FREE STORY: The Graveyard Keeper
From Little Terrors Issue 1
I rang her doorbell with the gun hidden beneath my shirt. Quivers of nervousness overcame me, only to be overtaken by jolts of anticipation. This was it — the solution to my problems. Just one bullet in her skull and years of suffering would finally end.
She didn’t come, so I pushed the button again and rapped my knuckles against the cherry-red door. My God, this house was an eye-sore; Pepto-Bismol pink with red trimming and gardens full of pastel flowers. It looked straight out of fucking Candyland.
I was about to knock again when the door creaked open. There she was — wrinkled, pathetic, and cadaverous. A clear plastic tube leading to an army green oxygen tank was taped under her nose like a transparent mustache. The eyes behind her inch-thick bifocals weremagnified to cartoonish proportions. If not for the cane she held in a white-knuckled grip, she would have had no chance of standing upright.
“Mrs. Jones,” I said, “it’s so lovely to see you after all of these years!”
“Well little Joey Templeton,” she said in a stilted and wheezing voice. “My how you’ve grown into such a handsome man. Come in, come in! I just put on a fresh pot of coffee.”
“That sounds lovely.”
She turned back into the entryway and slowly wobbled back inside. I patted the small of my back, ensuring the pistol was still secure in my belt, and followed her inside. The house was like a museum exhibit displaying the interior design trends of 1980’s homes. Though it was spotless, it still exuded a layer of imaginary dust. Hung on the walls pasted with faded wallpaper were equally faded family photographs. Crosses and figurines of Jesus, angels, and saints populated many of the rooms, and above the couch were two plaques: one featuring a passage from Psalms and the other the Ten Commandments. “Thou shalt not kill”, read the first. I supposed I would be breaking that one that day.
Once she had settled me in, she asked for help with the refreshments. Over a plate of dry cookies and cups of watery coffee, we filled each other in on the decades of our lives since we last spoke. “So tell me, Joey. What do you do for a living?”
I wasn’t always a graveyard keeper. I didn’t write essays in grade school about how I wanted to mow the boneyard lawns when I grew up or anything ridiculous like that. No, in my past life, I was a software programmer (a damn good one, I might add) until a little bug from China came and made a whole bunch of people sick. I was laid off, not that I think about it much anymore. Sure, I still have the occasional dream in Python script, but it’s water under the bridge. However, I still had to find some way to pay the bills, and the cemetery business was booming.
St. Anne’s Cemetery is one of the oldest institutions in this crummy little town. It, along with St. Anne’s Mental Hospital, is an offshoot of St. Anne’s Catholic Church, the oldest standing structure in the county. A great deal of the working population is spread between the St. Anne’s companies and CornerSoft, my old employer. Naturally, when I lost my job at one monolith of employment, I jumped to the other.
All of this madness started on a sweltering Indian Summer (if we’re still allowed to call it that) night in October. Toward the end of my shift, I was mowing the grass, racing to finish before the sun went down. Of course, this effort was in vain and I was forced to finish the last stretch in complete darkness. Just my luck — my stupid, awful, relentless luck.
I only had an acre or so when I saw it. From the top of a hill, there was a weird blue glow. I had already mowed up there fifteen minutes prior, so I thought that maybe I dropped something. But what? I felt my phone in my pocket and I had a flashlight in my hand. It couldn’t be anything that I had caused.
I shut down the mower to investigate the anomaly. Pointing the flashlight toward the hill, I began my trek back up the slope. Strangely, the air felt colder with each step. Even though it was unseasonably warm, I was covered in gooseflesh and shivering. A little further up the hill, I no longer felt alone. The hair on the back of my neck stood erect with the unshakable feeling that I was being watched. This air of surveillance did not falter, and I continually looked over my shoulder to see nothing but gravestones and gnarled autumn trees. When I finally reached the top of the hill, I couldn’t believe the sight before me. A glowing orb of blue light hovered a few feet above the ground. I squinted to see what had created the illumination but was left baffled. There was no dropped phone, no forgotten flashlight – no light source at all.
The glowing light brightened at my approach. Even though was blinding now, I couldn’t look away. The eerie chill that overcame me during my climb now seemed to enter my body. I felt it behind my eyes and it clawed at my brain. The light inside the orb began to shift and morph until I could see the suggestion of eyes, a nose, and a mouth floating within. A human figure emerged inside, visible from the chest up, as if it were looking out through a porthole.
joseph, it murmured. joseph templeton.
