Grave Dirt

GRAVE DIRT

by

NICOLE ARNOUX





Gasp. Need breath. Need to breathe. She struggled for air. Her hands went up in a frenzy. They struck something hard and made a loud noise that pierced absolute silence. She quivered. It was wood. There was wood above her. Why? Her thoughts pounded through her head.

She was suffocating. Where was she? She couldn't remember a single thing about herself. Her name, her age, what had happened five minutes ago, a year ago, when she was a child. Had she ever been a child? She couldn't remember.

Her fingers clawed at the offending wood. Her limbs spasmed, the fear so deep it forced her to move. If she could get past the wood she would get to air. Precious air. If she could remember one thing, it was that she needed to breathe. It was important. You would die if you didn't breathe.

She kicked one leg up and then another, as far as they would go. They thunked on the wood of what she now recognized as a coffin. Why was she in a coffin? And then the fear strangled her neck and the breath didn't want to come at all anymore, and she wanted it so badly!

She felt small slimy things on her face, writhing around, trying to wriggle into her desperately gagging mouth. Something with tiny tickling legs made its way down the curve of her cheek, making every hair on her entire body prick up. She clamped her mouth shut, her teeth clicking with the force of it. Her nostrils flared violently.

She had to get out of here, she had to move. She clenched up every muscle in her body and exploded outward, kicking and flailing at her prison.

She heard the lock securing the coffin break. She pushed against it, with strength she didn't know she had. She clawed at the opening, feeling the earth cave in and slide down towards her, filling her mouth. There was only one thought in her mind and that was open air. Breath. Life.

She struggled harder, faster, clawing at the loose dirt, pushing the lid all the way open. She thrust her head out, then slid the rest of her body from under the heavy wood.

She was free from the coffin, but not from the earth on top of her grave. Her feet dug into the brown walls, climbing, straining, needing the air above more than anything.

One of her hands burst through the churning dirt and thrust itself out into the open air of the cemetery. Soil was in her mouth, in her ears, clogging her eyes. She gagged in terror and pushed the last few inches to open air.

Suddenly her body stiffened, and like she was being cradled in a cushion of air she burst through the shuddering earth. She felt like a child emerging from her mother's dark, wet womb into dry air. She saw a man staring at her, only inches away from her face. Then as she wiped the dirt from her eyes, she saw that there was another man, leaning on a shovel.

"Welcome back."

Dirt came off of her in waves. When she finally thought to gulp in the fresh air she realized with a shock that pulsed through her entire body that she didn't need to. She didn't need to breathe. That was curious. She couldn't quite wrap her mind around the absurdity of that.

The cemetery was quiet. The air was still, with only the small sounds of insects to rend it. Towering marble headstones surrounded them, and in her mind it felt like she was in the center of an ancient stone circle. Power buzzed around her like a swarm of hungry bees in late summer. The man with the shovel was leaning against a gargantuan oak tree, ancient and gnarled.

The man who had spoke to her, took a small step back and laughed, low and deep in his throat. Her brain refused to work. She could take in her immediate surroundings but she couldn't recall anything about herself.

She looked down at her soiled dress. It was black. Customary, she remembered, for a funeral. Coffins and funerals went together. People in coffins that were dead wore black.

Suddenly there was a flash of memory that almost bowled her over. Seven black candles, in a circle around her. The light dancing on the black walls. Eerie. The flash was gone as soon as it had come.

"Who are you?" she whimpered, "and why are you here?" Her voice cracked from disuse.

"Come with us, and we'll show you."

That was cryptic, she thought. But she was filthy, confused, and she didn't have to breathe. That bothered her most of all. So she followed them, but her feet didn't seem to want to work properly. She tripped over every dip in the grass, every ancient tree root that littered the cemetery grounds, even a twig caused her to lose her balance.

"Who am I?" she asked, her voice shaking, quivering. She was so muddled. Nothing made sense.

"Mary."

"Mary?" she echoed back at them.

"Yes."

"I was dead. Why? What happened? Please tell me something?"

"Yes. And now you've come back."

Mary. Mary was her name. Why did it mean nothing to her? She felt absolutely nothing as she repeated the name over and over in her head. She tried to sniff the air, but her sense of smell was deadened. She stuck out her tongue and felt nothing.

She followed the men as they left through the open cemetery gates. She looked back over her shoulder, at the headstones. A stone angel stared back at her, eyes forever open. Hands clasped together in silent prayer. She shuddered again. She wanted to be with them, with the angels, but she couldn't even cry.

The men ushered her into a night black Lincoln, opening the back passenger door for her. Her blank eyes stared straight ahead as they drove.

Suddenly, she caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror. She fell back hard onto the cushioned seats. Her face was a white sheet. Black dirt clung to the patches of her hair, sprouting like demented weeds from her white scalp. Her eyes were vacuous.

