Horror For Good - A Charitable Anthology

by Jack Ketchum

  Screw it.

  He parked at a Subway across the street, bought himself a sandwich, and walked to the cemetery.

  As he approached the wall, the same chill shot through him as before he approached Patrick's grave. No, the other Patrick. He crouched until he was face to face with the doll. It had the same type of construction, the same stitching, and the same eyes and mouth as the one in his closet.

  It was too strange. He reached for it, brushed its burlap cheek. His fingers wrapped around it and tugged. A part of his mind screamed at him, what the hell do you think you're doing? But his hand worked for itself and pulled the doll away.

  He knew he was going to get caught. Someone would bust him. Could they charge him with grave robbing for this? He didn't know.

  He tucked the doll in his jacket and went back to work.

  The rest of the day, the doll stayed in his jacket pocket. Periodically, he would reach his fingers in to feel the coarse burlap or trace the line of its mouth. He fought the urge to pull it out and stare at it. He didn't want to explain to everyone in his office why he was playing with a doll.

  A doll stolen from a child's grave.

  Why did he do that?

  Every time he touched it, he imagined his son's doll tucked between his arm and chest in his coffin. His son's fingers curled around its body, hugging it tight against the navy blue suit he was buried in, the holes in his son's flesh sewn together and painted over with make-up.

  When he arrived home, he went to the closet and hung his jacket up. Anna walked in as he closed the door.

  She grinned. "Putting up your own things, huh?"

  "Yeah."

  "About time," she joked.

  "Don't start with that," he said. He instantly regretted it as he watched her smile fade. He didn't know why he snapped at her, especially when she had been in such a good mood.

  She nodded, her face stone, and went into the kitchen. David sighed and sat on the couch. He felt the faint stirrings of a headache coming. He closed his eyes, massaged his temples, and wondered why he wasn't a better husband.

  Anna cooked spaghetti and they went for a long walk. They didn't speak much. David was focused on the doll. He couldn't wait for Anna to go to sleep.

  When she went to bed, he took the doll from his jacket and collapsed onto the couch. He held it above him and examined it, running his fingers along every curve.

  He should return it. What if the other Patrick's parents came by and notice it missing? How would they feel? Tomorrow. He'd take it back on his lunch break. David fell asleep on the couch with the doll in his arms. He wasn't out long when something jolted him awake. He bolted upright, the doll falling from his lap into the floor.

  "Anna, I..."

  He was alone. The door to the bedroom was still closed. His hand went to his cheek. What was it that woke him? He thought he had felt Anna's hand on his face.

  He must have been dreaming. He leaned over and reached for the doll.

  It wasn't there.

  It had fallen right beside the couch. He was sure of it. He rolled onto the floor and crawled around patting under the furniture. A sick feeling started to form in the pit of his stomach, a sure sign to David that he would miss the doll.

  And Anna would find it.

  He sat on his knees and ran a hand through his hair.

  It sat on the couch, facing him.

  He blinked. Shook his head. He must have grabbed it when it fell and, half asleep, put it back on the couch without realizing it. It was a wonder he didn't carry it to bed with him.

  He picked up the doll and placed it back in his jacket. He shut the closet door and leaned his head against it. Eyes closed, he pressed his head harder against the door, feeling the grain of the wood against his skin. He pressed harder, until little white lights sparked behind his lids, and imagined he pressed his head against the lid of a coffin.

  After brushing his teeth and washing his face, he stared at himself in the mirror. Why was this hitting him so hard now, three years later? He grieved when his son was gone, as any father would. But his thoughts were never so macabre.

  Maybe he'd been hiding it for too long? Maybe avoiding it had only let it build up pressure and now it was going off like a tea kettle.

  Or maybe it was the doll. Why did he take that thing anyway? He vowed again to return it tomorrow.

  He crept into the bedroom, careful not to disturb his wife. She lay on her side with her back to him, the covers kicked off and tangled around her feet. Her hair spilled over her pillow, down her back, and onto his half of the bed. He kicked off his clothes and slid in next to her, carefully gathering her hair and placing it on her side. The bed swallowed him as he leaned onto his pillow.

  He was almost asleep again when the door creaked. He must not have closed it all the way.

  There was a faint shuffling, the sound of feet moving through carpet.

  Heart racing, throat constricting, he tried to open his eyes but his lids refused.

  The shuffling grew closer. David tried to say Anna's name, but could barely breathe.

  "Shhhh..."

  He forced his eyes open at the sound. A small figure stood beside his bed. Tears formed in David's eyes.

  "Patrick?"

  "Yes."

  He wiped his face and leaned forward. The figure was little more than shadow, but was the right size for a boy. He could make out the hair, though. The boy's brown hair hung down into his face, helping to hide his features.

  His brown hair.

  "You're not my son."

  It placed a dry, withered finger to David's lips. The finger tasted like mold. "I never said I was," he whispered. His voice was high pitched and playful. It was also hollow, like a recording played through blown speakers.

  "You're the other Patrick." David sat up. His heartbeat slowed as he realized he must be dreaming.

  The boy nodded.

  David assumed he was there for the doll. "I was going to bring it back to you," he said.

