Grave Girl (25 page)

Chapter One

"Okay," Sam says, staring at herself in the mirror. She brushes the hair from over her eyes and takes a moment to straighten her jacket, before peering closer and cleaning some make-up residue from the corner of her eyes. It's been so long since she actually went out anywhere socially, she's almost forgotten how to get ready. Finally, pulling back her lips, so spots a huge chunk of bread stick between her front teeth.

"Great," she mutters, trying to dig the bread out using the end of a hair-clip.

"You look different," says a voice from nearby.

Turning, Sam sees that Sparky the stone angel is standing in the doorway. With all the craziness that has been happening lately, Sam has barely had time to speak to Sparky, and she certainly isn't used to the idea that a man made of stone, with a big pair of furled wings on his back, can wander around the cottage and try to start up a conversation. He has a very relaxed and contented attitude, as if he views the world through a filter of peace and calm. Sam finds his presence to be strangely reassuring, even if she can't shake the feeling that there must be a little more to him.

"I'm just popping out for a few hours," she says, turning back to the mirror in order to resume her excavation attempt with the hair-clip. Tensing up a little, she hopes Sparky won't ask too many questions.

"To meet someone?"

"It's a long-standing arrangement," she replies, watching as a mouse scurries across the floor. "I agreed to it a while ago, and I already stood him up once, so... It's nothing big, really. Just someone who might be able to help."

"You need help?"

"It's complicated." She waits for him to ask another question. "It's not really
complicated
," she continues eventually. "It's more that it's... difficult to express in words."

"Apparently so."

"Can't a girl go and have dinner with some guy without it being seen as a date?" Sam asks. "I mean, is everyone so fucking fixated on romance and all that crap? It's just dinner. Really, we're just meeting to talk, but it's kinda more interesting to have some food at the same time, and..." She pauses, as she realizes she's rambling. "You know what I mean, right?"

Sparky stares at her.

"I know you know," she continues. "You must have been on a date occasionally."

Sparky tilts his head a little, like a dog.

"This world is crazy," Sam adds with a sigh.

"That, I agree with," Sparky says. "It has been many years since I took this form and became trapped in the cemetery. I rarely experience interactions with people from the outside world, but I have certainly observed that things seem to have changed."

Continuing to work on the piece of bread, Sam eventually realizes that Sparky is just standing in the doorway, staring at her. "So your name's not really Sparky, is it?" she asks after a moment, figuring that she might as well try to get some kind of conversation going. "Faraday was saying that he used to call you something else."

"Most people call me Martello," the angel replies. "It was my name long ago, when I was the gardener here. When I was human. The name given to me by my parents was Luke Martello. I was raised under that name and trained under that name. In a way, however, I feel that I have outworn that name. Anyway..." He pauses. "Sparky's not so bad. If I didn't like it, I'd have let you know by now."

"So you were a gardener here," Sam continues. "How long ago?"

"Too long. I was one of the first."

"Weren't the first gardeners, like, ninjas or something?"

"No," Sparky replies. "Not ninjas. However, we
were
warriors. We had a sacred oath to defend this place from all those who wished to come and disturb the Devil's sleep."

"And there are a lot of people who want to do that, are there?" Sam asks. "I mean, call me nuts, but I'd have thought it'd be a bad idea to wake him up. Isn't there a chance that he might be a little grumpy?"

"There are creatures in the world who see things differently," Sparky points out. "They seek power, and who better to give them power than the Devil? They think he'll rise from his grave one day and grant them untold riches, so they compete to be the first to raise him. They're wrong, of course, but the pursuit of power can sometimes blind even the most intelligent of creatures. That's why the gardeners were put here, to preserve the grave, and it's why we remain even in death, albeit in a new form."

"Huh," Sam replies.

"There was one," Sparky continues, "who abandoned the oath and sought to profit from his position. He believed that, as a gardener, he'd be perfectly placed to raise the Devil and cut a deal. He was almost successful, but fortunately he was stopped at the last moment. Since then, it has become clear to many of us that this might be a losing battle. We have stopped believing that we can prevent the Devil's resurrection, and we have begun to focus on an attempt to delay the inevitable for as long as possible."

