Lies of the Prophet

by Ike Hamill

  “Look, I’m just a little confused is all,” said Lynne. “It’s not like this ability came with a service manual or anything. Can you just cut me a little slack?”

  “Fine,” said Jenko. “Will do. I’ll cut you slack if you stop asking me what you’re supposed to do.”

  “Fine,” said Lynne.

  Jenko turned and walked the perimeter of the family plot while Lynne conducted her search. She regarded the fresh grave from all angles, trying to look official. The only interesting feature was the headstone itself. It smelled like spoiled garbage, but she got as close as she could stomach to see if there was anything visible down the hole. She wrapped up her search at the tent, finally deciding to climb inside, just to be sure. She found a couple dirty sleeping bags, clothes, towels, jars of fluid, boxes of cereal and crackers, a big jug of water and rolls of toilet paper. The tent stank of body odor, but it wasn’t overwhelming or too unpleasant. Lynne had camped with her family when she was growing up. The smells of outdoor living held pleasant associations. She didn’t touch anything in the tent. She mostly just went in there because she figured that Jenko would expect it as part of a thorough job.

  When she exited the tent, Jenko stood looking at his watch.

  “What do you think? Anything?” he asked.

  “Nope,” said Lynne.

  “Excellent. One down." He waved to the bearded man and his girlfriend. They came back to their site while Jenko and Lynne moved on to the next tent.

  The next sites went pretty quick. People had seen Lynne and Jenko moving from tent to tent and they seemed to understand their role in the procedure. Lynne paced around, noticing mostly the details that varied from camp to camp. Some had a drip set up like an IV, to drizzle the fluids down into the holes in the ground. Another had a giant three-room tent, set up like a mobile lab. Inside, Lynne found scales, decanters, and a number of reagents to concoct the perfect food for the dead.

  Lynne wanted to talk with the people to find out why they considered one method superior to another. Jenko wouldn’t hear of it. He explained that their perceived authority was based only on the illusion that they knew more about the Passage than the Tubers. In a way they did. Lynne knew instantly that none of the sites they visited had any chance of producing a positive result. The Tubers would stay there, pumping their honey, milk, and wine down into the wedged-open mouths of corpses or dumping into fetid coffins, and they would eventually give up. Either because their permit expired or they ran out of supplies or money, they would eventually give up.

  Some of the camps were very neat, and Lynne noticed scholarly libraries inside those—books about myths and legends, books about the science of death. The messy sites had vampire books, if there were any books at all. The result was always the same—a foul smell coming up out of a moldy tube shoved into the ground or down through a custom headstone. Lynne stopped noticing the details of the camps and began to just enjoy being outside on a beautiful day on a lovely hill.

  At the far end of the island, near a big shady maple, Tubers sat in folding camp chairs at the edge of the fresh grave. A tidy man sat with his arms folded.

  “What do you want?” he asked as Jenko approached.

  Lynne, sensing trouble, held back a few feet.

  “Inspection time,” said Jenko. He kept his description short and simple until pressed for details. It was one of his control techniques: dominate the conversation by withholding the information that the other party wants.

  “On whose authority?” asked the man.

  “State,” said Jenko.

  “I have my permit,” said the man. “It’s posted, clearly visible, just as the regulations demand.” He pointed back over his shoulder to the yellow paper pinned to his green tent. It was the first permit that Lynne had seen posted, although it made perfect sense when she thought about it.

  Jenko clasped his hands behind his back and strode over to the tent to read the permit. Lynne stayed in front of the man and smiled. He didn’t smile back. Her attention was captured by a streak from over near the extra-large headstone. Lynne circled wide, stepping over the neighboring graves, long leveled out by grass and mowing. When she could see around the back of the headstone, her heart jumped—her cat was crouched in the shadow behind the big slab of granite.

  Lynne ran towards the cat. When she got within a pace of the headstone, the man jumped up from his chair.

  “Hey,” he said, “you need my permission to approach the gravesite. I have rights.”

  She didn’t heed his warning and bent to pick up the huddled cat. Jenko looked up from the permit and waved to the guy to sit back down.

