Surveying the graveyard, looking for the slightest clue, I said, “We made it through.”
The voice inside the tunnel shrieked with agony. I shoved the gate closed, but it wouldn’t prevent anyone else from opening it.
“But we’re not alone,” Penelope said.
“Probably another Hunter wanting to get the reward before we do,” Father said through tight lips.
“Someone help me!” the man in the tunnel shouted. “The vines are wrapping me up!”
I turned and grabbed the gate.
Penelope placed her hand atop mine and shook her head. “No, Forrest. It’s probably a trap. You go back in there, and it might be a demon who wants to kill you.”
“But can’t you tell if it’s a demon?” I asked.
Her eyes widened. “Not always. Some use such convincing disguises it’s hard to discern whether they are humans or not. And besides that, the magic shrouding the tunnel has a distorting influence. While your intention is to help the person, if he’s actually human, the magic could distort your appearance to him, making him believe you’re a demon or monster. He might kill you when you try to free him.”
Father glanced at me. “It could be worse than that.”
“How?”
“There might not be anyone else in the tunnel at all. Think about the enchanted hedges. The spell over them was to yank the vampire into the hedgerow and stab him until a branch staked through his heart. I don’t know what nightmarish visions you two suffered when we first walked into the thorns, but those voices want blood. They crave blood.”
“I got that impression, too,” I whispered.
“It makes sense,” Penelope said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Dark magic by a witch with a dark soul,” she replied. “The ones who practice black magic need to offer blood in their sacrifices. Perhaps blood feeds the wicked wall.”
I told them about how the voices had tried to convince me to impale myself.
Father swallowed hard. His brow furrowed. “Mine was worse. The voices … they wanted me to shove each of you into the giant thorns. I’d have never done it. I’d have impaled myself first, but having those thoughts haunts me.”
“Those thick plants need blood,” Penelope said.
“No skeletal remains on the path though,” I said.
“But there were remnants of clothes,” she replied. “The vines might have ways of pulling the bodies into the wall and dissolving them as food, leaving no trace of its victims.”
“The only thing that saved us was the salt?” I asked.
“For now,” she replied.
I took in the information, biting my lower lip. “Then let’s find this vampire, slay him, and get out of here. But, we stick close to one another.”
Father pointed toward the closest tree line. “I don’t think there’s another exit out of the cemetery.”
He was right. The cemetery was a large circle surrounding by towering rows of thorny vines like the tunnel but these formed a wall by connecting to the outer perimeter trees. There wasn’t any way to cross through them. The only good thing about the enclosure was it made an excellent wind barrier, and the temperature seemed warmer than back at the edge of the city.
“We have three crypts, Father. Which should we check first?” I asked.
He frowned. “Why are you asking me? Don’t you know?”
“I don’t. But you’ve hunted vampires longer than I have. I was curious as to what clues you’d look for in determining where he might be.”
Father ran his hand through his beard, eyeing each crypt. “While I’m not certain, I’d go to the farthest first.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Given how he’s apparently imprisoned in the cemetery, that crypt is the farthest from the entrance, which intimidates those with lesser fortitude.”
Made sense to me. “All right. Stick close. We need to keep check on the entrance in case it is a human hoping to slay the vampire and get the bounty. We don’t want to accidentally kill someone who isn’t an undead.”
Penelope placed her hand on my forearm. Her eyes narrowed as she glanced across the cemetery.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Something evil.”
“A demon?”
“Not necessarily. But I sense it. Do you?”
I scanned the areas around the crypts and the tall tombstones, seeing nothing. I didn’t sense anything out of the ordinary. No forewarnings pricked at my mind. I shook my head.
“Sorry I cannot be of more help,” she said. “I think whatever spell holds the thorny barriers in place has affected my psychic sensors.”
“I’m still having problems from it, too,” I replied. “But I’m under the impression that once someone gets inside the cemetery, they’re not meant to leave. Let’s keep going, but we need to stay alert. If you’re sensing an evil presence, I believe we’re going to find it. Soon.”
At the path that led to a crossroads was the first large angelic statue with magnificent feathered wings. It must have been at least ten feet tall. In its right hand it thrust a long sword upward, as if leading a charge into a great battle. The smooth face beckoned peace while the sword shouted war. Its left hand was empty with its palm held upward. It had held something at one point in time.
I shuffled my feet at the statue’s base to move aside leaves. My foot tapped a solid object. I stooped and brushed aside the leaves. On the ground was an open book carved from stone that this angel must have held. I assumed the book was supposed to be the Holy Bible, but I didn’t open the subject for debate.
“Let’s go,” I said.
We causally made our way to the crossroads where another statue stood. Unlike the angelic representative, this sculpture exhibited evil. The face was featureless, except for the catlike eyes that receded into its head. A hooded cloak draped over the forehead almost covering the eyes from view. A long robe covered its body. Both hands extended forward, frozen in cupped formations, but no weapon was in its hands. On the ground was the massive stone scythe that had somehow been dislodged from its stone grip.
Crows cawed from the perimeter trees.
