The Undergrave • part 4 - Hidden Others

In the graveyard, the rain fell in cold, silver lines, pulling the heavy branches of the trees down toward the two of them. The storm front had replaced the warm afternoon air with a cruel chill. Before them stretched a sea of dead grasses and climbing vines from which tombstones of every shape and variety protruded like rotting ghost ships. Beneath their feet was a road of rusty bricks, twisted by swollen treeroots.  They moved slowly up the land, stepping over black logs and fallen branches. A damp reek floated on the breeze, the scent of season after season falling dead to the ground, decaying into the mud, then covered again by the next layer of sacrifices.

“We found the place, guys. It’s crazy creepy.” Wes spoke over his shoulder.

Juniper made an effort to move her head slowly, to keep the camera steady, but found her eyes darting this way and that, her nervous system on high alert.

Along the forgotten road, long pools of rainwater had collected and were patiently leeching iron from the bricks, turning the puddles the color of blood. Stone markers crowded the ground everywhere, some low and flat, others towering, tilting, threatening to topple at any moment. Where once the stones bore family names carved in tall, neat letters, there now remained only worn grooves, alien symbols spelling unpronounceable words. The dead buried here had been forgotten by the world.

“This place is like…post-apocalyptic,” he said to the camera in his hand.

She folded her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling cold and exposed in her thin shirt and shorts.

“We need to get up there,” He said, pointing the camera off to the left where the stone roof of a mausoleum jutted from the waves of ivy, dark under the arms of a weeping willow. “Stay with me.”

They struggled, stumbling over the broken terrain, thorns drawing thin lines of blood across exposed skin.

The tall, iron doors of the mausoleum stood closed, a frayed hank of rope twisted through the handles. The sounds of trembling leaves and falling rain buzzed in Juniper’s ears. Behind that hiss of white noise, she sensed something else, like overhearing a conversation in the next room. Not words, but the familiar cadence of muffled voices. In her periphery, something scurried from behind one distant stone to the cover of the next. The idea of hidden others in this dead place made her skin crawl.

“We’re not actually going in there, are we?”

“Listen, babe, I know this isn’t exactly a fun date. But if I don’t do this, then how else am I supposed to get followers, get sponsors. Make a living. For us.”

“Wes, I’m really scared. This is—“

“I’m going in there with or without you. You can wait out here by yourself if that’s what you want.” He watched her face.

“Please don’t leave me, Wes.”

His hand came out of his pocket holding the folded knife. With the other hand, he swung the blade out until it clicked into place. For a moment, he just stood there. She couldn’t tell if he was looking at her or the camera on her forehead. Then he turned back to the gray doors and sawed at the rope until it fell into pieces on the stone below.

“Okay, ya’ll. We’re going in now. You’re gonna want to see this shit.” The door on the right gave and he began to scoot it open an inch at a time, heaving his body against its bulk. Each move produced a grating squeal, metal on stone. When the opening had widened just enough, he looked back and flashed a smile. Juniper watched it die on his lips as he turned away and disappeared into the echoing darkness.

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The Undergrave • part 5 - Something Bitter