by phuc
“And is it?”
Gordon was silent. He wouldn’t look at Tim, and Tim wondered again if this was some elaborate joke. His old instinct told him not to trust Gordon due to their history, but the other boy’s tone of voice, his fearful expression, his body language, was clear evidence: everything Tim was being told was the truth.
Gordon looked at him. “If you’re thinking I’m fucking with you, I’m not. I swear to God it’s the truth. I never thought…never thought—”
“I’ve got to admit it sounds…” Unbelievable was the word he wanted to use.
“Crazy?”
“Yeah.” Tim nodded.
“I know. But I’m telling you man, that shit worked. Everything in that book worked, right down to the last—”
“Tell me again what you did.”
Gordon backtracked a bit and related how he’d read over the passages from Back From the Dead where the houngan in the story resurrects the corpse of an ally for use in an upcoming battle with an enemy. The passage itself wasn’t very long, but it was enough to mix fact with fantasy to paint a very vivid, realistic picture. “I just gathered the stuff that’s mentioned in the book. Those roots and herbs I got at Madam Crosswell’s in Lancaster. I got the candles and salt and purchased a rabbit at Mill’s Pet Store in Hempfield. And then I went to Zuck’s Woods and found a nice secluded spot and just did the spell, the one that hung…how do you pronounce that?”
“Houngan,” Tim said, carefully enunciating the words.
“Right. I just followed how he did that spell in the book, the one that consecrates the ground for use in a ritual designed to raise the dead. It was kinda hard because it was dark and I had to keep looking from the book to what I was doing. Some of the words were hard to pronounce, so I just did it the best I could. In fact, the rest of that spell is just plain gibberish. I skipped that part and just recited the stuff in English—”
“You skipped some of it?”
“Yeah. Why?” Gordon looked at Tim as if he’d done something wrong.
What are you going to tell him now? That skipping over parts of a make-believe spell, from a make-believe book, might have altered the spell he was trying to conjure?
Tim knew enough about the occult from his scant reading of it to know that rituals and formulas had to be followed precisely. Any deviation could alter the effects of the spell drastically. He kept this to himself. No need to tell Gordon, especially when he was having a hard time coming to grips with Gordon’s story.
“So you consecrated the ground and then the next night you brought Neal’s body back and did the resurrecting spell,” Tim said, choosing his words carefully. “Did you deviate from it at all?”
“No. Some of the words were hard to pronounce so I might have…skimmed over some of them.” Gordon looked frustrated. “You think I fucked it up by mispronouncing them?”
“I don’t know.” Tim’s mind was racing. He still didn’t know what to make of this, but he had to keep Gordon on his side. Had to maintain Gordon’s trust. After all, Gordon had come to him for help. “It sounds like everything worked, though.”
“So how do we get it to unwork?” Gordon asked. “Is there a spell in the book to counteract what I did?”
“No,” Tim said. It was obvious from that last question that Gordon had not read Back From the Dead in its entirety.
“So what can we do?”
“What can we do?”
“Yeah.” Gordon was looking at him expectantly. “You’ve gotta help me, Tim.”
“To be honest, I’m having a hard time believing this.”
“Would it help if I showed you?”
“You can show me?”
“Yeah. I can take you to Scott’s place. Sneak you in the back.”
“I don’t know…” Tim’s instincts were screaming don’t trust him! It’s a gag!
“I can take you tonight. Scott’s going out with Rebecca, and his parents either won’t be home or won’t notice. It’ll be a quick sneak into their yard, a peek through the door, and you’ll have all the proof you need.”
It still didn’t sit right with Tim. He tried not to let his nervousness show. “I don’t know. I’m kinda on house arrest now since…you know.”
“We can do it real late at night,” Gordon said, and now his expression changed. It became more animated, more persuasive. “I know you want to put this whole thing behind you and maybe…maybe this can be the thing that’ll do it.”
“How would my going over to the Bradfield estate, and seeing what you’re telling me are zombies, help?”