  Little fingers curled around his hand and tugged. David stood and followed the boy through the door.

  He was in the cemetery. It was still night, the only light a sliver of moon that hung above their heads. David turned and looked behind him. They had stepped from a large, granite mausoleum. The iron door was open and he could see his bedroom through it. Anna tossed and turned on their bed.

  The fingers tugged again and David followed.

  As they neared the wall of hedges, he saw movement. Shadows flickered around the graves. David squinted, trying to see what happened.

  They were playing.

  Children gathered around their tombstones, pushing cars around in the dirt. Two boys placed army men on a small hill while a group of girls held a tea party around a rotting doll house. As David approached, they stopped. Countless pairs of dead eyes fell on him.

  "You took my doll," the other Patrick said.

  Out here in the cemetery, under the moonlight, David could see the boy's pale skin and black eyes. Tiny threads of stitching hung from his eyelids and lips. A red t-shirt sat loose underneath a pair of overalls. He reminded David of the doll.

  "I'm sorry."

  "It's okay. I don't mind sharing. We all share our toys here."

  The others turned back to their toys and continued playing.

  "I just thought," the boy continued, "that you might want to play with us."

  "What?"

  "You and the lady seemed so sad. Why?"

  "My son..." David choked on the words.

  "He has a doll like mine, huh? Was his name Patrick, too?"

  David nodded.

  "It's good to have toys when you come here," the other Patrick said. "Will you stay?"

  A sinking feeling formed in David's stomach and he started to sweat. He shook his head. The boy smiled.

  "It's okay. We're not lonely here. I just thought you might be. Do you want to play awhile?"

  "Okay."

  One of the girls brought over a
soggy and faded "Chutes and Ladders" game. "Hi. I'm Alessa." She opened the box and pulled the board out. Her long hair hung down over a faded blue dress. David guessed her hair was once blonde, but had faded to the color of grub worms.

  "This is David," the other Patrick said.

  "It's nice to meet you. We don't get a lot of grown-ups playing with us anymore. What piece do you want?"

  David pointed to one of the pieces at random. Alessa handed it to him and frowned.

  "It's a lot yuckier than it used to be," she said, embarrassed.

  "My toys have gotten pretty yucky, too," Patrick said.

  "It's okay," David said. "I don't mind."

  They played the game for hours, until the rising sun shot streaks of purple through the sky.

  "I should take you back," Patrick said.

  Alessa smiled and gathered the game pieces up. "It was nice playing with you, David. You're a sweet man." She took her box and rushed back over to the wall of graves.

  Patrick's tiny fingers wrapped around David's and tugged him back toward the mausoleum. "Will you play with us again tomorrow?"

  "Sure. Yeah, I will." David smiled and stepped through the door.

  ***

  He showered and left before Anna woke leaving a note that he had an early meeting. He hoped she wouldn't call him at work and discover he had cancelled his meetings and called in sick.

  He drove to the cemetery and parked out front. He waited an hour for the gates to open and then rushed to the wall.

  His eyes scanned up and down, running over each of the rotting toys. Finally he saw it: the "Chutes and Ladders" game. Underneath was an overgrown grave. He ripped the vines and weeds away. He fell to his knees when he saw the name.

  Alessa Orinkov.

  It was real. It happened. He spent the night playing here with these children. He shook his head in disbelief. Blinked. Read the name again.

  He stood and stumbled over to Patrick's grave. He took the doll from his jacket and tied it back in place. He scanned up and down the wall again, noting which toys were in the worst condition. Then he left.

  ***

  "Thank you for the toys," Patrick said as the children pulled their presents from the vines. Laughter echoed through the empty cemetery and filled David with warmth. It was like watching his son on Christmas morning.

  "I brought your doll," David said.

  "I know. But I want you to keep it," Patrick said and handed it back.

  "Okay."

  Patrick smiled and tugged on David's hand. "I'm glad you come to see us so much. My Dad stopped coming. He only visited during the day, with the other grownups. But he doesn't even do that now."

  "I'm sorry."

  "It made him too sad."

  David understood how that felt. He ruffled the boy's hair. "I'm sure he'll be back."

  "At least I've got you to play with me now."

  Alessa ran up to David, hugging her brand new "Chutes and Ladders" to her chest. "Thank you. Oh, thank you–thank you–thank you."

  "You're welcome," David said and smiled.

  He played with all of the children that night, showing each of them how to use their new toys. It made him feel good inside, like he was human again. Like he was a father again.

  ***

  "Why have you been lying to me?" Anna was angry, angrier than David had seen her in a long while. But he knew she was hurt, too, and so he kept his voice calm.

  "I didn't mean to lie to you."

  "Why haven't you been to work in a week?"

  "I haven't been sleeping well." He shuffled his feet and looked at the floor, unsure what to tell her.

  "Then where have you been going in the morning when you leave here? Why have you withdrawn six hundred dollars from our checking account?" Her face was fire, and spittle flew from her mouth.

  "You wouldn't understand."

  "Is it another woman?" Her body shook as she asked and David's insides hollowed from what he was putting her through.

  "No. God no."

  "Then what is it?"