I shuddered at the sound of my name, though “sound” isn’t quite the right word. It rang through my head as if I had thought the words myself.
“Who are you?” I yelped.
The figure smiled at me, or so I reckoned. His image was blurred and concentrating on it was difficult. Even though I was peering at it through some kind of portal, I could still see through it — its translucent form obscuring a black void behind it.
look below and see for yourself.
Underneath the glow was an ancient headstone. Nearly everything engraved upon it was worn down with the beating of years gone by. Only one word remained legible: a name carved in thick serif print. Jonas Templeton.
yes, joseph, you are indeed my descendant. fate has brought you to me and i require your aid.
I tremored at the situation. Until this point I had never considered myself to be someone so delusional to believe in ghosts, but I could find no logical alternative.
“Wh-What do you want from me?”
revenge, joseph. you must carry out my revenge.
His words shivered down my spine and twisted my stomach in knots. Some spectral force held me in place, and I knew that attempting escape would be futile.
“Why me?”
you are the last of my bloodline, joseph. the last hope of putting my soul to rest. the last hope of ending our family’s curse.
“Curse?”
yes, joseph. our blood has been cursed for generations. has not your lifetime of struggles led you to this conclusion?
I thought about it, or rather, felt unable to avoid thinking about it. It was true that life had never handed me anything but obstacles. Family life was miserable. My mother died when I was a child and my abusive father was ill-prepared to raise me. Things hardly got better when I left. My career, which I had worked so hard to build, was taken from me in an instant. If this ghost could be real, why was a curse so far-fetched?
“What do you want me to do?”
The apparition smiled. I recognized his grin, for it was my own.
in time, joseph, but for now you must listen. you must know of the nature of this curse to break it.
I nodded, unable to break my gaze.
many years ago, i was a powerful man in these parts. i ran a real estate agency that housed most of this town. this position provided me with respect, but more importantly, it provided me with the people’s trust.
Strange. I tried my best to remember stories of some rich and powerful ancestor but came up blank. As if the spirit could hear what I was thinking, a jolt of coldness once more overcame me and clouded my mind from competing thoughts.
i had a partner at my agency. behind my back, he ran a series of swindles and laundered his crimes through our company. i tried to put an end to it, telling him that i was aware of his wicked deeds and that i would not tolerate them. he brushed me off as a paranoid fool and accused me of harassment. when his schemes began to fail, he falsified documents and led the public to believe that it was i who had committed these despicable acts.
I wracked my brain for some talk of an old family scandal. My only knowledge of family history had been generations of poor trailer park residents. But somewhere in my subconscious, the tale was familiar.
i was taken to court and arrested for my partner’s crimes. everything that i had spent my life building was stripped from me when i was taken into custody. as i wasted away in a rat-infested cell, my partner took over the business. many years later, i was finally allowed to roam free again, but i was an old man — confused, tired and penniless. my reputation proceeded me and i was unable to find employment. within the year, i died forgotten in an alleyway. perhaps out of guilt, or more likely, as some final insult, my partner paid for my burial plot and headstone. yes, i was dead, but my soul was not at peace. i watched, bound in this nether realm, as my descendants sank into poverty, becoming pariahs to the townsfolk. as their lives became saturated with misfortune and sorrow, my partner lived happily into old age. it was a travesty, and i cannot rest until his bloodline pays
My heart sank, dreading the act he was about to entrust to me.
you must find the last scion of my traitorous partner and put an end to her. she is named minerva jones. you know her well…
“Well, I used to be a computer programmer starting around 2012 or so. Worked at CornerSoft here in town.”
Mrs. Jones took a bite of one of her awful cookies and smiled through her chewing. Her eyes lit up at the mention of my old career.
“You don’t say,” she wheezed. “My stepson works there.”
Him and half the town, I thought.
“Really? That’s so interesting.”
“I suppose since you called to schedule our visit, you’re wondering about me,” she said with a smile. I nodded and braced myself for the deluge.
She began to tell me about how she had married late in life to a widowed father who had died a few years back and I did my best to make it look like I was listening. My mind was on high alert, looking for the perfect opportunity to shoot her when she wasn’t expecting it.