“You’re having a hard time believing what I’m telling you, correct?”
“Yeah.”
“So you’ve got to see them. If you see them, you’ll believe me.”
“Okay, say everything you tell me is true, and by this time tomorrow I’m a believer. Then what? How am I supposed to help you outside of calling the police?”
Gordon’s enthusiasm faltered. “You don’t want to do that, Tim.”
“Why not? I thought you wanted help.”
“I want to help myself get out of this. That means ending the spell, ending Scott’s insanity, so he won’t do this again.”
“You think he’s going to try it again? Kill another homeless person, bury them in Zuck’s Woods and make another zombie?”
“Yes.”
Tim contemplated this. Gordon still spoke with the air of somebody who was deadly serious and not joking around. Still, the very idea of what Gordon was insinuating just wasn’t very believable. “You think I can stop it somehow?”
“If you see, you’ll believe that what I’m telling you is the truth. And maybe that’ll help you find a spell to stop this.”
Why the hell do you think I’ll know a spell to stop this? I’m not the fucking devil-worshipper you and your idiotic friends have made me out to be! I wouldn’t know the first thing about casting a spell! Of course, saying this would be useless. Gordon not only believed Back From the Dead was real, he believed black magic was real.
And with that thought, something tugged at him.
Suppose some of it was real?
Tim had a healthy interest in the supernatural. He was fascinated by it. The romanticism of life after death was highly intriguing, and part of him wished there was some merit to his spirit living on after death. He had no solid belief in any form of organized religion. While the idea of ghosts, of spirits, of some form of supernatural power that could be used for good or evil purposes was intriguing and held his interest, he pretty much rejected all concepts of a supreme diety that ruled from the sky. That didn’t mean he’d slammed the door entirely on that particular school of thought, just that he’d pretty much rejected all the traditional dogma of Judeo-Christian thought.
But that didn’t mean he’d rejected everything entirely.
“I’ve gotta be honest with you,” Tim said, choosing his words carefully. “I’m finding this hard to believe, and even if I did see what you’re…alleging is true…I don’t know how I can help. I don’t know much about the occult and black magic, just what I’ve read in horror novels and a few non-fiction accounts. I’m no expert.”
Gordon acted as if he hadn’t heard Tim. “Let me spell it out for you. You have to help me out of this. If you do, I can help get the Dean of the school off your case and I can persuade the police to drop their investigation of you and your friends in that grave-robbing thing. I can also ensure that nothing like that happens to you guys again.”
Tim felt his face flush with anger. “I’ve listened to enough.” He rose to his feet.
“You’re going to have to go now, Gordon.”
Gordon didn’t budge from his space on the sofa. “If you don’t help me I’ll make it worse for you.”
“How are you going to make it worse?”
“I kept some of the bones from that corpse I dug up. I planted some last night in your garden while you were asleep.”
“Bullshit!”
“Wa
nna try me? Say no to my offer now, the minute I leave I’m calling the police and leaving an anonymous call that the remainder of that corpse is buried in your garden.
They’ll find it, too. They’ve got a hard-on for you, Tim. It won’t take much for me to get them out here.”
“You’re full of shit!” Tim got up and strode to the kitchen. He looked out the window that overlooked the garden his mom had tended ever since they’d moved in, the one where she planted tomatoes, beans, turnips, and red peppers every year.
There was a spot two feet from the wooden edge of the garden where the ground had recently been turned over and stomped down again. The earth was a darker shade than the rest, giving the appearance something had been planted there.
Mom doesn’t plant anything in that section, he thought. And I haven’t seen her back here recently…so why is it—
Gordon approached from behind, keeping his distance. “I really don’t want to blackmail you, Tim. Honest to God. I just want you to help me, and I swear when it’s all over you’ll never hear from me again.”
Tim whirled to face Gordon. He could barely contain his anger. “You fucking asshole.”