"And you've been here all that time?" Sam replies.

"Not all the time," Sparky says. "A long time, certainly."

"How long's too long?" Sam asks. She waits for an answer. "You're old, huh? More than a hundred? More than a thousand?"

"It doesn't matter," Sparky says. "Time means less to me these days."

"And now you're made of stone."

"It's an interesting change," he replies. "At first, I was quite unsure as to how I'd be able to get about. In fact, I panicked somewhat when the process began. Believe me, it's not pleasant to witness your own body starting to become stone. After a while, however, I got used to it. These days, I can barely remember what it was like to be made of flesh and blood. I don't miss it at all. Life in the cemetery is much calmer, and at least I feel as if I'm contributing something to a worthy cause."

"I guess helping to save the world is a pretty worthy cause," Sam suggests.

"Indeed."

"It'd be a pretty good way to redeem yourself," Sam continues, staring at her reflection. "I mean, if you'd done something bad and you wanted to prove to someone that you could change, that you could be good..."

"It certainly would," Sparky replies.

Finally getting the piece of bread out from between her teeth, Sam steps back from the mirror and takes one last look at herself. She's been trying to get a balance between casual and respectable. In the old days, when she went out on the town with Nadia, she'd wear ridiculously glittery dresses that were designed to attract guys. She's never actually been to a date at a restaurant, and although she's got no romantic interest in Fenroc at all, she can't help but worry about how she'll come across.

"You look very good," Sparky says.

"I'm sorry about the way I chained you to the cottage," Sam replies, carefully avoiding any acknowledgment of the compliment. "You kind of freaked me out at first with the way you kept moving while I wasn't looking. You could have just told me you were alive, you know. It would've been better than the way you kind of slunk around. Do you realize how creepy that was?"

"I didn't want to scare you," Sparky replies. "I wasn't quite sure how you'd react if you saw a stone angel knocking on the window."

"I'm not as jumpy as I look," Sam says. "Anyway, this whole place is pretty terrifying. In case you haven't noticed, there's a dead girl sitting in my kitchen right now. Properly dead. Not just emotionally dead or spiritually dead, but with bits falling off her and actual maggots crawling through her body. I mean, if that's not terrifying, I don't know what is. And then there's..." She pauses as she realizes she was about to use Sparky as another example of the creepy things that exist in the cemetery.

"It's okay," he replies. "I'm aware that I might not be the most comforting sight. Since I took my stone form, I've tended to hide away and avoid humans. There was an unfortunate incident many years ago when a young boy from the town happened to see me walking among the graves. He ran away screaming, and I hear he has suffered significant mental health problems ever since. As you can imagine, I've tried to be a little more cautious since that incident. In truth, when you first came here, I was a little nervous, and perhaps a little shy."

Sam raises an eyebrow as she turns to him.

"I'm here to help," he continues. "That's the job of the stone angels now, at least those of us who adhere to the old code. There are, of course, a few who prefer to focus on their own selfish needs. Those are the ones who exist beyond the cemetery walls. They care only about seeking chances to enrich themselves. Some of them even try to strike bargains with dark forces, hoping to gain some benefit. It's a foolish endeavor, of course, but greed knows no boundaries."

Checking her watch, Sam sees that she's in danger of running late for her 'date'. There's a part of her that doesn't really want to go at all, and that would rather stay here and talk to Sparky and the others. On the other hand, she feels as if maybe Faraday has only told her half the story so far, and she wants to at least find out what Fenroc has to say. While she's aware that she might be wrong, she can't shake the feeling that Fenroc seems like a trustworthy kind of guy, while Faraday comes across as being very jumpy and secretive. If she had to choose to trust one of them, right now she's not sure who she'd pick.

"It's okay," Sparky says, his body making a dull grinding sound as he steps back from the doorway. "I hope you have a good evening, Sam. We must all take our moments of relaxation wherever we can find them, especially when there is a storm coming."