“But Joey, you said that you used to work at the computer place. What now? Did you start your own business?
Here we go, I thought.
“Well, unfortunately, there were some layoffs during the pandemic. Just my luck, I got the axe.”
“Really?” she said with genuine surprise in her voice. “I thought that my stepson said they went to great lengths to keep their workers employed.”
I could feel myself getting warm — hot even. The droplets of sweat on my forehead began to roll down into my eyebrows. As suddenly as the heat overcame me, I was overcome by an icy touch on my shoulder. The voice of Jonas whispered into my ear as if he was right behind me.
stay calm, joseph, keep your wits about you and focus on the goal.
“Yes, ma’am. CornerSoft kept the vast majority of their employees, but an unlucky few, myself included, had to be let go.”
She frowned with sympathy, which just made me feel pathetic and upset. How dare she pretend to feel sorry for me?
“That’s too bad, I’m sure that they miss you.”
“Oh, I bet they do.”
“But what about these days? It must have been years since you’ve been let go.” I squirmed. It’s not as though I think that my current line of work is beneath me, but some others certainly feel that way.
“I’m a groundskeeper at St. Anne’s Cemetery.”
Her disposition dropped. Mrs. Jones, who had felt so bad for poor little Joey Templeton, now looked embarrassed. I felt guilt and anger begin to rise up inside of me.
“Oh that’s… quite the career change. Are you looking for other jobs in computers?”
“No.”
She nodded and gave a weak smile. She pitied me. How dare she pity me?
“It’s a good job. I get a lot of sunshine and it feels nice to work with my ha-”
“But you’re such a smart man. Doesn’t it get a little… you know, dull?”
I gritted my teeth. I couldn’t wait to see her brains splattered across the wall. Hell, what was stopping me? We were all alone. Just a flick of my wrist and my gun would be right in her stupid, decrepit face.
no joseph, the ghostly voice interrupted. she will scream and struggle. the neighbors will hear. take your time. make it clean.
“Every job is dull to some extent, Mrs. Jones,” I managed to spit out. “Besides, I needed a change of pace. This way I at least get to serve a real purpose. No more spending my days incrementally updating worthless software that people already own.”
Mrs. Jones backed off and I felt myself regaining control. She turned the wheel on her oxygen tank and breathed greedily.
Go ahead, I thought. Those breaths will be among your last.
“Whatever makes you happy, Joseph. I know that you went through a lot in your life.” What was this? Sympathy for my life’s hardships from this wretched woman? No, it couldn’t be.
“H-how do you mean?”
“Well, I felt just awful when you reminded me of your mother’s passing. I’m sure I did everything I could to comfort you, but I know it could never be enough for a boy so young.”
Comfort? No, she never comforted me. She must have been misremembering, or worse, lying to my face.
“It sounds like life has never been easy for you. I should never have questioned you about the things that make you happy.”
I couldn’t form words. My tongue was tied up in knots and it weighed heavy in my mouth. How could she say such things? This horrible old hag — my mortal enemy… but was she really?
do not be fooled, my scion. her sweet words are a trap. you know what must be done.
“Thank you.” She smiled, put a wrinkled palm on my knee, and squeezed gently. It seemed warm — genuine. I didn’t know how to take her kindness. Could Jonas be mistaken?
While I pondered this, she began to get up from the couch, shaking as she rose. She grabbed at the handle of her cane and wobbled to her feet.
“I’ll be right back, Joey. I’m just going to pour myself another cup.”
I leaped up to my feet and attempted to lend her a hand. She shook her head sternly and shooed me away.
“If I wanted your help, I would have asked. I can walk to the kitchen perfectly fine.”
Despite her admonishment, she gave herself another shot of oxygen before turning around to walk down the hallway. She walked away so slowly. So painfully slow.
now joseph! goddamn you now! free my soul. free yourself!
She was maybe ten feet away now. She hummed a jolly yet discordant tune to herself as she crept further down the hallway.
No, I thought to myself. I couldn’t go through with this now. I’d just slip away while she went to the bathroom and l go back to my life like none of this ever happened. But the spectral chill flooded through my body once more and my spirit-guided hand pulled the gun from out of my rear waistband. I screamed internally and watched as I pointed the gun toward her.
