Seeing- half 2

The widow was out of tears now. Her crying continued full of pain and sorrow. She stayed by the door, she wanted to feel him, his arms wrapped around her, giving her warmth, comfort. She wanted to feel his tight arms squeeze her shoulders and his radiant smile shine down on her. His breath blowing in her hair. She couldn't feel any of that though.

She only felt the cold rock of the little mausoleum on her back and the light pattering of rain on her already soaked skin. The darkness of the sky and the deadness of the graveyard didn't comfort her. It was an alien force that swept her in itself. The thunder cracked again as the lightning illuminated the clouds.

The door clapped against it's frame. She turned her head to the sound. Nothing was visible in the night. She couldn't make out anything.

<i> It's how the dead see. <i>

His tall figure stood looking down at her. The broad shoulders dressed in his finest, he lifted his arms ready to embrace her. She just wanted him back, for one second, one minute. His warm melting eyes finding her and making her smile again, but he wasn't there. He'd gone away. He was inside. He was in the cold stone, waiting for the earth to eat him up. She couldn't join him. She wasn't dead yet, she was dieing. She would die, then she could join him inside. The inside was for the dead.

The thunder crackled again, further away now. The lightning flashed and she saw the hillside, the grass slicked and shaking, and the rain filling the emptiness of the void. The void was quiet. It was all so peaceful here, it was a nice place to be.
:::

It was colder behind them than Charlie thought it felt around them. Rich adjusted his glasses as he peaked over the stone in front of them. He glanced at Charlie and went to pull him on his shoulder. Charlie backed away and shook his head. Gears seemed to turn in his head, grunting and moving his cranium to logic everything out. there wasn't logic in these events, logic was always second to the realities of life which was full of backwardness and twists, illness and simplicity in the wrong places.

They heard a shuffling close to them. It was accompanied by decrepit footsteps crashing on the grass and dirt with tired force. The old man's shovel dragged with each movement, "Filthy little brats.. varment... 'ought to... yeah..." he drawled.

Charlie and Rich threw their backs to the stone and tensed. The shovel bounced on loose rocks, the sound reached their ears and sent a panic through them, it could have been them, or withered bones its cold steel edge had scraped. The creep passed them, moving towards the siren for help. Charlie glanced around the corner of their shield and saw him drudging on. The gray shovel not even glistening. Rich had his eyes pulled tight shut.

Charlie tugged on Rich's arm and got his attention, motioning around the stone. They followed their hunter far enough behind so he wouldn't be able to hear them. They could hear the voice quite clearly now. It eminated from the earth, an open grave, the old man had finally reached it. The boys crept around to the side of the scene. The old man peered over into the hole. The child's voice sounded up, "Please mister, help me out of here."

The old man laughed, "It looks like a comfortable spot for a dirt nap to me."

"Cripies, I wasn't meaning any trouble. Some bullies threw my coat over the fence..." The boy in the hole explained, "If I get home late my father will whip me!"

The old man, "Can't have that, can we?" Reach on up," he told him, bending to his knees.

The wrinkled old man's arm dipped in the grave and pulled up a smaller youthful arm, then another arm appeared, the fingers hooked and caught on the edge of the dirt and held. Then the old man pulled his arm away as the boy began pulling himself out of the grave. Charlie saw the silloutes of the boy and the old man, darkness playing on darkness. It was a head with the neck just passing the earth. The boy struggled and got his forearm on the ledge. "You aught to watch yer steps more often, yer lucky, I might not have heard you. My ears aren't that good anymore." Then the figure of the old keeper swung the shovel low level to the boy's head. Hard thudding sounds rose from the hole, one from the shovel making sold contact with the young cheek then the sound of his skull bouncing off the side of the dirt hole and the body coming to rest on the cold bed of the grave.

The figure turned to a pile of dirt beside him and thrusted his shovel in and began a process he'd done so many times before.
:::

It was always dark there. No one knows why, for whatever reason nor wether it had always been. It was a resting ground. It was beyond rest. No one liked to be there for long. You stay around and... you just don't stay around. Only the stupid ones actually went in. Dean looked over at Zachary, they'd sent Billy in but they didn't think he would be more than ten minutes. Dean looked at his watch and saw it was 9:30.

"What do you think happened to him?" Zachary asked over to Dean. He looked worried.

"Prolly just being an ankle-bitter and went over a fence," Dean grumbled.

Dean stared past the gates, trying to see as far as he could. Billy had to be someplace in there. He never thought anyone actually took the dare seriously. Their parents always were warning them about going in here but, they were just squares, right? If Billy didn't get out of there soon, he wasn't sure what they'd do. The place did scare him. Whenever the pastor would ramble on about the bad things on Sunday mornings, it was always this place he would think of. He never wanted to go in there.