Gordon pulled out his cell phone from his pocket. He flipped it open, pressed a button, and started to walk away. “Fine, you don’t want to help me, I’ll leave. I’ll be placing that call though.” He stepped away and headed toward the front door.
“Wait!” The urge to placate Gordon temporarily and dash outside to see what was buried in his mother’s garden pulsed strongly through him. “Hold on, I’ll help you.”
Gordon paused at the front door. “You will?”
“Yes.”
Gordon put the phone back in his pocket. “Great!”
“But I need to see them first.”
Gordon nodded. “Of course. I’ll take you tonight.”
“Not tonight. Now.”
Gordon shook his head. “No can do, buddy. Scott’s home, and he’d freak if he saw you there. We’ve got to sneak over tonight.”
Tim sighed. His mind raced, trying to come up with an alternate plan. Something to dig himself out of this. He didn’t want to have anything to do with Gordon, wanted no part of this lunacy, but he also didn’t want to put his parents and George and Al and their families through any more trouble. It had to end, tonight if possible. “Fine,” he said.
“Tonight then.”
Gordon nodded and opened the door to leave. “One final warning,” he said. His features were impassive as he faced Tim. “Don’t call the police. They’re not only not going to believe you, they’re going to believe everything I tell them.”
“And why would they believe you?”
Gordon rolled his eyes. “Do I have to spell it out for you? C’mon, Tim, you’re a smart guy.”
“Okay, I get it.” Tim said, the reality of what he was about to say stinging to his soul. “Nobody likes me in this town. It’s pretty much evident from what I’ve been through for the past five years. It’s also evident from the fact that nobody believed me when my copy of Back From the Dead was found at the cemetery and the police dismissed me when I told them I’d loaned it to you.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Gordon looked at Tim and for a moment that softness came back again. “I admit, I lied to the police about returning that book to you. Judging by what’s happened with you and your friends, they believed me.”
“No thanks to you,” Tim muttered.
“Just remember…they’re going to continue to believe me, and they’ll especially believe Scott, Steve, and Dave. They’ll believe me when I tell them more evidence is planted not only in the garden, but somewhere else on your property.”
Tim sputtered. “What?”
Gordon ignored the outburst and continued. “If the police come and say you’d told them I just tried to blackmail you, I’ll make sure they know about this other hidden spot where the bones are buried. There’s other incriminating evidence buried there, too. It might even point to you being involved in John’s murder.”
Tim was so stunned by this that he didn’t know what to say. It was like he’d temporarily lost the ability for speech. His heart pounded fiercely in his chest and he felt his body grow light. “You wouldn’t,” he managed to whisper.
“John picked on you too, right? And with all that horror and occult stuff the cops probably hauled away the other night…” Gordon shrugged and turned to exit the house.
“I’ll pull up to your place at two A.M.,” he said as he left. “If you aren’t waiting for me at the curb, I’m placing that call to the police tomorrow morning. And remember.” He paused at the foot of the walk that led to their parking pad. “Not a word of this to anybody. Things will only get worse for you if you call the cops. Nobody’s gonna believe you.”
And with that final threat, Gordon Smith turned and walked down the driveway.
Tim closed the door and leaned against it. Despite the coolness of the living room brought on by the air conditioner, he was sweating.
This can’t be happening. There’s no way any reasonable adult in his or her right mind would look at everything that’s happened logically and determine that Gordon Smith and Scott Bradfield are telling the truth…especially if what Gordon is saying is even partially true…that they’ve kidnapped homeless people and murdered them on Scott’s own property…
… and John! My God, they killed John Elfman?
As much as Tim tried to rationalize it, he couldn’t see how the authorities would believe Gordon over him. He had alibis. He had a solid academic record. He had—
You have a police record, a school disciplinary record that includes allegations of Satanic ritual, witchcraft, vandalism, and all kinds of bogus, trumped-up shit. Gordon, Scott, Steve, and Dave, on the other hand, are good upstanding Christian citizens in the eyes of pretty much everybody in town and can do no wrong. Who do you think they’re going to believe?