Mrs. Jones had made it another five feet, but there was still nothing blocking my aim. A tear rolled down my cheek and I was shaking uncontrollably.
“No,” I whispered. “Please don’t make me.” I felt my index finger tighten around the trigger.
“Please, Jonas. Please don’t”
She was almost around the corner now. The ditty she hummed grew softer but continued to change key. I prayed with every fiber of my conscious being that she would just pick up the pace and walk out of view.
“Jonas, she’s just an old woman.”
now! Jonas screamed. His words shook throughout my body. I was completely under his control and gasped as I pulled the trigger.
When Jonas first spoke her name, it meant nothing to me. The ghost had said it with a weight, as though the recognition should have been obvious.
though she has a family, it was obtained through marriage. the bloodline ends with her. her death will set us free.
“But if she is the last, why can’t we let her die on her own?” I asked. “The bloodline will still end with her.”
no joseph. without vengeance, this misdeed will go unpunished and the curse will remain. she must die by your hand.
I opened my mouth to protest. I may be many things and far from a saint, but I draw the line at murder. Jonas recognized that he needed more to convince me. A devilish smile overtook his see-through face.
i see that you need more. this woman is not just my betrayer’s descendant, but one who has personally done you wrong.
I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. I swore that I never had known a Minerva Jones.
jones is the name of her husband, joseph. when you knew her, she was called minerva mcavoy.
McAvoy — now why did that name sound familiar? It was in my brain somewhere, I just couldn’t make the connection.
remember, joseph. you must remember her.
Nothing came. I put my fingers to my temples and rubbed, trying desperately to stir up some hidden memory. now joseph! remember how she mistreated you. It was as though I was pulled from reality. My mind raced to an elementary school classroom so vividly that it was like I had traveled twenty-five years back in time. I sat at my desk looking down at my tiny nine-year-old hands. The walls were adorned with student crafts wrought from cotton balls, glue, and construction paper. There she was, towering over my desk as my classmates stared. With crossed arms, the middle-aged woman scowled at me behind horn-rimmed glasses. It was Miss McAvoy, my fourth-grade teacher.
“Earth to Joey. Did you hear a word I said?”
The class tried unsuccessfully to muffle their snickering. Miss McAvoy tapped her foot, waiting expectantly for my answer. I was stunned — a deer in the headlights.
“I-I…”
“You little space cadet, were you even listening?”
The children’s eyes were piercing now. Attempts to stifle laughter were abandoned and I felt my lip quiver.
“I’m sorry. I was just thinking.”
“About what?” she snapped.
“Certainly not the math problem I asked you.”
“No… it was about…”
“About what?”
The class quieted and watched me with bated breath.
“About…”
“I’m waiting, Mr. Templeton.”
“About my mom.”
That was right. My mother would have been in the hospital fighting cancer around this time. At my answer, the children burst into laughter. Miss McAvoy herself could barely keep a straight face. I felt my eyes starting to well up.
“Mommy won’t always be around to solve your problems, Joey.”
Time seemed to dilate around me. I was hyper-aware of everyone’s disdain swirling around me. I couldn’t hold back any longer and burst into a stream of tears. The other kids were merciless, pointing and laughing. I heard some say that they wanted their mommy too in mocking baby voices. I was trapped in a gauntlet of ridicule. My only defense was to leap out of my desk and run out of the classroom.
“You’re not going to find mommy out there!”
I heard the laughter even as I ran down the hallway — the classroom door fading behind me. I ran through the school until a teacher grabbed me by the arm and took me to the principal’s office. This memory had been buried deep in my subconscious, but somehow I knew that my mother had died within weeks of the event.
The image faded and I was once more standing at Jonas’ grave. He looked at me expectantly, with a sly grin on his face. This memory was so cruel, so clear, but why didn’t I remember it at all until now? The question faded in my mind, and I was left with pure, seething rage.
“I’ll kill her for you, Jonas,” I heard myself say.
The phantom smiled a devilish grin.
once the deed is done, i shall require proof. bring to this gravestone the weapon used to bring her demise. I will then be freed of my shackles and fortune will finally smile upon you.
The glowing began to dim and the figure of Jonas Templeton dissipated into the void. Once again, I was standing in pitch dark. The portal was gone, but the smell of ozone lingered in the air. Warmth reclaimed me and I was covered in hot, sticky sweat.