When he was younger and his uncle Ned died, he'd been buried here. Being inside it was the most uncomfortable thing he'd felt. It wasn't like he'd been upset over his uncle's passing, or the lifelessness of the body at the viewing, it was the cemetery, the burial. His parents let him play with his cousins at the viewing for most of the time, but they insisted on him being there for the burial ceremony. He was six at the time, maybe it was because he was so young but from the moment they walked through the gates, there was a feeling, like watchful eyes, an emptiness, something that was there, but not a bit outside the gates. That was in the afternoon. To even imagine the place at night was beyond him.

Zachary yelled out Billy's name, straining his voice, cracking it. Dean felt it deep down. It wouldn't do any good. He didn't want to go in but it would be just about as bad to leave him in there. He wasn't that mean, "Zach! Keep it down or someone will call the police."

"I got to split man! My dad is gunna whip me raw!" Zachary whined.

"That's not cool man," Dean told him trying to stay calm.

Zachary started running up the sidewalk under flickering street lights. The echo of his buster browns hitting the concrete. Dean stood next to the hole in the fence, his face nearing a quiver. Zachary disappeared from sight and Dean turned to the cemetery, he'd give him five minutes.

Dean paced back and forth. Looking at the houses across the street. If anyone saw him they'd be on the phone in a hot minute. Dean hustled back to the shadows of the gate. When Billy got back he was going to cream him. Four more minutes. Dean kicked the wrought iron jouting the bottom of the gate. He couldn't help it, "Billy!" he screamed loud and hard. The uneasy silence of the cemetery bugged him. He wanted to go. Now.

It was a shroud of sorts that sat over everything inside the cemetery. He tried to peer through the bars but could only see the blackness. He glanced at his watch, just two minutes. His ears were strained, standing up like a jack russel terrier. One soft voice, one sound. One crunch was all he wanted. He watched the hole.

It watched him back.
:::

It was so simple to pass through. He'd been inside before, it remembered him. It always did. He tasted good. The young ones always did. So fresh. It never got too many. It had to savor the meat. Elongate the memory. Just pass through to the other side, walk the grounds a bit, look for his friend. It wouldn't be too far. Just a couple minutes, that's all it would take. What a taste, so frightful, so innocent. Two in one night was rare.
:::

Dean stared through the hole. He could see the grass. It was pale in the settling winter air. But he knew something else was there. That was wrong, it wasn't something, it was the nothingness that rested there.
:::

He bounced, his legs crossed. He sat by his friends. They didn't whisper a word. They seemed to be following the bad man. The bad man was mean. The bad man tended the graveyard. He's tended it a long time. The bad man was going to hurt his friends but they were smart. Now the bad man was doing something very bad. He did it quite often. He did it over and over. Shovel in the dirt, dirt in the hole. Once he'd tried to be friends with the bad man. The bad man tried to hurt him. That was when he learned the man was a very bad man.

He wished for Rupert to hurt the bad man. Rupert never did though. Rupert was bad too.
:::

She looked on them. They sat behind the headstone watching a horror unfold. She wished she could do something but she felt so weak. She tried to warn them but they couldn't hear her. She had grown so tired from shedding her tears she'd lost her will to stand. Her peace was her final desire, with her beloved husband. She couldn't understand why he didn't open the door. She'd sat waiting for him. Night came, and came again. She wept in the rain and snow.

These boys had no business here. They weren't dead. She saw them so clearly, they should leave. It was dangerous here, they could get trapped, "Help them," she whispered into the wind. She turned to the mausoleum, "If you won't help me then please, save them."

She dropped her head to weep, but she couldn't. She closed her eyes in despair and felt the hand on her shoulder; it's strong grip squeezing her. It felt cold. Dead. She put her hand on his. It slipped between and disappeared. She turned he had his back to her. It was him. He began his walk away from her. She called after him, she stood and pursued him. He ran down the hill. She chased him; stumbling on the rocks and branches catching her dress. He stopped as she nearly ran into him. She put a hand on him, crying for him to turn around to her. The husband stood still. He ignored her. She beat her fists against his back and screamed for his attention. The husband stood solemn. He brought his hands in front of him and then back down. She stood still and watched him confused. Then he brought his left hand up to his chest and threw something down into an empty plot next to them, it glistened. She looked down into the hole then back up to his hand. She cried, closing her eyes as she felt his tight grip on her wrist. It hurt her. He swung her to the side and let go as she toppled into the hole. The widow felt her back twist as she landed. She lost all her breath. She cried harder than she ever had before, screaming. She felt her emotions mixing, anger with sadness, loss and hatred. She waved her hands in the dirt searching for the ring. She felt the dirt snowing down on her. She looked up to the silloute of the tall figure. He stood dressed in his suit. His narrow tie outlined against him. No tears would come to her face, no matter how hard she tried. The dirt filled her in more and more. It suffocated her; drowned her. Filling her mouth and lungs. Soon enough it was crushing her into the earth in it's massive being. She was all alone forever now.
:::

