you can't feel it."

  "Come on," Sam says, reaching out her hand for Anna to take. "It's your birthday. Let's go celebrate. I can't promise an actual party, but at least we can try to have a good time. And don't get too stressed. We can worry about the end of the world tomorrow."

  Chapter Eight

  Pushing the door shut, Fenroc takes a deep breath and pauses for a moment before walking through to his bathroom. He spends as little time as possible in his own home, preferring to be out and about in Rippon. Sometimes, however, he has no choice but to come and sleep. He considers sleep to be a waste of time and a lost opportunity, but he knows that he functions better when he's had a little rest. Anger, in particular is tiring, and Fenroc is very, very angry tonight.

  Under the harsh glare of the bare bulb that lights the bathroom, Fenroc carefully removes his jacket, wincing with pain in the process. Pausing, he tries to take the agony and turn it into something more useful. Eventually, feeling a little stronger, he starts unbuttoning his shirt, and finally he stands and stares at himself in the mirror. For a moment, he manages to empty his mind completely, but eventually dark thoughts return. All he can think about right now is the disease that spreads across his torso, turning his skin to stone. He understands why this has to happen, of course, but he still feels that it's a little unfair. After all, as far as he's concerned, he was always much more than just another gardener.

  Heading through to the kitchen, he pours himself a double whiskey and allows himself to relax for a moment as he savors the soft aroma that curls up from the glass. He'd dearly love to take a sip, but he knows that alcohol tends to speed up the spread of the stone. He stares down into the glass for a moment, before turning and hurling the glass across the room until it hits the opposite wall and smashes. Filled with anger, Fenroc marches across the room and grabs one of the old wooden chairs in the corner before bringing it crashing down against the floor.

  "Faraday," he mutters, barely able to contain the urge to rip the entire house apart. "I swear to God, I'll rip you apart before this moon is done."

  Epilogue

  One year ago

  "That's her," whispers a voice nearby.

  "Seriously?"

  "Seriously."

  "Her?"

  "What?"

  "No, I just mean... Forget it, man. I thought you meant the other one."

  Standing at the checkout, Sam forces herself not to look over her shoulder. She's pretty certain that the bunch of guys nearby are talking about her, which can only mean one thing: she must have met one of them while she was wasted, in which case she probably ended up making a complete fool of herself. Still, she's not going to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. They're not the first local idiots to start snickering about her behind her back, and she doubt they'll be the last.

  "Excuse me," says a voice a few minutes later, just as Sam's heading out of the store.

  Sighing, she turns to find a guy standing behind her with a big grin on his face.

  "You want something?" she asks.

  "No," he says, clearly finding it hard to contain his amusement at the situation, "it's just, my friend thinks he might have met you a while ago when he was out, and..." He pauses. "Is your name Sammy?"

  "Sam," she replies.

  "Okay, cool," the guy says. "So, anyway, my friend was saying that you're willing to do certain stuff, which is totally cool. I'm not judging or anything. Hell, I think it's kind of liberating. I mean, we're all just bodies bouncing around in life, right? Why not have a bit of fun? He said you were really good, so I was just wondering if you'd be willing to do the same for me."

  Sam stares at him, trying to decide whether she should clout him around the head with her bag of shopping.

  "I'll be blunt," the guy continues, as if he somehow thinks he's been tactful so far. "Do you wanna go down on me sometime? Maybe out back, in the parking lot? It's just, Andy says you're really good at that kind of thing, and I could really use a little relief, if you know what I mean."

  "Fuck off," Sam says, turning and marching away.

  "What?" the guy calls after her. "It was an honest question! I thought you'd like it if I was direct!"

  As soon as she gets outside, Sam hurries around the corner into the alley that runs down the side of the store. Sitting on the dirty, rough ground, she takes a deep breath and then bursts into tears. She buries her head in her hands as tears pour from her eyes, and for a few minutes she sits sobbing, unable to pull herself together. It doesn't happen often, but when her day-time and night-time lives collide like this, she tends to end up falling apart for a few minutes. She'd do anything to be able to handle things a little better, but it's as if there are two completely different versions of her, and they really don't mix well.

  "I didn't mean to upset you," the guy says suddenly.

  Looking up, Sam realizes that he's followed her out of the store. She stares at him with a feeling of horror in the pit of her stomach.

  "Sorry," he adds.

  "Go fuck yourself," Sam says, wiping her eyes and grabbing her shopping bag before getting to her feet and trying to push past the guy.

  "Wait up," the guy says, grabbing her by the arm. "If you're not in the mood right now, maybe later? Do you want to meet up for a drink or something? Maybe we can go down to the canal or something. Andy said you might be up for something else later, too. He says you didn't make him use a condom, so -"

  "Let go of me," Sam says, trying to sound firm despite the fact that she can barely even speak right now.

  "You know what I think?" the guy replies with a smile. "I think we should both just relax." Reaching down, he starts undoing the front of his trousers.