And with that it was clear to Tim what must be done. What he had to do.
He had no other choice.
He had to go with Gordon tonight. He had to see for himself.
Chapter Seventeen
Sneaking out of the house was easy enough. His parents were sound sleepers.
His only worry was getting through the next hour or so and sneaking back in without being caught.
The neighborhood was silent as he stood by the curb waiting for Gordon. It was a warm night and a slight breeze brought much needed relief to the ninety-five degree heat the region had experienced the day before. Despite the warm night, Tim had dressed in a pair of jeans, tee shirt, and sneakers. He also had his cell phone, which contained a digital camera. If the possibility availed itself, he was going to snap a picture of the so-called zombies.
A pair of headlights stabbed the darkness and drew closer. As the car pulled up quietly at the curb, Tim noted Gordon’s pale features behind the wheel.
Tim got in the front seat and Gordon pulled away without a word.
“You sure Scott’s still gone?” Tim asked as they headed out of the development.
“Yeah,” Gordon said. He yawned. “He’s at Rebecca’s tonight.”
“He’s spending the night at her place?”
“Oh yeah.” Gordon grinned at him. “Her parents must be cool, eh? Imagine being able to spend the night fucking your girlfriend at her parents home!”
Chelsea popped into his mind and Tim felt a short tug to his heart. She’d been over to the house earlier that evening where they’d watched TV and hung out on the back deck. Mom and Dad had given them their space and mostly stayed inside. Chelsea could sense something had been bothering him and the one time she’d asked, Tim had told her everything was fine, he was just worrying about the latest court appearance. They were due in Lancaster Superior Court in a few days regarding the motion to dismiss the criminal investigation that was currently ongoing against Tim. That seemed to satisfy her, and Tim had tried to be a happy-go-lucky boyfriend the rest of the evening, but felt he’d fai
led miserably.
“His parents are gone, too?” Tim asked.
“His dad’s home. Not sure about his mom.” Gordon was silent for a moment.
“Two A.M. is pretty late for Mr. Bradfield anyway. He’s probably in bed.”
Tim said nothing else as Gordon drove them to the Bradfield estate.
As they entered the road that took them into the hills that led to the estate, Tim felt his apprehension rise. He was prepared for pretty much anything tonight, having rehearsed several scenarios multiple times in his head. If this were a trick, he’d know the minute he stepped on to the property. He would activate his cell phone, would have the pre-set 911 button ready to dial and then if something or somebody so much as jumped out at him, he was sending the call. He’d yell out his location during whatever physical confrontation happened and do his best to get the hell out of there.
Otherwise, if he saw the zombies and had the opportunity, he would try to snap a photo. He had a plan if the zombies were real and this was a ruse to get rid of Tim by feeding him to the creatures; he would make Gordon enter the guesthouse first, would hang outside for a moment to make sure nobody else was around, then enter with extreme caution, making sure Gordon was in plain sight.
Regardless, he was nervous about what was going to happen tonight. He had no idea if he was really going to see what Gordon claimed were zombies. He had no idea what to expect.
He still couldn’t believe what Gordon told him.
He’d spent the rest of yesterday and last night thinking about it and had consulted a copy of Back From the Dead for the passage in question (Al had picked up another copy for him at a used bookstore). The scene that contained the spell was only three paragraphs long and consisted mainly of dialogue and narrative exposition. Hardly a recipe for a spell, but somehow Gordon had gotten it to work.
The question was, how?
Tim had leafed carefully through the book, looking for any other reference or clue that might give him some idea. Aside from a vague reference to the Liber Salomonis and the De prestigiis daemonum, which were no doubt fictional black magic tomes, there were no other references to spells, hexes, or black magic. Google searches were vague. It was only when Tim had exhausted his efforts in perusing Back From the Dead did he get the notion to do some research on Richard Long, the author of the book.