It was nearly midnight. Laura sat in the yellow light at the kitchen looking over the monthly bills. Charlie had been gone for hours. When he said he was going out it'd taken her by surprise needless to say, but she wasn't going to argue. She'd called his cell phone an hour ago and found it ringing off it's charger in his room. She couldn't truly begin to imagine where he'd have gone. A girl's , she supposed. He never talked about anyone, let alone girls. Ever since they moved he'd become more introverted, but she wasn't concerned about it. He acted the same as he always had, but he never got together with friends or went outside anymore. It didn't seem normal for a boy his age to stick in his room all evening and never do anything. She thought it was the move. It was tough to start over in high school. It still bothered her that he wasn't social. Society reasoned it to a new age. The technology was the cause, the "wave" that left a mark on a generation, for the rest of time, how it interacted; how it expressed itself.

She sat her pen down and stretched. She pulled a cigarette from the pack on the counter and lit it. She had to be up in six hours, and it was a twelve hour shift tomorrow.

She was his mother. There wasn't anything to do but worry. Something concerned her, one thought. The thought of losing him. It was going to plague her dreams and make them nightmares. The cold fall air whipped through the window as she stood. She wanted reassurance he was safe, it really didn't care where he was. Just that he wasn't in trouble. She knew he could handle himself in most cases and he knew better than to do this to her. It was ironic how after all the time she'd wished for him to make friends and be with kids his own age and not be sitting in his room all day, she wished now he was home safe.

Laura breathed in the sweet nicotine air. Things were bad. The world was sick. Charlie was smart but that wasn't enough anymore. People liked kids in the wrong way and didn't think anything of expressing it anymore. Unless money is involved, whenever a child goes missing. only the good news is reported. Two towns over that Ben Hornbeck kid had just been found, granted it was wonderful news but Laura hadn't heard he had disappeared. Nothing would happen if she reported Charlie missing at this point. A one town sherif can't do much at this hour. And besides, Sherif Bolten would chalk it up to the same situation that Laura had passed through her mind, Charlie was with some girl. She took a deep breath on the cigarette. She felt almost uncomfortable. What if he were dead?

She stood over the sink in front of the open window as she finished the cigarette, "Why is the world so effed up?"
:::

Charlie and Rich crawled on their hands and feet. As soon as they got far enough away they'd run. The caretaker was still shoveling loose dirt onto the fresh grave. 'One movement at a time,' Charlie thought to himself. The image of the boy hanging above the earth just before being knocked back down stuck in his head. 'he isn't a human, he's a demon!' Charlie told himself. 'stop thinking and focus!' another part of him told himself. He shook the pictures out of his head and resumed his thoughts on keeping silent.

He began putting one hand forward, then moved his back leg up. Then he began the same process with his other hand and leg, watching for leaves and branches as he moved; detouring to avoid anything in the way. He glanced back behind them, it was a clear view from where they were to the old man, they had no cover at all.

Rich bumped into the back of Charlie's shoe. Charlie kept moving. They were fifteen yards away. The awful thoughts plagued him. It wasn't just the one either, he saw the woman again, and an image of the man with a dog, and the picture of an old thin man, in a derby hat and a tweeted suit standing by someone else in a white long sleeve shirt with straps and white loose pants seated, just watching him back.

Charlie felt his hand pass over a smooth oval stone the size of his palm. He paused and picked it up and slipped it into his pocket. It couldn't hurt in case. <i> His head smashed against the grey marker stones, blood glistened in the night as it smeared along where his head had just been. The shovel crashed again against Charlie's head.</i> Charlie shook the thought off. Rich's hand shook Charlie's ankle. He looked back and saw Rich trying to motion him to move. Charlie started his slow crawl away.
:::

Dean regretted ever passing through the hole, but he'd heard Billy, well, he'd heard a scream. He was running through the graveyard now. He didn't know where it'd come from but he had to try and find Billy if he was still in here. There was something very bad happening now.

He passed grave after grave, but he never saw the next marker ahead. He couldn't see a single thing in front of him. It was like a cave in here. Darker than dark, darker than black. Dean saw the tree before he saw the branch and stopped. Inches ahead of him was a bony like arm of a branch level with his head pointing right for his eye. The pulse quickened as he pulled the branch out of his way as he side stepped to the left and passed by it.