"What have you done to me?" She screamed. "Put me back! Put me back! What have you done!" She convulsed, throwing her body from side to side. Her head thunked hard on the door handle, but she felt nothing. "You bastards! Put me back!"

"You're not going back. You're coming with us," the man who was driving replied calmly.

"I don't want to," she whimpered, slumping down as far as she could. Not wanting to see her face in the small mirror. She never wanted to see it again.

Two minutes later, they pulled into a driveway. She didn't know where they were. Not that it mattered. Next thing she knew they were in a basement.

"I'm so cold," she cried, shivering. "Why am I so cold!"

The man did not answer.

"Tell me who you are."

"You don't remember, Mary?"

"No." She whimpered, falling onto the floor, her head lolling on her neck.

"Your husband."

"You're not my husband. You aren't anything. Just take me back. Put me back in the ground. Let the angels have me." She tried so hard to remember, but her mind was as blank as her stare.

"What's your name, tell me something. I can't remember!" She whined.

"Tony. Your husband."

"You're lying to me, stop lying to me!"

"Why should I? Now be quiet."

"Why did you bring me here? Look at me! Look at what you've done!" she screamed as another hot flash of memory shook her mind.

"Where is the box?"

A gun was pointed to her head, and she was shaking.

"I don't know where it is. I don't. Honey, don't point that thing at me. Put it away! What are you doing, oh god, oh god, put it down, please God NOOO!"

"Then you're already dead."

Two shots. Loud penetrating shots. Pain. Twin red blossoms on her chest. The thud thud of her heart went sluggish. Blood poured out onto the floor. Her blood.

The black candles were back, and there were voices chanting. She saw all this from the ceiling, looking down on her own body. Eyes closed, face twisted in death. She stared at the two neat bullet holes in her deep blue blouse, and the spreading red bloodstains.

She saw them hoist her limp body.

"It didn't work! You son of a bitch, it didn't work! Black arts my ass." The man that was not her husband yelled in a gruff voice. She followed, floating above them.

A hand smacked her back into the present.

"You hid the box, and now you're going to get it for us. You can't get out of it this time."

"What box? I don't know what you're talking about!"

The man that was supposed to be her husband, Tony, got pulled aside by the man she didn't know. He talked in a hushed whisper, but she still heard what he said.

"She doesn't even remember her name! How the hell is she going to remember where she hid the damn box. I knew this was a bad idea," the other man said into Tony's ear.

"She'll remember."

"We don't have enough time for that! The cops are still fucking investigating her murder, when they find her grave disturbed...well it's only a matter of time."

"Get me the book, Ralph."

Tony took a step closer to his dead wife and grabbed her throat. "In two minutes, everything that you know is going to spill out of your mouth because I have the power to make it so. I have the power to do whatever the hell I want with you. Stand up!" he commanded.

She immediately stood to her feet, which was not what she had intended to do, "Why is this so important? What's in the box?"

"You know what's in the box. That's why you hid it from me."

"I don't remember."

His hand around her throat felt fever warm on her clammy cold skin. She shied away when he let go, and huddled by the wall, her eyes rolling in her skull. The fear was the only thing she felt.

"Here." The man she now knew as Ralph handed him a large black book. Silver runes lined the binding.

Her eyes went wide. She knew that book. Her memory was coming back to her in pained little snippets. She remembered caressing the large book, laying her small hands one on top of the other on the book's heavy cover. She knew what was in it. She knew that her husband practiced black magic, and though she didn't remember practicing it herself, she had known quite a bit about it.

She didn't know what was in the box, but she knew that it was only a matter of time before that memory came back to her, too.

Tony took the book and laid it on the altar that stood in the corner. He opened it silently and flipped to the proper page.

"You better hurry," Ralph said quietly.

"I know."

She stayed huddled in the corner, and closed her eyes.

She heard Tony chanting, probably spreading a protective circle around her. It smelled like blood. She let them do it. She didn't want to call any more attention to herself. She opened her eyes and saw Ralph bring the candles and set them within the circle. Tony lit each one in quick succession. When the circle of blood and candles was closed, the spell was activated.

A violent shock went through her entire body, and she was immersed into memory.

Quivering. She was quivering in fear from what she held in her hand. It was a small black lacquer box, with a tiny gold latch that held it closed. It practically pulsed in her hand, it was so powerful. She had only one thought, she had to keep this from Tony. If he used it...she didn't want to think about that.

She pulled out the hard bricks one by one. A tear struck the basement floor underneath her as she opened the box, just to make sure. A ruby the size of her hand glittered in the blackness of the velvet lining. The power was so immense, every small hair on her body stood at attention. Her eyes were fixed on the gem. It was a summoning stone.

Demons.