I glanced at the dark statue’s eyes. I couldn’t imagine anyone having the bravery to enter this cemetery at night. These statues were intimidating enough in the daylight. Shrouded in complete darkness? Even I would hesitate further investigation.
Beyond the center of the crossroads, the rock-covered path was buried beneath thick layers of dry leaves, but we didn’t need to follow the road to reach the crypts. However we couldn’t cross the cemetery without making noise. I kicked my way through the leaves while Penelope and Father crunched them underfoot. My boot struck something and it rolled across a rock-covered grave. It was a hat. A Hunter’s hat.
Penelope rushed to it and picked it up. She examined it and looked inside. When her eyes met mine, her lower lip trembled.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s my father’s,” she replied.
“You’re sure?”
She nodded. Tears tugged at the edges of her eyes. I lowered my Hunter box to the ground and rushed to her. I wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her tightly.
I whispered, “It doesn’t mean he’s dead. It’s only his hat.”
Penelope pulled back, her chest heaving as she fought her building sobs. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself. “You’re right. Besides, I can’t lose my self-control here, not when there’s a vampire nearby.”
She wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me tightly.
“Forrest,” Father said with urgency rising in his voice.
Still hugging Penelope, I saw the creature, raised the crossbow and fired before he finished his warning. The arrow plunged through the ghoul’s head, causing it to stagger for a few moments before it dropped backwards on the ground. It wasn’t dead. Only fire completely destroyed a ghoul, at least in my experiences. They were the creepiest creatures I had ever fought and wi
thout fire, you couldn’t kill them. Hack them into a thousand pieces and each piece crawled, moved, trying to find a living creature to kill and devour, even after they weren’t physically able to do so. A strange sound erupted from its odd mouth like nothing I’d ever heard before. It sprang to its feet and turned until it located us. Its long pointy tongue hung from its mouth, dripping drool. At the edge of the closest crypt were three more with wide crazed eyes focused on us. I should have known not to shoot it because where there’s one ghoul, there’s generally a few more. Sometimes, a whole lot more.
They were diabolical creatures, and now we knew what Penelope had sensed. I wasn’t sure how we were going to escape or kill them.
Chapter Fourteen
“You ever fight a ghoul?” I asked Penelope.
She shook her head, staring at them with frightened awe. “I’ve only read about them, and my father … He told me stories about them. I doubt they were true.”
“Unlike zombies, they have enough intelligence to hunt and kill humans. Fire’s the only thing that will destroy them.”
“Can we outrun them?” she asked.
“I can’t,” Father said.
The ghoul with the arrow stuck in its head pointed at me, jumped and squealed. The other three rushed toward us with strange gurgling sounds rattling from their oversized mouths. They snarled and ran on all fours.
“Father, grab my box.”
He gave me a perplexed stare. “Don’t jest with me in a time like this.”
“Grab it!”
Father grabbed the handle tightly and glared at me. I stooped, slung him partway over my left shoulder while he held onto the box, and then I ran toward the crypt near the center of the cemetery.
“Penelope, run to that crypt over there,” I said, nodding toward it.
She sprinted ahead of me.
“Forrest! Put me down,” he said.
“Do you want to live or get eaten alive by those things?”
“Never mind. Run! The damned things are running toward us like wild dogs.”
Penelope tripped over a small grave marker hidden under the leaves. She hit the ground hard and groaned, grabbing her ankle. As I neared her, she attempted to push herself up. She looked toward me and her face twisted from the pain. I flung the crossbow to my left hand, reached down and grabbed the pack secured on her back, lifting it and her off the ground without a pause in step.
Few times in my early years was I ever thankful for my abnormally large size and incredible strength, and this was one of those occasions. I ran full speed with Father propped over my shoulder while carrying Penelope like a baggage trunk in my right hand. My feet clopped like a Clydesdale on pavement as I hurried to the crypt. A few months ago, I would have probably tripped over my huge feet, trying to run, but Jacques had convinced me to keep practicing my running, which I had done, a lot, and it had helped.
I glanced toward the crypt, but kept my attention focused more on the leaf-covered ground because I didn’t want to fall like she had. I couldn’t imagine how bad that would be for Father should I topple forward, and he crashed to the hard ground. Physically, he was in bad enough shape without any added injuries.
“Hurry, Forrest,” Father said, slapping my lower back with his free hand, as if his encouragement could make me run any faster. Maybe in the panic, he thought I was a Clydesdale? “They’re getting closer.”
I rounded toward the other side of the crypt, lowered Penelope to the ground, and Father dropped my Hunter box. “Prepare yourself, Father.”
“What?”
I brought him over my shoulder, cradled him in my arms, and then slung him into the air. He frantically waved his arms before he landed on the top of the roof. “What the Hell, son? Are you trying to kill me?”
I reached for Penelope’s waist.
She shook her head defiantly, trying to back away. “Oh, no. Don’t you dare!”
I grabbed her and boosted her up where Father could reach her hands and pull her onto the roof.
“I see where your affections lie, son! Throw your decrepit old father into the air like a bundle of tied straw, but she—”
“There isn’t time for arguments,” I said, grabbing my box off the ground.
“What about you, Forrest?” she asked, reaching a hand downward.