Dean cried out Billy's name and looked around, trying to figure out where he was, he feared he'd already become lost. No one called back as he continued running deeper into the land of the sleeping.
:::

They were a funny bunch, his friends were. They crawled on the ground like dogs. Then they bumped and stumbled into one another as they went. He looked back to the bad man as he continued to burry his horrible deed. It wasn't hatred that the bad man did it for, this he understood. he'd hated. He disliked allot before. The man did it because it made him feel better. It made him smile and laugh. He hadn't been able to understand this. It didn't make sense to him. Violence was bad. The bad man was almost done. When he finished then the bad man would start to look for his friends.

The darkness was growing. Rupert must have been friends with them too.
:::

Dean couldn't see the fence in any direction at any distance. He saw trees and markers and grass all around him, it was like the place streched on forever. He looked at his watch but he couldn't make out the hands or the numbers. Bad feelings grew on him. It was everything he'd felt when he was six and more. The air was cold, he pulled his coat around him tighter and wished he'd brought a hat. He called out Billy's name again but still didn't hear anything. Dean continued his walk. He had to be getting close to the edge of the cemetery. He never remembered it being like this whenever he passed it going along the side. A light shimmered ahead of him, it came into view from behind a tree. Charlie started running towards it. The shack revealed itself the closer he got. The door was on black henges and the light came from a window that was more a hole in the wall.

Dean shook the handle of the door but it must have been locked or very badly stuck, as it seemed more so pointless to lock the door in a cemetery. Dean rounded the side and peaked inside the window. The inside was plain and grody. A couple magazines sat on a desk or counter, Dean couldn't quite tell which it was supposed to be. Several tools stood in the corner. And then a large old book stood open on a shelf above the magazines.

"What are you doing, mutt?" a voice called from behind dean, causing him to jump duck as he turned around. The voice came from an old man wearing faded overalls, looking much like the shack he owned. Charlie was relieved to have found it to be a living person, though he felt certain nothing too great could come from either one, "Are yeh dumb?" the old man questioned him.

Dean snapped himself back and replied, "I'm sorry sir. Have you seen any other kids around here, sir?"

The old man laughed and replied back, "No, though I may have missed him. It's dangerous around here at night. If you don't watch yer step you could find yerself six feet deep."

Dean looked down and back up to him, "I'm sorry to have been a pest, I'll just cut out now."

The old man shook some dirt from his hair and watched as the boy ran off.

Charlie shivered in the cold night air. The fact settled in again of how alone he was in this. He felt like an adult. He was holding his own life in his hands. He didn't want to feel it's weight in his arms though. Wasn't he a kid?

Rich kept up his possum like crawl behind Charlie. They were almost out of visibility of the old man. They couldn't get away from him fast enough for Charlie's comfort. He stopped by a grey old tree and sat hunched with his back to it. He looked into the distance but couldn't see much beyond the same stuff he had been seeing. Rich looked to charlie pushing up on his glasses, "Haven't we been here before?"

Charlie looked at him and pondered the thought. He couldn't answer him. Maybe they had. He hoped they hadn't. He looked behind them and couldn't see the grave keeper shoveling his hole. "Lets keep going this way," he pointed.

Charlie stood, they could make a run, he couldn't see anyone following them. It was still darker than normal. Charlie ran kicking and stumbling over branches as he did. He didn't feel good still, he never had. The cemetery was watching them. Something was still following them. Charlie felt a sudden loss of breath and pressure on his throat before he fell backwards and passed out.

Rich watched in front of him as charlie fell, and then tripped over Charlie's body. Rich fell, skidding in the grass avoiding crashing into a headstone. He stood up and looked at Charlie's limp body under the low tree branch. Rich listened to his heavy breathes and checked behind him. He bent over Charlie and shook his body. He whispered his name over and over as he tried to get him conscious again. He couldn't have been that badly hurt, Rich thought. He looked around for someplace out of the open. There had to be somewhere they could rest at. There was a mausoleum to their left. Rich grabbed Charlie's arms and pulled, he gripped his forearms tugging to turn him around. Charlie's body was heavy. Rich glanced behind him as he zig zagged his way over to the old building. Rich sat the body against the wall and collapsed against to a seat as well. Rich felt exhausted.

They were still in the graveyard. They'd been running around this condemned hole of a playground for hours it felt. They had to be getting someplace, but they still hadn't seen even a fence. Rich looked up from his wide-eyed blank stare. The old man was out there still, he had to be looking for them, wanting to burry them like he had that boy. This place scared him.