She couldn't let him have it. Never. She closed the box and began to seal up the wall.

"Mary."

"Yes."

"Tell us."

"Yes, tell us," Ralph said eagerly, eyes gleaming.

"No."

"That is not the correct answer." Tony stared into her eyes like he had in the graveyard, and she began to rise to her feet like a puppet. "I control you. Tell me where it is." He emphasized every word and they pounded into Mary's brain.

She had to answer, she felt the burning compulsive need to tell him everything she remembered, everything that he needed to know. A small part of her wanted so badly to resist, but it was too difficult. He had too powerful a hold on her.

"Okay, I'll tell you. Just please, set me down, I need to sit. Please?

"You remember. Good." He didn't let her sit. He just waited for her to speak. She shuddered. She did remember, everything, even her marriage. The look in his eyes right now, the man she used to love, shook her to the core.

He leaned closer to her. She shied away.

"It's here. In the basement. In the wall."

"Good. Where?"

"The back wall towards the top." Mary collapsed after she spoke those words, as Tony's attentions were focused elsewhere. Her clarity was failing. Black spots danced in her vision. She wanted so badly to cry, but it wasn't possible.

She watched as Tony went upstairs to get tools, and Ralph stood watch over her. She only had one chance to finish this. The minute Tony came back he would have control over her again. His attention was diverted. This was it, or they had the gem and...

She tried to stand up, and Ralph glanced at her, the whites of his eyes showing in fear. He was not as calm as Tony.

"What are you doing?"

"I need to stand up for a second, okay?"

"You wanted to sit down so badly a minute ago." He shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea."

He looked away for a second, towards the staircase. This was her chance. She leapt for Ralph, clawing her long fingernails into his face, gouging. She dug her teeth into his neck.
He flailed, and lost his balance, the two of them tumbling onto the floor. "You bitch!" he yelled, blood spurting from the gash in his neck and the bloody scratches on his face.

She wailed at the top of her lungs. When she let the rage take over, the fear and confusion receded. It was a wonderful feeling. Even more wonderful was revenge.

He hit her, flailed at her, trying to get up. But she no longer felt real pain, not anymore. All she felt was more of her flesh coming off and black blood pouring out onto the ground. She screamed again, and dug another gouge in Ralph's flesh with her yellowed teeth.

Tony began to climb down the stairs.

"Tony do something!" Ralph screamed.

When Mary heard that, she immediately left Ralph, and focused on the true power in the room.

Tony looked deep into Mary's eyes. Her body was shaking violently because the power of her will wanted so badly to attack. But he held her tight, and she was nearly defenseless.

Tony slowly and deliberately began to move down the stairs, still holding her in his gaze. But she could feel something cracking his intense concentration.

Tony took out his gun and fired two quick shots into Ralph's already bleeding body. Mary shuddered, feeling the bond between them snap fully back into place. Without hesitation, he had killed his partner.

Mary found the will to scream, one long piercing shriek. It was so loud she imagined the walls pulsing and shaking with the vibration of it.

Tony dropped the gun. She could feel through the bond that he was trying to keep his hold on her. But the piercing wails that pushed endlessly through her vocal chords were putting a growing rift between his power and her will.
She felt electricity shock through her as the bond tried to ensnare her. She felt his energy and the spell that bound her. But she had managed to break free and fight once, and she could do it again. The power of revenge was driving her ceaselessly forward.

Then, as suddenly as it had grabbed her, the bond disintegrated completely. She moved closer to Tony, who was now standing at the bottom of the basement steps, staring at her with those awful eyes. Those cavernous evil eyes.

She knew the screaming was what had saved her. Her mind was a churning ball of hatred, blind unthinking rage. There was nothing left to control. Her rage overshadowed everything. The spell had fed off of her fear, terror and pain. The rage strained against the bounds of his power, pushing them, exploding them.

She lunged, desperately grabbing for flesh. She had him. Her teeth tearing, her fingers clenched into claws, She wanted to drink his blood, to hold it in her mouth as he died.

He tried to struggle but now she was stronger without his spell to protect him. Hot blood coursed into her gasping mouth as her teeth tore blindly into the softness of his stomach. She burrowed into it with her fingernails, feeling the flesh part and let her inside. She pulled out his intestines and wrapped them around her, reveling in it. Watching the look in his eyes as the pain overtook him, his power receding.

But his eyes held no fear, only pain. He was more evil than she, even as she tore open a huge gash in his throat, and watched the last of his life spill out onto the floor. His eyes went dim.

With the last of his gasping breaths, she felt his hold on her slip completely. Then her vision dimmed to gray, her eyes closing. Her body joining the others on the blood slick floor. She was free.


********Please take the time to r&r. Most of my stories are almost finished pieces that I am currently sending to magazines. Any extra edge to make them better is always welcome. Thank you!!*********