Grave Girl (27 page)

Chapter Five

As the restaurant door is pushed open, Sam spills out into the dark, empty street. Stumbling a little, she reminds herself at the last minute that she needs to act a little more sober, so she stops in her tracks and takes a deep breath, hoping that the air will help calm her down. It's been a long time since she allowed herself to drink, and although she's quite enjoying the fact that she's a little drunk, there's also a little voice at the back of her head that keeps telling her that she might be making a huge mistake.

"Hey, Nadia," she mutters, staring into the darkness. "Cheers, wherever you are. Have one on me." Reaching into her jacket pocket, she pulls out the plastic water bottle that she managed to sneakily fill with vodka before she came outside. She unscrews the lid and takes a swig, and she can't help feeling that Nadia, many miles away, is probably doing pretty much the same thing. Then again, she figures that Nadia has probably already moved on and found other friends by now.

Hearing the door open again, she turns just in time to see Fenroc emerging from the restaurant.

"Thanks again," Sam says, putting the top back on the bottle and slipping it back into her pocket.

"For what?"

"Dinner." She pauses for a moment. "This might be a sad thing to say, but I've never actually gone out to dinner before with someone who paid for everything. I mean, there was this guy who bought me chips once after we'd been out all night, but I guess that's not the same. This whole dinner thing is kind of weird."

"Really?" Fenroc pauses for a moment. "What kind of men do you know back home?"

"No kind of men," Sam replies with a smile. "Where I come from, guys don't pick up girls by taking them to dinner. They pick up girls by waiting until they're drunk and then..." She pauses for a moment, trying to work out whether she's saying a little too much. "Well, I think you can guess the rest."

"Sometimes," Fenroc says, "I think the modern world has passed me by. I'm afraid I feel more at home with the more old-fashioned customs. Speaking of which, it's getting late and I feel I should walk you home. Even in a quiet town like Rippon, one never knows what one might encounter if one takes a wrong turn."

"Sure," Sam says, taking a couple of steps before tripping on the cobbles and almost falling flat on her face. Managing to steady herself at the last moment, she feels Fenroc grab her arm. "I'm okay," she mutters. "I'm not drunk. I'm just kind of, you know, a little off my game."

"I understand completely," Fenroc replies. "Regardless, will you let me walk you home? I'd feel a lot better if I could see that you get through the gate safely. I know Rippon seems like a sleepy town, but I can assure you that there are still a few nasty things lurking in the shadows."

"Speaking of gates and shadows," Sam says as they start walking. "What's the deal with you and the cemetery gate?" Still feeling a little unsteady, she links her arm with Fenroc, using him for support. "I mean, don't get this wrong, but you kind of fried when you put your hand through the other night."

"An unfortunate side-effect of my past activities," Fenroc replies.

"Such as?"

"Such as the fact that I used to be a gardener." They walk on in silence for a moment. "It's not exactly the kind of job from which one simply retires. I'm afraid there are certain consequences that come with resignation, and one of them is the fact that I'm not banned from returning to hallowed ground. You've seen what happens if I try. Fortunately, the skin heals rather quickly. It was only a brief warning, although I'd hate to imagine what might happen if I pushed my luck. It's a shame, though. Sometimes, in a nostalgic moment, I find myself thinking back to the old days when Martello and I used to work together. Although I disliked my work in the cemetery, there were one or two good moments."

"Martello?" Sam asks. "You mean Sparky? The stone angel?"

"Every gardener has an angel," Fenroc replies. "We worked well together. He'd been a gardener himself, many years earlier, and he told me some of the most common mistakes. I hesitate to sound too twee, but I feel that Martello and I made a good team. Unfortunately, we eventually came to disagree on a few topics, and that was our downfall. I'm afraid Martello was lured in by Faraday's ideas. I tried to fight back, to persuade him to listen to me, but it was too late. That's the reason I had to abandon my post. Had Martello been a little more loyal, I might well still be the gardener today, and you'd have been spared all this trauma."

"Wow," Sam says, trying desperately not to seem drunk. "That angel's got some dark secrets, huh? And to think, I assumed he was just a lump of stone. Do you know, I actually chained him to the cottage?"