Rich felt the cold damp stone wall of the mausoleum as he cornered it, leaving Charlie as he checked the door. It was wooden and heavy looking. He looked and saw a well rusted padlock on the door. He felt the pressure of merciless intentions slither over him. Rich looked and saw bars and stained glass windows on either side. He could try to find something to try and break the lock. The boy scavenged on the ground. <It lay on the ground with it's belly up as the razor sharp edge slipped in. It cut and teared at the flesh as the body held still, helpless.> Rich shook the thought out of his mind.

He couldn't find anything anywhere, but he couldn't stop looking, there had to be a way to find the way. It was something his mother always said. It was a stupid saying, but it was a motto for him. There were so many "ifs" around him that weren't anymore than that, 'if a part of a stone was broken off, if they had a knife, if there was a shovel around.' He didn't want to see that shovel though, it was a forsaken shovel.

Rich stumbled around on the other side of the structure, falling just short of a tree. He hit the ground losing his breath and offsetting his glasses. He looked down at the log he'd tripped on. His mind grinded on the idea, he thought maybe it could work. He stumbled again to his feet as his shoe laces caught on the branches.

He grabbed the log and walked to the door. He wasted no time slamming the log against the lock and door. The door held with a loud thud. Rich rammed the lock again and again. He felt the wood crash against the wood of the door time and again. He heard the sound of a crack. He continued his labor. The wood hit the lock and he felt it begin to split in his hands.

Rich threw the log to the ground and looked to the padlock. It'd fallen to the ground, the door was unguarded. Rich opened the door; the mausoleum groaned and mixed to the sound of scraping metal and stone getting nearer.

Rich pulled the door closed behind him and ran to the back of the single room. It was pitch black inside. He felt his heart race as he tried to relax. He'd left Charlie outside when he heard the shovel; he'd rushed in without hesitation. Charlie was just on the other side of the wall and now that Rich was safe Charlie was in greater danger than they had both been before. The air felt stiff and hard to breath. He could try to go out and get Charlie. He had to, right?

He felt his way out of the corner using the black picture in his head that he'd gathered from when he first burst through the door. He crawled on his knees and hands towards the middle of the room. There was a corner in front of him. The edge rose from the floor as he got to his feet. The texture turned from grainy stone to sleek-polished soft wood. He shuffled towards the door. The wood crept under his hand and resonated a coldness. He knew the cold wasn't there, he just didn't want to admit to himself what he was touching.

Rich continued his shuffle as he waited for his guide to give way beneath his hand. He looked forward with blind eyes and a hand stretched out in front of him.

Rich felt the door grow under his hand. He felt ever slight splinters poke at his palm and fingers. He ran his hand over the door looking for a handle. He gave a push on the door but it wouldn't give. Rich felt a dread grow in him as his efforts failed. He imagined the room growing tighter on him. He didn't want to be trapped inside with... He stopped his thoughts. He stood right next to the door and searched it again for a handle of any kind. <Why would there even be a handle to the door on the inside of a mausoleum?> He thought about it and gave up. <What would need to open the door from the inside?> Rich collected himself and stepped back. If there was no handle, then he could use force to get out. He threw himself shoulder first into the door as he'd seen time and again in movies and television. The door held firm but his shoulder felt very beaten.

Rich heard a cough behind him. Rich wheezed a breath out and pounded on the door with both fists.


The hill stood steep, it would've been a good hill to sled on in the winter. It was sharp, the rider would be going at maximum speed from the moment they left the top. Charlie looked back at the bottom as he imagined reaching the end. Charlie turned back forward as he continued walking up the road. It was growing very late. A cherry red Thunderbird was pulling up the slope and approaching him at a trot.

The engine purred a smooth gurgle and rumble. The wheels were bubble plated with spoked rims in front of those. The car rode low to the ground as it positioned itself next to Charlie. The glow from the dashboard revealed the erie face of the teenager driving the open-air car. The boy looked gangly with slicked back hair and a letter jacket. Charlie saw a kid in the back around eleven or twelve. The boy wore his hair neatly parted on the left with a buttoned shirt and Wrangler blue jeans. The driver spoke up, "Hey there kookie! Where ya headin?"

Charlie looked at him, not sure what to make of the driver. The driver responded to Charlie's silence, "Crusin' this strip isn't to cool on your own. Hop in shotgun," he offered.

Charlie told him he'd pass but thanks anyways. The two boys drove off speeding away and over the hill. The sound of the engine roared as it disappeared over the hill and screeched away going faster and faster.