  Pulling her arm free, Sam starts walking away and, after a moment, she breaks into a run. Pretty soon, she's racing through the center of town, determined to get the hell away from everyone. Eventually she gets back to the front of the apartment building where she lives with her grandmother, and she hurries into the hallway before bursting into tears yet again. Feeling weak, she sits on the steps and takes a moment to pull herself together.

  "Asshole," she mutters, even though she knows that the whole encounter is probably at least partly her fault. After all, she figures the guy didn't just approach her out of thin air; she must have done something with his friend at a nightclub, which means that the whole thing has kind of come full circle.

  After a few minutes, she finally starts to calm down. Taking deep, measured breaths, she tries to focus on the fact that she's safe, at least for now. Then again, she's already arranged to meet Nadia again tonight, which means that they'll inevitably end up going to another nightclub and the whole cycle is going to start up again. There's a part of Sam that desperately wants to break free of this constant series of humiliations, but she knows deep down that as soon as the sun goes down, she'll end up dragging herself out to meet Nadia in one of the local pubs. Sometimes, she feels as if she's not even in control of her life these days, as if she's compelled to keep going out and getting drunk. In fact, she's starting to wonder if maybe she's got some kind of drinking problem, even though she usually ends up dismissing the idea as complete nonsense.

  "Pull yourself together," she mutters as she hauls herself up and starts walking to her grandmother's apartment. By the time she gets to the front door, all traces of tears are gone from her eyes.


  Part Six:

  Demons All

  Prologue

  Six months ago

  "Samantha, are you hungover again?"

  Her grandmother's voice cuts through her head like an ice-pick. It's 8am, and Sam's supposed to be getting up early for her first trial shift at the supermarket. Unfortunately, her 'quick drink' with Nadia last night ended up becoming a full-on night out, and she only got home a few hours ago. Desperately trying to sober up and make herself look presentable, she's on her knees in front of the toilet. She figures she can definitely sort herself out, but not if her grandmother's banging on the bathroom door every five minutes and trying to deliver yet another goddamn lecture.

  "Samantha? Are you okay in there?"

  "I'm fine," she replies, feeling as if she's about to vomit again. Her stomach seems to be churning constantly. She's used to feeling bad after a night out, but she's always prided herself on being able to recover fairly quickly. Over the past week, however, her body seems to have started letting her down, and right now she feels rougher than ever. "I think it's just a stomach bug."

  "What time did you get home last night?"

  "Not too late."

  "I looked at the clock when I heard you come in. It was almost 5am. Do you really think that's an acceptable time for you to be getting to the door?" There's a pause as she waits for an answer. "Aren't you supposed to be starting at the store today?"

  "Not for a few more hours," Sam says, forcing herself to hold back from vomiting until her grandmother goes back through to the kitchen. "Just fuck off," she whispers under her breath, feeling a wave of pain in her belly. "Please, just fuck off so I can get on with this."

  "Were you with that Nadia girl again?"

  "Yeah," Sam replies, bracing herself as another bout of sharp, jabbing pain pulses through her body. "And some other girls."

  "I don't know why you do this to yourself," her grandmother continues. "It seems like you're out every night, pouring all sorts of liquor down your throat. I was watching the news the other night, Samantha, and there was a report about binge drinking. Are you aware of the damage you could be doing to your body by getting so hopelessly drunk every night?"

  "It's not like that," Sam mutters, finding it harder and harder to keep from throwing up.

  "Why's it not like that? Because you think you're different to everyone else? Because you think that somehow you're special? Let me tell you something, young lady, you're not special. Not if you keep drinking like this. Your liver's not going to take it forever."

  Sam opens her mouth to reply, but instead she ends up vomiting. For the next minute or so, she can't stop from bringing up last night's drinks and kebab.

  "For God's sake," her grandmother continues, "you're a disgrace. Do you hear me?"

  "It's hard not to," Sam mutters, grabbing some toilet paper and wiping her mouth.

  "If you lose this job before you've even started, I swear I don't know what I'll do with you. You're a disgrace, Samantha. Jobs aren't easy to come by in this economy, and yet you're acting as if nothing matters. There are people out there who are far more deserving of this opportunity, who aren't just going to waste everything that comes their way!" Again, she waits for an answer. "I can't continue to support us both, Samantha. My pension just doesn't cover it. I'm eighty-three years old, for God's sake. Do you think I deserve to spend my twilight years arguing with a recalcitrant young woman who should know better than to act in such a disrespectful -"

  "Okay!" Sam shouts suddenly, finally losing her temper. "I understand! I get it! You're disappointed, and you're right! Let's just leave it at that, yeah? I'm not arguing with you. You're totally right, so can I please just get on with getting ready? I'm totally fine, but if I have to constantly talk to you about every little thing, I'm never going to be ready, am I?" She waits for an answer, and eventually she hears her grandmother walking away from the door.