"You did?"

"I certainly did. The bastard kept moving, and he started creeping me out. I feel kind of bad now. I hope he doesn't hold it against me."

"I'm afraid he doesn't do anything these days unless it has been ordered by Faraday first. Poor Martello used to have such a fine mind, but lately he's allowed himself to become little more than a pawn. I used to think that he'd find the strength to overthrow his new master, but my hope has faded. He's chosen his side, and I fear that Faraday will soon ask you to choose
your
side before..."

Sam waits for him to finish. "Before what?" she asks eventually, as they turn the corner and head toward the cemetery gate.

"Before the beast wakes," Fenroc says after a moment. "That's what Faraday wants. I'm sure he's told you that he wants to keep the beast down there forever, but the truth is he's been searching desperately for a way to make the creature wake up. He wants to bring about the end of the world, and he believes that his reward for doing so will be eternal life. That's all he wants, really. To live forever and never have to face death."

As they reach the gate, Sam pulls her arm free from Fenroc. Realizing that she's a little more unsteady on her feet than she'd anticipated, she grabs hold of the gate and uses it to steady herself.

"He's a lucky man," Fenroc says suddenly.

"Who?" Sam asks, turning to him.

"The guy you left behind."

Sam stares at him for a moment. "He's really not," she says eventually.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Fenroc continues. "You love him, don't you?"

"With all my heart."

"And does he know that?"

"I hope so."

"And does he love you in return?"

Sam pauses. "I hope so."

"Then I'll say it again. He's a lucky man to have the heart of such a beautiful and intelligent young woman."

Sam stares at him for a moment. "Are you sure you don't want to come to the cottage?" she asks eventually. Even though she knows she'd regret it in the morning, right now she feels as if she wants to slip back into her old skin a little. She's tired of spending every night alone in that little makeshift bed, and she longs for the days when she'd wake up with a warm body next to her. She doesn't even mind
whose
body, just so long as she's got company. She doesn't have any particularly strong feelings for Fenroc, and he's not really her type, but she just wants someone in her bed. Anyone.

"You know I can't," Fenroc replies. "The cemetery's out of bounds. Besides, isn't it a little crowded in there? Don't you have a dead girl, a stone angel and a dangerous ex-gardener as house-guests?"

"They can just fuck off for a bit," Sam says, slurring her words slightly. "It's not their cottage. It's mine, and I set the rules."

"I think we both know it wouldn't work. Not tonight."

Sam nods.

"Another time, perhaps," Fenroc says, stepping closer. "I just want you to know, Sam, that I had the most enjoyable time with you tonight. It's so rare to find intelligent conversation around these parts. In another life..." He pauses, as if he's not sure whether or not to complete the sentence.

"In another life what?" Sam asks, staring into his eyes.

Leaning closer, Fenroc plants a gentle kiss on her lips.

Needing no further invitation, Sam puts her arms around Fenroc and pulls him against her, until she's pressed against the cemetery gates. The kiss, although tentative at first, quickly becomes passionate, and Sam feels her old self come flooding back. She knows the alcohol is responsible, and she knows it'd be a mistake, be she can't help herself; she presses herself against Fenroc as she slips her tongue deeper into his mouth.

"This would be a mistake," Fenroc says suddenly, pulling away.

"So what?" Sam replies. "So, do you ever take girls home, or do you prefer to do everything against the cemetery gate? 'Cause I'm easy either way. Well, not easy, but..." She pauses, and then she bursts out laughing. "You know what I mean, right?" she says eventually, trying to pull herself together and seem a little more attractive. "Tell me you know what I mean. Tell me I didn't just make a complete ass of myself."

Fenroc pauses for a moment, and then he kisses her again before finally pulling free and stepping back. There's a look of shock in his eyes, as if some awful realization has just struck him.

"Come on," Sam says, almost pleading with him. "I haven't been with someone since..." She stops herself just in time, feeling a cold wave of sobriety wash through her mind. There are some lines she refuses to cross, even when she's drunk, and there are some parts of her past that she wants to keep hidden.

"Since what?" Fenroc asks.

"Since forever," she says after a moment, forcing herself to smile. "That's all. It's been a while, if you know what I mean."