Billy sat back in the leather seat of the Thunderbird as Steve turned the radio on in front. Steve had found him several hours ago and offered him a lift. Steve was strange, he was cool but strange. He wasn't like the other older kids. He was cooler. 'Maybe he's from California,' Billy thought, after all he didn't recognize the car either. It said Thunderbird but it wasn't a model he'd ever seen. The radio changed songs. "Can I sit up front?" Billy asked.

The boy upfront glanced in the rearview mirror before responding, "Shucks kid, I only let girls and boss guys sit up here. Are you boss enough?"

Billy thought to himself, 'This guy must have lost his marbles. What's boss?' then he responded, taking his chance, "Of course I am."

"Well, hop in the seat buckaroo!" he replied, motioning for Billy to climb over the middle.

Billy squirmed his way over and managed his feet over his head to the floor.

Steve looked at him and asked, "What music do you like? Do you like The Animals?

Billy looked at him and quietly responded, "I don't listen to much music."

This one's great," he said and they drove on.

Steve looked at the kid that was now sitting in the shot gun seat. He seemed a little weird. Billy reminded him of himself from about ten years ago. He turned his eyes back to the road in time to glimpse a man pass by on the right; it was a hitchhiker. An older man in a hat. Steve turned his head to glance behind but he couldn't find him. The road wound and Steve drove on.

Rich listened as the shuffle neared him. He pounded on the door again and again. He heard the drop and bounce of something heavy, the he heard the drag. The cough was closer, it was wet and congested. Rich slammed his shoulder into the door again. His body screamed at him in pain spidering from his shoulder. The old man grumbled something under his breath. The door gave way and Rich fell to the ground.


The road twisted and rose and dove. The whispered and screamed. Billy wasn't sure of where they were going. Steve seemed to have an idea though. Billy wished he knew what it was.

The moon didn't sit in the sky that night. The only light came from the car. It was an artificial glow, green and yellow. The radio continued blaring songs Billy had never heard of. They sounded wrong though. It was like a sickness twang echoed over the songs. It made Billy think of a dieing dog. Billy listened as he heard Elvis' voice begin to sing. He'd never heard this song before. Steve looked at him and commented, "So you know Elvis but you've never heard the Beetles?"

Billy smiled and laughed, "I guess not."

Billy felt calmer. He enjoyed the air and the emptiness of the road. It reminded him of his family, he remembered his father driving on the highway like this. His parents were going to ground him when he got home, at least he'd been able to find a ride. Billy shifted in his seat; he wished he could remember when he'd gotten in the car.


Steve looked at the speed gauge. They were going well over sixty miles an hour. Billy appeared to have cooled out a bit. Steve turned his eyes back to the road and leaned his foot down further on the gas peddle. Steve had never been on this road before. He'd been watching for somewhere to turn onto or at least a sign but he hadn't seen anything.

Maybe this street led to a nut house. After all the characters he'd seen tonight, it'd make sense. Steve listened to the radio. He knew it'd been a while but he had no idea what time it was, it surprised him that the station was still on the air. He'd been driving for at least four hours, it'd been dark almost the entire time...

Steve laughed to himself. He felt like one of those guys in the movies. As long as he had his car with a tank of gas and the open road and his songs, he was fine.

Billy sat in the other seat. He looked like he was about to slip into sleep. Steve felt the same. If it got any worse he'd have to pull off to the side of the road. Steve turned up the radio. The road raced to the music.

The song stopped. Steve eased into a turn and felt himself jolt his head up. He felt a sudden shame, he'd fallen asleep along with a passenger in the car, a kid no less. He should have known better. He glued his eyes to the the road. The road didn't have any lines, it was straight and empty. Steve turned his eyes to Billy, he must be asleep by now if that jolt hadn't woken him. Billy was gone. Steve turned back to the road in shock, he had to be asleep.

He jolted back and saw the high fence of iron appear right before the car slammed into it, smashing Steve's head into the windshield and striking his neck on the steering wheel on the whiplash.

The wrecked car rested in its bed of glass, blood and dead driver. Billy lay still just beyond the inside of the fence, his head was bruised and his body scraped. The scene of massacre and sudden chaos stopped. Billy awoke on the floor and looked up to the fence, it was dark just beyond, with a road slithered along it.

Billy felt his aching head. The last thing he remembered was walking through the graveyard on his dare. Dean and Zachary were probably still outside waiting for him. He pushed himself up. His arm screamed at him, it felt like a throbbing pain with dull ripping teeth shaking on it. Billy looked around, he didn't recognize anything. He called out, but didn't hear any response. The wounded Billy wandered the graveyard searching for his way out.

