by L.J. Hayward
Chapter 16
I cruised across the river and negotiated my way through the mad, afternoon traffic to get to the Dutton Park Cemetery. It’s the second oldest cemetery in Queensland and believed to be haunted. But then, what cemetery isn’t, eh? I’ve not seen a ghost at all… yet. I’m not sure I believed in them but if they were going to be anywhere, it would be in a cemetery, right? And if there were going to be malevolent ghosts anywhere, it would be in Dutton Park. Talk about your dark histories. And Kermit lived in the darkest of them all.
What can I say about Dutton Park Cemetery? I could say, you seen one cemetery, you kinda seen the vast majority of them. Rows of headstones, some far more gratuitously ornate than others, shade trees in wild abundance, caretaker’s hut in the middle. But that doesn’t account for the atmosphere of the place.
Dutton Park Cemetery was old, in terms of Australian history. It cascaded down the side of a hill overlooking the Brisbane River, ranks of crumbling graves separated by cracked and sunken paths. Trees grew crooked and slender from the bare dirt of some graves, the time eroded and broken headstones lying by their roots. Most days, a cool breeze drifted in off the water and the sounds of traffic were muted by the plant life.
When you walk through the gates, you first notice the quiet, then you get a little tickle down your spine. The old someone-stepped-on-your-grave sensation. As you move further into the burial grounds, it grows up onto your neck, bristling all the little hairs there. By the time you reach the little, secluded grove marked by a single headstone, the sense of dread and unnaturalness is in your limbs and throat, making the former shiver and the later close up.
Or maybe it’s just me.
I stopped by the headstone and crouched down, left leg stretched out to the side. It was a simple stone cross, marking the grave of Patrick Kenniff, the last of the bushrangers, and by proxy, the unmarked graves of forty other criminals who died by hanging at the Boggo Road Gaol. Patrick Kenniff’s fellow gallows alumni included Ellen Thompson, the only woman hanged in Queensland for murdering her abusive husband (her lover and conspirator in the crime was also hanged. Nothing like spending quality time together) and Ernest Austin, the last man hanged in the state in 1913. He was a child killer. She had been eleven years old. They say that as the noose was placed around his neck, he said, ‘Send a wire to my mother and tell her I died happy.’
Oh yeah, I was quite ready to see a ghost. I just didn’t want to see any here.
Letting out a long breath, I placed my hand on the stone and concentrated. I gathered up all the creepiness I was feeling and forced it out through my mouth in a ritual summoning, steeped in tradition and arcane lore.
“Yo, Kermit!”
A low moan vibrated through the grove. Just in front of me the ground began to shift. The grass rippled outward from a centre point, small clods broke off and rolled away. A depression formed in the middle, widened until it was about a foot wide. Another moan sounded, louder and more irritable. Four long, slender greyish-green protuberances emerged from the hole. They scrambled at the air and clawed out further, followed by a narrow hand, arm, shoulder and so forth until Kermit hauled his scrawny arse out of the earth.
“What time is it?” Kermit demanded as he sat on the disturbed ground, knocking dirt out of his big ears.
Kermit was a ghoul. He was all long, gangly limbs, thin, cadaverous face, flat nose, wide mouth and ears Dumbo woulda been proud of. None too worried about propriety, he usually wore scraps of clothes stolen from the graves. Today, he had on an old morning coat of 1920s vintage, the tattered remains of a ruffled cravat and nothing else. Ugh. His frank and peas were out there for all to see. To top it off, he came complete with a handy reek of putrescence and stale rot. I shifted up wind.
To listen to him talk, he was thousands of years old and had fled the deserts of the Middle East to escape the social revolution that was Christianity. His real name was Afzal, but I’d first met him on the banks of the Brisbane River, crouched on a rock, gulping down rotting fish. He’d looked so much like a frog—albeit a frog with a set of knives for teeth that would put any self-respecting shark to shame—that I’d dubbed him Kermit. And you know, there was the whole green tinge to his leathery skin as well. Kermit didn’t appreciate the comparison, but I wasn’t out to humour him.
“It’s about four in the afternoon,” I told him. “Time for all good little ghouls to be waking up so they can get ready for graveyard stalking.”
Kermit moaned. “Ah, man, I had a rough time last night. I was just out minding my own business, you know, as I always do.”
“Scavenging from the dead, yeah. What happened?”
He picked up a twig and began picking yellow-grey… well, I didn’t want to think too hard on what it was, but it came out from between his teeth in stringy little clumps that he then sucked off the end of the stick with a happy little smile. Ghouls. Yeesh.
“That freakin’ ghost tour came through. Here half the night they were. All pretending to be jumpy and scared and squealing and stuff. Gave me the worst headache. I’ve hardly slept all day.” He narrowed his gungy, vertically slit eyes at me. “And then you come along. What’s your issue, Night Caller? Can’t you let a fella get some peace and quiet, huh?”
“The modern world is tough on Old World creatures, isn’t it,” I said without a trace of sympathy. “Maybe you should move to a less popular cemetery.”