  "Patrick." He blurted it without thinking. It hung in the air between them and there was no turning back.

  She sat on the bed next to him. They were both quiet.

  She touched her hand to his knee and asked, "What do you mean?"

  "Can I show you something?"

  She nodded. David went to the closet and brought back Patrick's box. Anna started to cry as he removed their son's clothes. Her hand went to them, and then recoiled as if she had burnt herself. Finally he pulled out the doll.

  He held it toward her. "Do you remember this?"

  She nodded, refusing to touch it.

  "Do you remember the one that we buried him with?"

  "David, why are you doing this to me?"

  He pulled the other Patrick's doll from his jacket. She stifled a yell upon seeing it and her hands went to her mouth. She shook her head back and forth.

  "I found this one at the cemetery," he said.

  "What?"

  "It was at Patrick's grave. The other Patrick. The grave that you and I saw that day."

  "Why would you take it?"

  "I don't know. I just wanted to...I don't know." He shook his head.

  "Oh, David. You have to take it back."

  "I tried. He told me to keep it."

  "Who?"

  He swallowed. "The other Patrick. The one at the cemetery."

  She paced over to the window and stared out. "We need to see a counselor. You've never dealt with his death."

  "And you have?"

  "Yes. No. I don't know. But this isn't normal, David. It's not sane."

  He could agree with that. After all, was there anything sane about buying toys for dead children? Or playing with them?

  But it was real. He knew it was.

  "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you like I should have been," he said. "After he died, I shouldn't have poured myself into my work."

  He waited for her to say something, but she stared out the window. He continued.

  "I'm sorry I never supported your acting. It's not just a hobby. I know that now. It's a compulsion. Something that you have to do."

  She nodded.

  David went into the kitchen and poured them both a glass of water. He placed hers on her nightstand with two sleeping pills. He gulped down two himself and curled up on his side of the bed. The doll was clutched to his chest.

  Later, as he drifted off to sleep, he thought he felt her hand reach around him and take the doll.

  When he heard Anna gasp, he opened his eyes and rolled over to find her sitting up, the doll in her hands. She trembled and whispered something. David put his hand on her knee, but she couldn't take her eyes from the boy that entered the room.

  "It's okay," David said. He stood and took Patrick's hand. He looked back at his wife. "Come with us," he said and reached for her.

  She stared at his hand for a long while before taking it and crawling from the bed.

  When they were in the cemetery, Patrick ran to the children already playing with their new toys at the wall.

  Anna was sobbing. "Oh my God, oh my God."

  David held her. "Shhhh. It's okay. They just want to play." He led his wife to the wall. "This is what I've been spending money on, not another woman."

  "The toys..."

  "Yeah. Their old toys were in pretty bad shape. No child should have old toys."

  Alessa ran up to them, smiling. She threw her arms around David's waist. Anna took a step back.

  "Hi, David. Is this your wife?"

  David smiled. "Yes. Alessa, this is Anna."

  "Pleased to meet you," she said and held out her hand. Anna stared at it.

  David laughed. "Don't be rude."

  Anna looked to her husband and he nodded. She grabbed the girl's hand and shook it.

  "You'll have to forgive my wife. She's not used to being around kids." He winked at Anna.

  "That's okay. You guys wanna play a game?"

>   He looked to his wife. She stared at a group of children playing hide and seek.

  "Yeah. You go set the board up and we'll be there in a minute."

  "Okay." She skipped off.

  "They're...they're so young," Anna said.

  "Yeah."

  "They look like children."

  "They are," he said. "All they want to do is play."

  "How...?"

  "I don't know. Maybe it's this place. The toys on the wall. I really don't know."

  "Do you think other graveyards...I mean..."

  David shook his head. "No. I don't know why, but I'm sure this place is unique."

  He guided his wife to where Alessa and a group of children had set up their game. They sat on the ground next to the board and Anna handed out the pieces. Patrick came over and squeezed in between David and Anna. David looked to his wife and saw a smile on her face. She hugged the boy.

  "Patrick," she said.

  Alessa tugged on Anna's nightshirt. "Can you guys stay here with us?"

  Patrick buried his head into Anna's side. "Our parents don't come anymore."

  "Little kids should have parents," Alessa said.

  David took Anna's hand in his. Pale moonlight caught the tears streaking her face. But she smiled.

  ***

  The following week, back in their bedroom, David passed a glass of water across the bed to his wife. They kissed and he turned the light off, the dark rushing in, no longer feeling lonely. Instead, he realized as he slid under the blanket and next to Anna, it felt warm and comforting. It felt right.

  When their bodies were finally found, he knew it would be ruled a double-suicide. The bottles of pills on the bedside table would give it away if an autopsy report didn't.

  Police would never be able to explain the thousands of dollars they had charged at toy stores around Los Angeles or where the toys had gone. The possibility of foul play would be ruled out when security footage revealed the couple paying for the toys, hand in hand and smiling. As he took his wife's hand under the blanket, he was positive anyone watching that footage would see a happy couple and that this would confuse the police even more.

  There would be no note found, only a small doll stitched together from a burlap sack, tucked in bed between them.