The cemetery had an empty feeling to it. The trees hung low and the grass looked dead yellow in the darkness. It was like a shadow of what it was in the light, which was a skeleton. Billy felt the hard earth beneath his feet, his foot kicked into a tree. Billy turned to his left and shuffled. The darkness only added to his fear of this place. Billy heard a rustling and turned. Billy called out again. Someone was here. He walked on and then he fell into the hole.

Steve drove on the road. It was fast falling to dark. The red Thunderbird loved the road. The air outside was cool, blowing through Steve's fine-combed hair. Steve turned the radio on to the sound of drums and trumpets and the big band singer. He turned the knob and ran through the static. Maybe he could find something playing Buddy Holly at least. He found the sound he liked and sharpened the dial. The road was beautiful. The trees were full on either side with sunlight straining through the tops. Steve pushed the peddle down and drove faster. He just wished he could remember when he got on the road.

"Cripes..."

Charlie recognized the kid in the back. He just couldn't remember where it was he'd seen him.

<i>It's how the dead see.</i>

Charlie couldn't see the road anymore. The night was getting too dark. He had to be getting close to home. That was where he was heading. He looked ahead and saw a figure. It was a short and older, he was walking down the road too. Charlie pulled his coat tighter around him, he felt cold. He wondered if the Thunderbird had stopped for him too. Charlie looked up from the ground. He knew the man. He stopped and turned, he didn't want to head this way, he didn't want to pass the old man. Charlie walked back down the road, faster than he'd gone up it. Charlie prayed the man wouldn't turn around and find him, or worse, the old man already knew he was there. The adrenaline set in, Charlie's neck stood on end. He could feel the old man watching him. He saw the fast steps approach him, following him, he didn't want to turn around.

In his mind, Charlie saw the shadow of the hand reach out of the grave, "Cripes..."


He felt miserable. Charlie felt a burning ache in his arms and sides. His neck was cold and stiff. His clothes felt damp from crawling in the grass. He looked around. He was alone. Rich was gone. He thought back, he remembered them running and then the branch, but that was too late.

He closed his eyes in dreary waking. It was like an old home video. He saw the wrinkled skin under the stiff starched clothes of the old man. The dark form flashed in as a silhouette. He could make out the texture of the old man's face, the whiskers, the pores on his forehead and nose. He smiled, he smiled at Charlie. The facial muscles told him. He imagined the grin, the empty teeth. The feel of the rough clammy hands reaching out. Charlie's body winced. He didn't want anything to do with that man in his mind. He felt sick to the thought. He wrenched up and pulled out the rock from his pocket. Then he heard the door, it was like a knocking coming from inside. It sounded so soft, it sounded polite. He stood up and walked around to the door. The cold rough texture of the rock rotated in his left hand. He reached down to the handle pulling his other hand back, ready with the rock. He opened the door, stepping back as it swung open. Rich fell out and to the ground under the doorway. Charlie peered in but could only see darkness.

Rich was sprawled on the ground, his breath still wheezing. He didn't say anything; he didn't move. Charlie bent down putting a hand on his shoulder, holding the rock at the ready, splitting his eyes between inside the mausoleum and the cemetery. "Rich, Rich, get up," Charlie whispered.

Rich responded, crying and crawling out of the doorway. He looked up at Charlie with fear filled eyes, asking a question but Charlie couldn't tell what it was. Finally, Rich asked it, "Where is he?"

"What do you mean?"

"He was in there. The grave keeper. You didn't see him?"

Charlie looked at Rich. Charlie was blank, he hadn't seen anything but darkness, Charlie responded, "Let's get out of here."

Rich's shivering body shook his head in agreement.

The graveyard wanted them, Charlie thought. It was working against them.

They stumbled through the rows of headstones on tired legs and damaged bodies. They listened to the graveyard, they heard the wind howl. Charlie felt the cold chill on his neck. He hated that feeling, something was behind him, it was like it was watching him. He thought he heard laughter on the wind, then it was gone. It must have been his mind playing tricks on him.

Rich looked back at Charlie. Charlie could hear Rich's heavy wheezing breaths from five feet away. Charlie still couldn't tell why the cold air made him so uncomfortable. <i>It heaved itself forward, the one still was wet with fear, hot from a metaphorical lick, it had tasted so good, like all children do. They were past there prime but still morsels of sweet meaty flavor. The blobbed figure grew and collapsed back on itself. This hunt was almost over.</i>

It was the old man's shed ahead of them. They could see the light in the window, They had been going in circles all night and now was no different. Charlie felt frustration. He looked at Rich, Rich looked back at him with a brighter response than Charlie had expected, "Come on, we have to be heading back," Charlie thought to himself, 'hadn't they been heading back before?' Then Charlie saw the candle go out. Charlie screamed, "Run!"