“Not even the two of you can possibly pull me up there. Just keep your voices down and don’t draw attention to yourselves.”
Father gave me a worried look, but said nothing.
The four ghouls came around the corner of the crypt toward me, their long wet tongues swaying and dribbling viscous foamy spittle. Their strange yellow eyes turned blacker than ink. Their mouths elongated, and they flexed their hands, pointing their claws.
I turned to run and a fifth ghoul stood blocking my path. This ghoul was shorter than the others, but not any less deadly. Faint purplish blood vessels pulsed on its ashen gray face. The large eyes resembled globs of black tar enveloped beneath an oozy sheen. Its ears were pointed back, reminding me of the plague demon. It hissed and ran its long rough tongue across its jagged yellow teeth.
“Forrest,” Penelope gasped, obviously as shocked to see this one as I was. I had only counted four, but there could be a dozen more.
There was madness in this creature’s eyes. Raspy sounds echoed in its throat. It gnashed its teeth and growled. I swung my Hunter box with all my strength, smacking it square in the side of its head. The impact crushed its skull with a sick crunching sound, pivoted its head sideways, and sent the ghoul rolling across the leaves. Although it was injured, it wasn’t dead. I carried the arc with the momentum and careened the box around at the ones behind me, hoping to incapacitate them for a few minutes. I only struck two of them, which caused the other two to scramble from my reach. I ran.
Ghouls were cowardly in some respects, which was why they traveled in packs and tended to hunt solitary victims. If their intended terrified victim was injured and scrambling for his life, a pack of ghouls became bolder and pursued.
Glancing back over my shoulder, I noticed the ghouls clambering together into a group. None of them seemed to notice that Father and Penelope were on the roof of the crypt, which was good. I had put some distance between me and the five ghouls, but I didn’t have any idea where to go.
Without a substantial amount of help, I didn’t have any chance of pulling myself up to one of the rooftops. None of the trees had lower branches I could climb, and since the ghouls could see me inside this small cemetery, they wouldn’t easily stop their pursuit despite their injuries.
I wanted to slink to the side of the crypt, out of view, but I needed to be in a position where I could keep an eye on the ghouls. If they crept up behind me while I wasn’t aware of their location, I’d die quickly. No doubts about that.
Father had said that they were pursuing us like a pack of wild dogs, and that was true. They also held the same type of mentality. Ghouls were stronger in groups, quick to rip and tear a human apart. I’d never seen a solitary ghoul. They actually relied upon one another. Because of this, I should have delayed my initial attack when I had shot the first one until after we had located where the rest of the group was.
The one thing I knew best about the ghouls was how much I absolutely despised them.
I dropped to my knees and opened my box. I considered using my pistol, but I didn’t want to waste silver bullets on something they wouldn’t actually kill. I had stove matches and flint, but no flammable liquids. Starting a fire out in the open would only frighten them away until the fire burned out, and I needed a large fire capable of consuming them. Such was the dilemma.
The five ghouls moved in unison at a slow gait like hunting dogs on the scent of birds, ready to flush a covey out of hiding. They remained low, on all fours, sniffing the air, making strange guttural sounds, and they used large tombstones to hide behind as they peered around.
Closing my box of hunting tools, I left it on the ground. With the tip of my dagger, I pricked
my finger and squeezed several drops of blood onto the corner of the box. I smeared the blood across the box with my thumb and grabbed my crossbow before rushing toward the nearest crypt. When I reached the wall, I glanced to see their location. They scrambled across the ground to my box; almost apelike in how they carried themselves. They sniffed the box and clawed at it with their long sharp nails. They obviously smelled the blood. One tried chewing on a corner of the box but didn’t seem happy with the taste. A couple of the ghouls found my smeared blood and licked at the box hungrily, smacking at the others when they attempted to nudge their way closer. They gnashed and growled at one another, but I doubted their bickering would last long since there was little blood to fight over.
I made my way around the far side of the crypt. A protective iron fence ran alongside the building, approximately four feet away from the wall. It was a safeguard to prevent people from plummeting over the edge onto the carved rock stairs that led down to an iron gate below. The set of stairs led to a lower level where a casket was probably stored, and I contemplated heading down. At the bottom of the stairs a large pile of leaves, at least knee-deep, had collected over time from the wind blowing them through the fence.
It appeared to be a good fire source, but how could I set a trap?
An old iron gate secured the sepulcher. It could be locked, but I doubted it would be. Of course as corroded as the gate was, it could be wielded shut by the thick rust.
If I could get inside the crypt, kick in enough leaves, and get the ghouls lured inside … Phht. The ghouls would follow me regardless of anything else. I didn’t need to worry about that. I was more concerned about getting cornered inside by the ghouls. I didn’t like the odds of fighting against five ghouls inside a tight space. But what choice did I have? The entire cemetery was magically sealed inside the thickly coiled thorny vines. One could only run so long around the circular graveyard before suffering exhaustion and falling victim to these ungodly creatures or the vampire, if one resided in the cemetery.
Forrest Wollinsky: Predestined Crossroads (Forrest Wollinsky: Vampire Hunter Book 3) Page 9