"Good night, Sam," he replies, turning and walking away.

"Seriously?" Sam calls after him. "Are you serious? Aren't you even remotely interested?" She waits for a reply, but none is forthcoming. Walking slowly and steadily into the night, Fenroc doesn't even bother to look back. For a moment, she seriously considers running after him, but even in her drunken state, she still has enough dignity to hold back. "God damn it," she mutters, suddenly feeling humiliated. After staying strong for almost a year, she realizes she's managed to undo all her good work and slip back to her old ways.

For a moment, she considers finishing the rest of the vodka from the plastic bottle, but finally she decides against it.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out the rusty old key and lets herself into the cemetery. In the distance, the lights of the cottage illuminate the night, but as she locks the gate behind her, Sam realizes she can't face anyone right now. Instead, she walks through the darkness, picking her way carefully between the gravestones. The old Sam, the
real
Sam, showed herself again tonight, and everything feels completely wrong. All Sam can think about right now is the fact that she can never change. She'd been clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, she could become someone new, someone better, and that maybe one day she could eventually go back and find the one person in the outside world who might actually give a damn about her.

That dream, she realizes with a sigh, is over.

Stopping in the darkness, she leans over a gravestone as her stomach suddenly seems to grind and churn. Finally, she throws up, quickly dropping to her knees as the night's food and drink is deposited onto the grass.

"Fuck," she mutters, wiping her mouth.

Slowly, and with an aching body, she hauls herself to her feet and turns to head back to the cottage.

And that's when she sees them.

She blinks a couple of times, convinced that she must be imagining the whole thing.

Finally she turns, but there are more.

Seconds later, she realizes she's surrounded. There must be ten or more of them, standing around her in a circle. Dark figures, their features hidden by shadows and their eyes burning with fire, they stare at Sam, as if they're waiting for her to make the next move.

All she can do, however, is stand frozen in place and wait for the inevitable attack.

Chapter Six

"Damn you!" Mayor Winters shouts, slamming his fist against the dashboard as the car coasts to a halt. He tries switching the engine off and on again, changing gear, pulling out the clutch... Nothing works, and finally the lights flicker off as the car comes to a complete standstill, just a couple of miles outside town.

Sighing, Winters sits in the darkness. Having kept the car stored in a private garage for a number of years, he'd assumed that it would be in pristine condition when it was finally required. He'd arranged for a mechanic to take a look now and again, but for the most part he'd been convinced that the vehicle would be perfectly reliable. Now, however, he realizes that something's gone horribly wrong and he's stranded on the dark, desolate road. Turning and glancing over his shoulder, he can just about make out Rippon in the distance, perched atop the large hill that protrudes from this otherwise flat land.

"Come on!" Winters shouts, trying in vain to get the car moving again. The engine, however, seems totally unresponsive, and all the power seems to have drained away. It's almost as if the entire battery has spontaneously emptied itself, leaving Winters sitting in a useless pile of metal.

"Right," he mutters, grabbing his mobile phone and bringing up the number of Rippon's only mechanic. "Let's see what you've got to say for yourself, you incompetent wreck," he adds, waiting for someone to answer. Finally, however, the call goes to voice-mail, and Winters slams the phone down onto the passenger seat.

Opening the door, he hauls himself out of the car and wanders around to the front. Although he's far from being a mechanically-minded man, he figures his best hope right now is to see if he can somehow work out what's gone wrong. Lifting the bonnet, however, he realizes that the task is hopeless. It's a cloudy night, affording precious little moonlight by which to work, and when he reaches out tentatively to grab a part of the engine, he merely succeeds in burning the side of his hand.

"Damn you!" he shouts again, slamming the bonnet back down. "What is the world coming to when a man can't even get a little help when he's in need? Am I to sit and rot on the side of the road?"

Turning, he looks once again at Rippon as he realizes that his only hope is to make the long, slow walk back. There are no other towns for miles and miles, and he certainly doesn't have the stamina for a long trek. At his age, and carrying a few extra pounds, even the walk up the steep hill back into Rippon is a somewhat daunting prospect, but he figures he has no choice. If he's lucky, he can get the mechanic out to the car first thing in the morning, and he can still be away by midday. Granted, his plan to get out of town without being spotted has been blown, which means he'll have to come up with some kind of excuse. Cursing his luck, he takes a deep breath before starting off on the long walk.