  “Relax, relax,” Jenko told the guy. “She’s just getting her damn cat. That thing’s always running away.”

  “I think it’s time you two be on your way,” said the man. “You’ve seen my paperwork, and you haven’t even shown me your credentials. I’ll ask you to be on your way.”

  Jenko watched Lynne’s struggle with her cat as she carried him away from the gravesite. At first the cat seemed alright, content to be in her arms again and to be whisked away from the site. As soon as she got more than a plot away from the fresh grave, the cat struggled in her arms, turning into a wriggling mess, fighting to gain its independence again. Lynne shushed the cat, but couldn’t hold on. Pushing away from her body with all four legs, the cat managed to flip over backwards and somersault to the ground. As soon as it hit the grass, the cat was off, back to the headstone to hunch in the shadow.

  “Are you sure that’s her cat?” asked the man.

  “I’m going to go get my credentials and a warrant to search this site,” said Jenko. He had watched the cat escape and now regarded the headstone. He couldn’t see the cat from his position but he could hear it. They all could. The cat almost sounded like it was singing behind the headstone. It combined a low howl with a rhythmic purring. It sounded almost like cheap, phlegmy bagpipes.

  “That’s odd,” said Lynne. She stood near the adjacent headstone and steadied her hand on it as she knelt down to watch the cat. It was rolling over, like it was trying to pick up a scent from the back of the headstone, but it kept making strange noises. Lynne didn’t notice any of that. She focused on the dim Sparkle starting to emerge from the shadow of the headstone. Something was going on with the cat, but she couldn’t tell if the Sparkle was entirely coming from the cat. Regardless of the source, she knew that this was the kind of thing she had been looking for all day. She felt vindicated with her dismissal of the earlier sites.

  The angry man came around the other side of the cat, her cat, and stood for a second regarding the cat’s behavior. Lynne was just about to say something to try to start some kind of conversation when the guy’s foot came out. It wasn’t an energetic kick. It was more of a shove. The guy got his toe underneath the cat and swept forward, sending her gray-and-white cat sprawling away from the headstone.

  “Hey!” Lynne yelled. She stepped forward to pick up the cat but the man stepped forward as well, threatening her with his body language and forcing Lynne to loop around to the right to retrieve the sulking animal. She scooped him up and returned to the adjacent grave. She sat down on the headstone to glare at the man, who had stepped a pace away from his own big headstone. Lynne considered this. He was clearly protective, but didn’t want to be too close, perhaps wanting to draw attention away from the stone. Aside from being extra-large, Lynne didn’t see anything special about the thing. It was black granite, polished on the sides and rough on the top, except where the funnel was cut in. Most of the stones she had inspected that day looked wet and sticky around the funnel part, but this was the cleanest one Lynne had seen all day.

  She pet her cat and stayed in a standoff with the man until Jenko came back.

  Jenko approached fast—not pausing at the foot of the grave but walking straight across the fresh sod. He dropped his bag on top of the big headstone and waited for the angry man to come around to face him.

  “I’ve got my credenti
als,” said Jenko.

  “Where?” asked the man. He stood just inches from Jenko. His defiant chin was pointed slightly upward and he looked ready to throw down with Jenko if given the slightest provocation.

  Lynne watched her partner bend slightly at the knees so he could unzip his bag. He never broke his eye contact with his challenger. This made Lynne squirm. She could tell that a confrontation was coming fast. She glanced nervously around, but there was no help for her and Jenko. Worse than no help, a couple of nearby Tubers had taken an interest in the showdown and looked ready to join in any civil disobedience against the perceived authority.

  Fully engaged in his bluff, the young man never saw what was in Jenko’s hand. Lynn just barely saw it—Jenko cupped it protectively as he raised it to chest height.

  “My badge,” said Jenko, pressing the device to the man’s chest. Before he could look down, Jenko pulled the trigger, unleashing a hundred-thousand volts. The little stun gun made a fast popping sound with each shock delivered to the man. For a second the young man seemed to get taller as his body straightened out. He collapsed in a big, backwards heap with Jenko following him to the ground with his stun gun in contact with his body the whole way.