“And leave all this good eating?” He patted the ground next to him fondly. “The older it is, the more tender it is. The eviler it is, the more flavour.”
I smiled, though I’m sure it was a pale, sick one. “Then learn to deal, Kermit. Or go see a therapist.”
“Heh. How’s that workin’ out for you? Got that temper under control yet?”
I had to stand and relieve the strain on my strapped knee. “I’m not here to talk about me.” Pausing, I reconsidered. “Well, actually, I am. I got jumped by six Reds last night.”
Kermit’s bones rattled as he stood as well. He was a foot taller than me, when he was all unfolded, but about half the mass. I guess you don’t actually get many carbs off rotting corpses.
“Six, hey? The little vampire take them out?”
“She wasn’t with me. I did for four and the others scarpered. One of them was apparently a big wig in their circles. Possibly a colonel. Know anything about it?”
The ghoul tilted his head back and looked at me down the plane of his wide nose. “You’ve come into some knowledge.”
“Yeah. Though it would have been nice, considerate like, to get it from my friends, instead of a stranger.”
Kermit slouched across the grove and hunkered down in the heavy shade of a scrubby wattle. “We aren’t friends, little man.”
“You got me there, but damn it, Kermy, you’ve been snitching for me for the better part of a year. Some heads up about this would have been appreciated.”
“I might pass on the odd bit of information, when it suits my needs,” Kermit snarled. “But don’t mistake it for anything like social courtesy. You’ve made your position on those of the Old World very clear. You and your tame vampire slicing and dicing wherever you go. No regard for who you cut down, or why. If they ain’t human,” he spat the word, “then they’re only worthy of dying. Isn’t that right? It’s a wonder I’m still alive. With an attitude like that, you expect us to take you in, serve you tea and reveal all our ins and outs? You’re mad, if you think that. Mad.”
I gaped at him. “Wow. I mean, that’s brutal, man. You’ve really opened my eyes. I’ve been so wrong. Put in my place by a sod-sucking freak who sells information to the highest bidder. I don’t know what to say, except maybe, bullshit.”
Kermit lurched out of the shadows, on his feet in an instant. I stood my ground, hand ready to whip out the Cougar if my instincts proved wrong. They didn’t.
The ghoul staggered to a stop a couple of meters back from me, bending over, hands on knees, wheezing. He was laughing.
“You
’re a freak, Kermit.”
“Ah, gotta try.” He straightened and cracked his spine with a series of teeth-aching snaps. “But still, your rep isn’t too popular among the crowd. You took out Hayfa a couple months back. She wasn’t doing no harm.”
I shuddered at the memory. Ghouleh (the feminine of ghoul) were, if possible, uglier than their male counterparts. Think Kermit but with two rows of sagging breasts that oozed vile, brownish milk, and more teeth. I’d chased Hayfa down the Queen Street Mall and in the ensuing scuffle, she’d developed the impression I was after something more than an old fashion fisticuffs. I’d lost my pants and she’d lost her head. Three in the morning, mind you, and still someone managed to see me and call the cops.
“She was raiding veterinaries, Kermit. Taking the animals.”
He scoffed. “You bring me dead animals all the time. Hey, got any more Pomeranians? That sure was tasty. And tender, after three weeks buried in the bank of the river. Nothing like pampered pooch to—”
“They weren’t dead when she took them. She was taking the ones from the cages. People’s pets, Kermit, that were alive and about to go home to little kids who missed their cat or dog. And now they don’t have their pets anymore. All those sad little kids, Kermit. Hayfa crossed a line. She paid for it.”
Kermit shrugged. “Whatever. Still, you’ve drawn a hard line. Don’t expect those of us on this side of it to like it. Why should we make your job easier for you? Any one of us could be next.”
“Don’t do anything to piss me off, then. It’s that simple.”
“For you maybe.” He returned to his place in the shade. Pale skin and all. He didn’t want to catch a bad case of melanoma. It was hard to get a doctor to do a house call to a cemetery. “This isn’t our world anymore. We’ve passed from the collective memory into myth and nightmare. It’s hard to adjust, you know.”
I crossed my arms. “The vampires seem to have done better than I’d thought. Military ranks, Primals, wars.”
“Lots of information come your way, huh? I guess it was all a matter of time. You were bound to find out at some stage. Just a little shocked you lived long enough to get here. I’m still in the pool, though. I’ve got you pegged for a three year and seven month career. So, keep it up for a bit longer, eh? I get a week in an abattoir if I win.”
Kermit and all his grubby little Old World friends were taking bets on how long I’d survive? Have to admit, it didn’t really inspire much confidence. I mean, it meant they all pretty much thought I was done for one way or another. But still, I didn’t, and never would, look for validation amongst the freaks. Kermit was still alive because he kept mostly to himself and, upon occasion, was a useful source of information. And he hadn’t seriously pissed me off. Yet.
“Good luck. Now, can we get down to business. I don’t have all day. What have you heard about this Red colonel? When did he hit town? Why is he here? Where’s he holing up during the day?”
“Whoa. Business you said. That implies supply and demand. You’re demanding some pretty hefty stuff there. What are you going to supply in return?”