Rich dashed off with as much speed as he could command. Charlie shot by him watching ahead of him. His arms pinched and his chest burned but he willed his body to run. They heard the evil, despiteful, gummy voice of the old man echo around them. Charlie couldn't tell where it was coming from. Charlie curved to glance back and try to let Rich catch up. He couldn't see anything behind them. Rich wasn't far back. Charlie called back to Rich. The grounds looked littered ahead of them. Charlie thought back to himself pushing the old man down and the coldness he felt. What was ahead of them?

Charlie ran crossing and dodging the gravestones as they made their way by the hill and trees. Charlie heard the bangs and ching of the shovel hit the stone markers in careless swings. Rich called up to Charlie. He continued running, Charlie recognized this area. The old man laughed, he was close. Charlie stopped by the tree and looked behind. Rich was close behind him and so was the old man. Charlie launched the rock still in his hand into a straight arc at the crazed pursuer. The old man's right knee gave out as the stone struck sprawling him into a headstone and smacking himself in the head with his shovel. Rich stopped a few feet in front of Charlie, catching his breath. Charlie cried to Rich in labored breath of his own, "Come on!" as he began his run again.

Charlie could see the gate, they were almost free. Then he was blind. Charlie couldn't see anything beyond himself. The shroud around them was still there. Charlie ran in short strides. He felt the deprived dryness around him. He ran in a track in his mind, praying and hoping the ground not to give way. They were mere yards away from freedom now. Then he felt his body run into it. It was cold and hard, rough to the touch. He had reached the fence.

Charlie looked back into the darkness that was the depths of the cemetery. Whatever the phenomenon was, still held them and this place. Charlie climbed out through the hole in the fence and stuck his arm in to give Rich a pull. Then they were out.

Charlie and Rich crossed the street and collapsed to the sidewalk. Charlie stared away from the graveyard right through Rich's house. He was locked in thought. He stared at the lights, it seemed so bright. The stars and the moon and street lamps, they comforted him. He sat up, Rich was still on the concrete. Charlie looked at him, "Hey, I've got to get home, get some sleep." Rich stood up, "Yeah, see you at school," he replied pushing his scratched up glasses onto is nose, he looked to the ground in a blank and sullen glaze.

Charlie looked at him, it was too much, "It's okay," he told Rich. He turned and walked away. Rich walked along the sidewalk and up the path to his patio and opened the door and went inside. Charlie ran down the street.
---

Charlie opened his eyes and looked down the road. It was a dark, long, upward hill in front of him. The yellow and white division lines faded in the darkness. Charlie continued his walk along the side walk as he looked down, to his side and all around. the sides were filled with trees, dense and full of tiny branches and leaves and white blossoms. Across the street he could see the same thing. The air was nice and relaxing to him, it was unlike in the cemetery, it felt warmer, with more life. He looked at the cracks in the sidewalk as he passed over them. He saw the trash, cigarette butts, plastic cups and broken glass in the foliage to his side and in the cracks. He saw his house at the bottom of the street.
---

Charlie ran through the threshold of his house. The blackness and shadows of the night crossed from the corners to the center and every inch. It was normal. Everything was in it's place and tranquil. No ghosts. He didn't want to leave the safety of this place for as far as he could foresee. He huffed bending over and leaning on his knees. He looked up and only saw the kitchen through the archway. The realization came he was utterly parched.

Charlie walked through to the kitchen taking soft steps as he went. There was a note sitting on the table: "Charlie, wake me when you get in, save your excuses." It was written in his mother's handwriting. Charlie filled his glass with tap water, 'Who'd believe them?'

The cold air blew through the window. He shuddered and curled his arms into him, 'frig' Charlie thought, Rich still had his coat. Something upstairs creaked. It was nothing. Charlie closed the window and slipped the lock. He gulped the water down and passed back to the stairs in the silver of the moonlight. He slipped up them one at a time, each filling his ears with an apparent violent like screeching noise.

It was times like these Charlie wished they had a wall clock. The mute sound of time clicked away in Charlie's mind. Charlie slipped into the bathroom on the left of the hall. He closed the door and turned on the lights. They blinded and disoriented him but it was nice. It was normal. He unzipped his jeans and peed. The light of the bathroom was low and yellow, poorly lighting the room's space. It was small but cluttered. Charlie flushed and washed his hands and turned out the light and crossed back across the hall to his room.

His window was still open when he entered his room. He grimaced and cussed softly as he undressed. The clock read the time in a red dull glow. Charlie lay down in the bed and pulled the covers over his head shivering. The window stayed open. The wind blew in a cool autumn night breeze. Across the street stood the wrought iron fence.