"You think there's a storm coming?" Sam asks.

"I'm afraid so."

"I won't be late home," Sam says, feeling a little uncomfortable as she heads through to the kitchen and over to the main door. For some reason, however, she can't shake the feeling that this is going to be the least relaxing evening in history.

Chapter Two

"Open up!" Mayor Winters shouts as he bangs on the door. "For God's sake, get this door open!"

As he waits for someone to respond to his pleas, he glances first one way and the other, keen to ensure that he's not being observed. Although it's late and most of Rippon's residents should either be at home or in the cafe, Winters can't afford any slip-ups. He knows it's now or never in terms of his plans, and the slightest mistake could be fatal. Even now, he can feel dark forces starting to close in, and he's quite certain that the town will be under siege before too long.

"What now?" asks Walter Simpkin as he opens the door. Tired and still not quite awake properly, Simpkin blinks a couple of times as he stares at Winters. "Let me guess," he says with a sigh. "The new gardener's dead, and you need to run a new ad. Are you sure this is worth doing? It's getting ridiculous."

"Not this time," Winters shouts as he thrusts a cloth sack into Simpkin's arms. "As far as I know, the new gardener is absolutely fine. For now, anyway. Take these. They're yours now. I'm out of here!"

"What are you talking about?" Simpkin asks, taking a step back. "What's got into you, man?"

"I'm not sticking around while everything goes to hell," Winters replies, mopping the sweat from his brow. "I've given the best years of my life to this town, Walter, and for what? A load of complaining idiots who've never shown a moment's gratitude in their entire lives! I've worn myself out and I've done terrible things, all in the name of keeping this place safe, but I can't handle it anymore. I quit, and I'm officially declaring, Walter, that you're the new mayor of Rippon."

"You can't do that!"

"I can, and I have!" Winters says, stepping away from the door. "Good luck, Walter. You'll need it. Quite apart from any nastiness that might spring up from the depths, the people of this town are a load of moaners and whiners. If it's not one thing, it's another, and even when they have a legitimate grievance, the way they express themselves is downright rude! I'm afraid you'll be a very busy man, Walter, but you're the best person for the job. I'm quite certain that I'm leaving Rippon in the safest possible pair of hands."

"But I can't be the mayor!" Simpkin protests. "I'm a busy man. I have a business to run, a wife, a family! I don't know the first thing about civic responsibility!"

"Don't worry," Winters replies. "I've got a feeling you won't need to worry too much. Things are changing, Walter. The world itself is going to be thrust into a new age, and I doubt the old ways are going to be very relevant. You're a smart man, Walter, and you just need to maintain a steady focus and try to keep things on track even though..." He pauses for a moment. "Well, I mean... Even though... Things might be a little difficult around here, Walter, and I'm sorry to leave you in the lurch like this. The only tidbit of comfort I can offer is that there probably won't even be a town left for much longer."

"Wait, I -" Simpkin starts to say, before Winters turns and runs as fast as he can along the dark street, disappearing quickly into the night.

"Walter?" a voice calls out from upstairs. "What's all the noise? What's going on down there?"

Stepping back and pushing the door shut, Simpkin carries the cloth bag through to his kitchen and carefully sets it on the table before untying the top and opening it to reveal not only the mayoral seal, but also the sash, the cap, the gown and the head of the mayoral lance. For a moment, Simpkin is completely overcome as he realizes that enormity of the responsibility that has been placed on his shoulders. As he holds up the mayoral seal, he can't help but imagine himself standing on the steps of the town hall as an adoring crowd gathers in the main square.

Hearing a noise nearby, he turns just in time to see a dark shape flit past the back window. Setting the mayoral seal down, he hurries across the room and looks out into the garden. Seeing nothing, he turns back to look at the mayoral artifacts.

"Walter?" his wife calls out, making her way down the stairs. "What's going on down there? Who was that at the door?"

"Oh," Simpkin replies, as a smile breaks across his face. "Nothing much, my dear. I just became mayor of this fine town. That's all."