  "Great," Sam sighs, realizing that her grandmother has shifted from angry mode to sulk mode. There'll be hell to pay later, and the silent treatment is probably going to last for a couple of days, but Sam figures she can handle whatever gets thrown at her. She's used to dealing with her grandmother's moods, and even if she doesn't like them, she can just keep out of the house as much as possible. "Guess I'll be going out later after all," she mutters as she flushes the toilet. "Anything to keep out of this fucking place."

  Half an hour later, having cleaned herself up, taken a shower and fixed her hair and make-up, Sam stands in front of the mirror wearing the uniform she was given at her job interview. She still feels pretty awful, but at least she figures she can make herself look okay. All she has to do is keep her head down, do what she's told when she gets to the supermarket, and hope she can hang on to this one lousy job. She also figures she needs to cut down on the nights out, because she's starting to feel as if her hangovers are getting much worse. Lately, her body seems to have started to rebel on her, as if it's trying to get her to slow down.

  "Okay," she says, staring at her reflection. "You can do this. You can do this." With that, she turns and heads out of the bathroom, ready to face the world. She never particularly wanted to be a cashier at a crumby supermarket, but then again she's never really felt any particular desire to be anything at all. Avoiding her grandmother in the kitchen, she goes straight to the door and out into the blindingly bright morning.

  Chapter One

  "Okay," Sam says, staring at herself in the mirror. She brushes the hair from over her eyes and takes a moment to straighten her jacket, before peering closer and cleaning some make-up residue from the corner of her eyes. It's been so long since she actually went out anywhere socially, she's almost forgotten how to get ready. Finally, pulling back her lips, so spots a huge chunk of bread stick between her front teeth.

  "Great," she mutters, trying to dig the bread out using the end of a hair-clip.

  "You look different," says a voice from nearby.

  Turning, Sam sees that Sparky the stone angel is standing in the doorway. With all the craziness that has been happening lately, Sam has barely had time to speak to Sparky, and she certainly isn't used to the idea that a man made of stone, with a big pair of furled wings on his back, can wander around the cottage and try to start up a conversation. He has a very relaxed and contented attitude, as if he views the world through a filter of peace and calm. Sam finds his presence to be strangely reassuring, even if she can't shake the feeling that there must be a little more to him.

  "I'm just popping out for a few hours," she says, turning back to the mirror in order to resume her excavation attempt with the hair-clip. Tensing up a little, she hopes Sparky won't ask too many questions.

  "To meet someone?"

  "It's a long-standing arrangement," she replies, watching as a mouse scurries across the floor. "I agreed to it a while ago, and I already stood him up once, so... It's nothing big, really. Just someone who might be able to help."

  "You need help?"

  "It's complicated." She waits for him to ask another question. "It's not really complicated," she continues eventually. "It's more that it's... difficult to express in words."

  "Apparently so."

  "Can't a girl go and have dinner with some guy without it being seen as a date?" Sam asks. "I mean, is everyone so fucking fixated on romance and all that crap? It's just dinner. Really, we're just meeting to talk, but it's kinda more interesting to have some food at the same time, and..." She pauses, as she realizes she's rambling. "You know what I mean, right?"

  Sparky stares at her.

  "I know you know," she continues. "You must have been on a date occasionally."

  Sparky tilts his head a little, like a dog.

  "This world is crazy," Sam adds with a sigh.

  "That, I agree with," Sparky says. "It has been many years since I took this form and became trapped in the cemetery. I rarely experience interactions with people from the outside world, but I have certainly observed that things seem to have ch
anged."

  Continuing to work on the piece of bread, Sam eventually realizes that Sparky is just standing in the doorway, staring at her. "So your name's not really Sparky, is it?" she asks after a moment, figuring that she might as well try to get some kind of conversation going. "Faraday was saying that he used to call you something else."

  "Most people call me Martello," the angel replies. "It was my name long ago, when I was the gardener here. When I was human. The name given to me by my parents was Luke Martello. I was raised under that name and trained under that name. In a way, however, I feel that I have outworn that name. Anyway..." He pauses. "Sparky's not so bad. If I didn't like it, I'd have let you know by now."

  "So you were a gardener here," Sam continues. "How long ago?"

  "Too long. I was one of the first."

  "Weren't the first gardeners, like, ninjas or something?"

  "No," Sparky replies. "Not ninjas. However, we were warriors. We had a sacred oath to defend this place from all those who wished to come and disturb the Devil's sleep."

  "And there are a lot of people who want to do that, are there?" Sam asks. "I mean, call me nuts, but I'd have thought it'd be a bad idea to wake him up. Isn't there a chance that he might be a little grumpy?"

  "There are creatures in the world who see things differently," Sparky points out. "They seek power, and who better to give them power than the Devil? They think he'll rise from his grave one day and grant them untold riches, so they compete to be the first to raise him. They're wrong, of course, but the pursuit of power can sometimes blind even the most intelligent of creatures. That's why the gardeners were put here, to preserve the grave, and it's why we remain even in death, albeit in a new form."