“My best to survive another two and a half years.”
Kermit waved it aside. “Not good enough. I want guarantees, little man. You could die in a drive-by shooting tomorrow.”
“Well, I’m fresh out of Pomeranians. I don’t exactly carry dead animals around with me. Anything else you want? Some pants, maybe.”
“Why?”
And the sad thing? He was totally innocent as to why.
The ghoul scratched his bald head between the tops of his ears. “Well, there is something I would like.”
“Being?”
He eyed me carefully. “A pint of her blood.”
That took some wind from my sails. “Mercy’s blood?”
A black tongue darted out to lick the rim of his mouth. Did I mention earlier that ghouls don’t have lips? “Mmm, vampire blood. It’s like mulled wine. Great for a chilly winter’s night.”
I resisted the urge to grab the gun. Ghouls could swallow bullets like we could pop multivitamins. Took a lot of them to do any damage, more than I had in the clip. And it wasn’t like he actually asked for her whole body. A pint of blood. She could lose that with no issues, and I could top her up no worries. Still, it was a big ask. Mercy would do whatever I told her to do, but I had a responsibility to her.
“No. Pick something else.”
Kermit didn’t protest my refusal, which made me wonder if he’d asked just to see how I’d react. Lucky I’d kept my cool. Instead, he stalked toward me again, at a slow, deliberate pace, not meant to intimidate or scare. He circled me, flat nostrils flaring as he sucked in my scent. All the creepiness from my walk through the cemetery came right back. Not to mention his eau de Ghoul.
“Your watch,” he finally hissed.
My watch. Did he not know how long I spent in Myer trying to choose which watch I was going to spend my hard earned cash on? How I had battled the hordes of shop assistants? The very difficult decision between classic and new whiz bang? I nearly offered him Mercy’s blood.
“Are you sure about the pants? Real police issue. I’ve already given one pair up to the good cause that is human-ghoul relations. No problem with offering another pair. They’re yours. Think of all the little snacks you can fit in the pockets, eh? Very handy.”
Kermit looked them over, but shook his head. “I don’t need pants.”
“But you need a watch?”
“Got to keep track of the time, especially with those pesky ghost tours coming through here all the time. Nearly got caught with my mouth full last night.”
I groaned. “Anything else at all?”
“The watch, little man.”
Grumbling all the while, I unfastened it and… I couldn’t witness this. Eyes tightly closed, I let the Rolex drop into his waiting hand.
“Thank you.” Kermit crouched down and slipped it around his bony wrist. “Now, what was it you wanted to know?”
“The Red colonel. Who, when, why, where.”
“Narsico Martínez Pérez. He was some head honcho of the Spanish Inquisition in the early 1700s. Pretty vicious by all accounts, though I reckon he called it a strong work ethic. Now this is just a rumour, so don’t go thinking it’s gospel. But word is that he was terrorising this little village in the who-knows-where wilds of Spain when he decided to take his leisure with a girl of the village. Thing was, she was very recently deceased.”
I swallowed. “But she wasn’t, was she.”
“Nope. He thought so though. Bit of a shock for him.”
“Ugh. That’s wrong on so many levels.”
Even Kermit shuddered. “Tell me about it. That’s like boning your breakfast.”
Another image I didn’t particularly need. I could do with a mental scouring. “And now he’s a mega-strong vampire soldier. When did he hit town?”
“’Bout a week ago. Rallied up the local troops and has been sniffing around ever since. Sent them all out looking for something, don’t know what.”
Grimacing, I muttered, “I think I know what he’s been sniffing around for. So, where’s he hanging his fangs while he’s in town?”
“Um, well, I don’t know. Somewhere.”
“Gosh, we hit the bottom of that well pretty quick. I don’t believe you don’t know. Or if you don’t, that you can’t find out.”
Kermit held up his hands, my watch glinting on his wrist. “Honest, man, I don’t know. Don’t know anyone who does either.”
I circled the outer edge of the grove, keeping one eye on Kermit while scanning the surrounding plant life.
“Now, see, Kermy, I don’t believe you. You’ve been trying to play me the entire time I’ve been here.”
He shook his head, but I didn’t let him speak.
“You’re keeping me here, aren’t you. Distracting me with small talk. You probably didn’t realise you did it, but when I first arrived, you called me ‘Night Caller’. As far as I knew, that wa
s a new name given to me by Martínez. None other than Big Red himself. Who’s coming up behind me, Afzal?” I spat the name and he knew I was serious then.
The ghoul hissed and lunged at me. I pulled the Cougar and put a couple of rounds into his chest. He jerked with every impact, squealed with pain, but he didn’t go down. Kermit staggered for me, long arms outstretched. I jumped out of his way and retreated.
Right into the trap.
Two hands wrapped around my ankles. I looked down. The arms grew out of the ground, fresh dirt clinging to the pasty grey skin. Uh oh. Kermit had a friend. I hoped it wasn’t Miss Piggy.
Wiry muscles like steel cord tensed. I fired into the ground, but the hands tightened and jerked me down into the graveyard.