Hearing a noise nearby, he stops suddenly and turns to look back at the car. Although he's not usually a suspicious man by nature, he's certain he just heard something nearby, even though there's nothing to be seen. Then again, on such a dark night, it's almost impossible to make out anything. Although he's not familiar with the land around Rippon, Winters figures there certainly could be a fox or some other creature out here.

"Hello?" he says, immediately feeling a little foolish for entertaining such fears.

Smiling to himself, he turns and keeps walking, reminding himself to ensure he doesn't become too jumpy. After all, on a dark night -

Suddenly something large and dark slams against him, sending him flying across the road and bouncing along the tarmac until he comes to a rough halt. Winded and bruised, he tries to struggle to his feet, while looking back in a vain attempt to work out what, exactly, just collided with him. There's nothing around, but this time he's
certain
that something is out here with him on the dark road.

"Who's there?" he shouts, turning to see if anything's behind him. "Show yourself!"

Seconds later, something slams into his back, knocking him to his feet with such force that all the breath seems to be forced from his body.

"I'm the Mayor of Rippon!" Winters splutters as he gets to his feet.

Silence.

Turning, he starts hurrying toward town, only to be hit by the same invisible force, which this time sends him flying a couple of meters into the air until he comes slamming back down into the grass that runs along the side of the road.

Struggling to his feet, he's about to turn and look for his attacker when he's hit from below and sent flying up into the air. Moments later, he lands again, but this time the floor feels soft and sticky. Finding it hard to regain his balance, he reaches out and feels something large, moist and spongy beneath his feet. When he finally manages to stand up, he finds that there's some kind of soft, wet wall next to him, and quite suddenly there's an unbearable stench of rotten fish. He tries to turn around, but instead he slips and lands in a puddle of moisture. Rolling over, he looks up just in time to see the night sky appear before him, framed by a row of sharp-looking dark objects.

"Where am I?" he mutters, with a nervous laugh. "A mouth?"

After a moment, he realizes that this is
exactly
where he is. Reaching down, he runs his hand over the soft ground and realizes that he's on a giant tongue. He puts his hand out and touched the wall, which turns out to be the inside of the mouth, and when he looks at the night sky, he realizes that his view is obscured by rows of huge, razor-sharp teeth.

"Dear God," he says quietly. "I might not have been the most Christian of men, but I have long sought to do right by my community. I have helped many more than I have hindered, and I believe I have acted for the most part in the spirit of the common good. If a man such as myself is to be denied your love, what hope is there for the rest of humanity?"

He stares straight ahead, frozen to the spot until, finally, he realizes that he's slowly slipping down the tongue, away from the teeth. Looking over his shoulder, he realizes he's in danger of being swallowed.

"No!" he shouts, scrambling back along the tongue until, finally, he's able to reach out and hang on to one of the large teeth. Moments later, the entire mouth seems to tip up, as if the creature is trying to force him to fall down into its stomach. "Let me out of here!" Winters screams, hanging onto the tooth for dear life until, finally, the mouth slams shut, severing both his arms and sending him plummeting down into the darkness.

Despite his best efforts, Winters tumbles down a narrow, wet tube until finally he lands in some kind of small chamber. Feeling a burning sensation, he tries to get up, but blood is pouring from the stumps where his hands used to be and he has no chance of keeping his balance. He can feel his skin burning, and after a moment he realizes that the chamber is filling up with some kind of acid.

"Dear Lord!" he screams. "Why do you torture me like this? I am your loyal servant! I have never harmed another living soul! Deliver me from this cruelty!"

Desperately trying to crawl back up the tube, he quickly realizes that his bloodied stumps are preventing him from gaining any kind of purchase. As he continues to struggle, he finds that the chamber seems to be closing around him, sealing him inside, and soon he's running short of breath. By the time he blacks out, much of his flesh has already begun to dissolve, and soon he's little more than a collection of bones and muscle, slowly being digested in the belly of the beast.