  “Hey man, what they hell are you doing?” yelled one of the other Tubers from a safe distance.

  “Relax, we’ll get to you,” said Jenko. “Give me a hand here, Lynne,” he beckoned to his partner.

  Jenko rolled the shaking man to his side and handed Lynne big tie-wraps to secure his wrists behind his body. Lynne dropped her cat, pulled the plastic tight, and then did the same for the guy’s legs.

  “Tape his mouth, please,” said Jenko. “I’m tired of listening to this guy.”

  The young man was just getting his motor control back as Lynne found the tape in the bag. He almost managed to bite her hand.

  “Jesus, what a pain in the ass,” said Jenko.

  “Why’d you do that?” asked Lynne. She grabbed her cat as it headed back to rub against the headstone again. “I didn’t tell you I saw anything here.”

  “You didn’t have to,” said Jenko. “Your cat did.” He dragged the man’s body several feet away and then moved his bag on the other side, near the tent. “Check this out,” said Jenko.

  He stepped to the headstone and then lifted his foot in the air. With a stabbing kick he thrust his heel towards the stone, catching it just on the top edge. The first kick did no real damage, but both the sound from the impact and the look of the stone were wrong. Lynne noticed that a crack had opened up between the top and front face, revealing a light-brown line. She leaned in closer as Jenko’s second kick landed. This time the edge split apart and Lynne could see that the headstone was hollow. The sides and top were just a veneer of real stone.

  Jenko slipped his fingers into the crack and jerked upward on the fake top. The man on the ground rolled over enough to see the action and his muffled cries grew very distressed as Jenko destroyed the hoax.

  “It’s an entry to a hole,” said Jenko.

  “Does everything go underground?” asked Lynne. “Is this another portal or something?”

  “In a way, I think it is,” said Jenko. “But I don’t think there’s anything supernatural here. Go check it out.”

  “What? No way,” said Lynne. “What makes you think I’d go in there?”

  “Just save the arguments,” said Jenko. “You’re the only one that will fit. We need to check it out as soon as possible, before these other folks figure out what’s going on.”

  Lynne assessed the stone. It was thicker than any of the other headstones she’d seen that day, and the hollow center did look big enough for her to fit.

  “Nope, I’m sorry,” said Lynne. “I’ve got to draw the line here.” She glanced down at the muffled grunts and groans from the young man. “Ow!” she cried.

  The cat, once again determined to be free, dug its claws into Lynne’s arm, causing her to relinquish her grip. It bent and writhed from her arms and bounced when it hit the ground, immediately leaping back up and into the hollow headstone. It was gone, down into the blackness underground.

  “Shit,” said Lynne.

  Jenko knelt to his bag and pulled out a headlamp and a flashlight—“Go. Get your cat.”

  “Give me that thing too,” said Lynne. She pointed to the stun gun in Jenko’s hand.

  “You know how to use it?” he asked.

  “Is it hard?”

  “Nope,” he said.

  She waved her fingers and he handed it over. Lynne turned on the headlamp and fixed it over her short hair. She took the flashlight and stun gun over to the headstone and looked into the hole. It was just big enough to fit inside, but she couldn’t see how deep it went. Up the hill more people had gathered at a careful distance. Beyond the small scrubby barrier the river gurgled pleasantly against its banks and put a soft cool edge on the warm breeze. Jenko stood over near the bound angry man, whose up-tilted head watched Lynne carefully. Lynne took a deep breath, turned on the light, and shone it down into the hole.

  Two bright specks, deep in the hole made Lynne jump and gasp. They were the reflective eyes of her cat, she realized. She also noticed rungs stuck in the wall of the shaft, forming a ladder.

  “Come here, kitty,” she said. “Come here Harold." She realized why that name wouldn’t stick to the cat—it wasn’t his name. The real name was almost on the tip of her tongue, but it turned to vapor and drifted away before she could lock on it. It might end with an ‘S’—that’s all she could get. At her call, the cat turned and walked out of the light. Lynne swung a leg over the edge of the hollow headstone and tested her weight on the first rung. It felt solid. She tucked the stun gun into her pocket and had to press her body tight against the wall to fit inside the narrow opening. She wondered how the angry man had managed this feat.

  There was no smell coming up from the shaft, at least no unexpected smell. The damp air reminded her of a basement in summertime. It was cool and slightly wet, but not rotted or rank, so she kept climbing down.

  She heard Jenko making a loud announcement up on the surface—“Go back to your camps now,” he said. “I’ve called for backup and I’m heavily armed. You’ll all be informed when we know more. Go on now. Back away.”

  Lynne had the sense that the passage was opening up behind her, but she couldn’t see anything. Her head was still in the narrow part of the shaft. She stopped climbing and twisted around until she could at least glimpse the floor. With three steps she would be down and could turn freely. These were the hardest steps. All she could imagine was a decomposing hand reaching out of the blackness, ready to latch on to her leg.

  Her cat meowed. Lynne finished the steps as fast as she could. She pulled out the gun and swung the light around the space. It was bigger than she had thought possible. The ceiling was not very tall, but the space was long and wide. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all concrete, but most of the floor was messy with grave dirt. The cat disappeared down a passage cut into the wall. It looked like a little doorway. It had the right proportions, but it was small—child size. Lynne thought of Donna’s fairy house and frowned. She could fit into the passage, but wasn’t sure she should.

  Lynne shuffled over to the passage, and pointed her light down its length. She couldn’t see the cat or the end of the tunnel—her light didn’t penetrate that far. The walls didn’t look dug. The shiny, hard clay looked sliced. The corners were perfect right angles and the walls straight.

  “What is it?” Jenko’s voice asked from the shaft.

  Lynne walked back to the rungs and looked up, blinking against the daylight—“It’s a room and a tunnel.”

  “I’ve got an idea of what it is,” said Jenko. “You should be okay. Just keep your lights on.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” said Lynne. “I don’t plan to turn them off. Look, maybe I’ll just let the cat do what it will.”

  “Shit, Lynne, go after him. What are you thinking? That cat saved your life last night, didn
’t he?”

  As if to answer, Lynne heard her cat growl and hiss from down the passage. Her feet carried her forward, against her brain’s protest. Before entering the tunnel, Lynne adjusted her grip on the stun gun and the flashlight, and adjusted the beam from her headlamp. She had to crouch, but otherwise the passage was bigger than it looked. She didn’t feel cramped at all. The tunnel took a hard left after a dozen yards or so. Three of the surfaces remained consistent, but the right wall opened up on a pocket of underground air. When she progressed far enough, Lynne saw why. The pocket had been an old grave. Soft gray bones were laid out in the air-pocket. Lynne wondered why the ground hadn’t just collapsed on the corpse, but then realized that a casket would have rotted away slowly, giving the dirt time to settle into its current position before the support fell away.

  Lynne couldn’t take her eyes off the skull as she duck-walked past. She was too afraid that the skull would turn to watch her pass. Lynne didn’t fear the boney arms though. Those were just scattered artifacts, with no cohesion to make them threatening. The floor of the tunnel became sandy even though the walls were still clay. Lynne noticed the tiny paw-prints of her cat on the soft floor.

  “Kitty?” she whispered, shooting a glance down the tunnel and then returning her eyes superstitiously to the skull. “Kitty?” she hissed.

  Muffled by the dirt walls, she heard a distant meow.

  “Kitty?” she asked again.

  The meow sounded once more. It trailed off into a low growl and Lynne could almost sense the cat’s tail flicking back and forth. Lynne left the bones behind and continued down the passage. Her path branched and the floor was once again too hard for Lynne to track the cat. A quick call and response with the cat set Lynne on the right path. She was not surprised by the next corpse. Around the corner another shelf was cut into the wall. Against the far side of the cutout a scattering of bones hugged the wall. Lynne could make out a few vertical ribs, but not much else.