I finished mowing the cemetery in a daze.
*click*
Jammed. I couldn’t believe it. The gun was jammed.
this isn’t over, joseph. you must complete your task.
I shook my head furiously in an attempt to clear Jonas’ voice. I turned around hard and walked as quickly as I could toward the front door. Tendrils of the ghostly chill still weaved in and out of my body, but I fought against them. I would tolerate this madness no longer and leave before the ghost could overtake me again. I was about to reach for the knob when the sound of the doorbell reverberated throughout the house.
“Oh dear!” Mrs. Jones cried out from the kitchen. “That must be my stepson. Would you mind getting the door for me, Joey?”
I had to compose myself. The last thing that anyone needed was Mrs. Jones’ stepson to open the door to a jittery, sweating stranger. Before I did anything, I had to ditch the gun. Seeing no hiding place that would fully conceal the weapon, I slipped it back into my waistband. I stared at my hands, begging them to stop shaking. I could get through this. All I needed to do was let the guy in, tell Mrs. Jones that I really must get going, and get the hell out of there before the ghost made me do anything else. The doorbell rang again. I wiped my brow and took a deep breath before walking to the front door.
When I saw his face, I was stricken dumb. A familiar set of beady eyes, a bulbous nose, and a thin mouth wrapped in a Van Dyke beard stared back at me.
“Templeton?”
How did I not make the connection? Standing before me was Robert Jones, Mrs. Jones’ stepson. My old boss.
“What are you doing here?” he growled.
“I-I…”
“Well Robbie! What a pleasant surprise.”
Mrs. Jones was in the hallway now walking toward us. Seeing Robert seemed to bring her a jolt of energy and she was walking at a much faster speed.
“You left these at my house,” he said as he held up an orange prescription bottle rattling with pills but never glancing away from me.
“Oh that’s so sweet of you to bring them,” she said standing next to us now. “Oh, but where are my manners? Robbie, this is an old student of mine, Joseph-”
“Templeton,” he finished. “I know. What is he doing here?”
Mrs. Jones was taken aback by Robert's stern tone. She smiled at me apologetically and rubbed her shoulder.
“Well, he just called up and wanted to chat. I guess that I wasn’t sure if you knew him since he was laid off a couple of years ago.”
Robert looked at me with daggers for eyes. I tried to give him a confident smile, but I knew I wasn’t fooling him. I was absolutely scared shitless.
“Well I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” he said, turning away to face his stepmother. “Minerva, call the police now”
“I really should get going,” I interjected.
“No, you sit your ass down right now,” he said, pointing a trembling finger inches away from my face.
“Robbie!”
“He shouldn’t be here. This motherfucker shouldn’t be here.”
“I can just go, really.”
Robert towered over me. His nose was an inch away from mine and I could feel the air that he was exhaling — hot, angry air.
“If you so much as attempt to run for it, I will put you in a chokehold.”
“Stop it! Just stop it, Robbie. What is going on? What on Earth are you talking about?”
Robert looked over at me with a challenging, defiant look. It goaded me — dared me to answer her question.
keep your mouth shut, Jonas whispered.
“Templeton here was fired six months ago. Not laid off. Fired.”
Mrs. Jones gasped. Robert looked at me with a raised eyebrow when I reacted the same way. That wasn’t correct. I swore to God that wasn’t right.
“Go ahead, Templeton. Play dumb. Act like you have no fucking clue what’s going on”
My shock was overtaken by rage. How dare he try to accuse me of… whatever it was he was suggesting.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I shouted. “I was laid off three years ago because of the pandemic! For Christ-sakes I’ve been working at the cemetery for two and a half years. What do you mean you fired me six months ago?”
Mrs. Jones was cowering behind Robert now. Any compassion she had displayed earlier was now gone — replaced with fear.
“Why aren’t you at St. Anne’s?” he asked me quietly.
“It’s Saturday. My day off,” I replied with confusion.
“Not the cemetery, Templeton.”
“But I work there.” What was he getting at?
“Sure, they might have you doing some supervised help there, but you know what St. Anne’s I’m talking about.”
Mrs. Jones was shaking in terror now. I suppose that I was as well, but only at the garbage that was coming out of the fool’s mouth.
“Yeah yeah, keep playing dumb. Act like you never accused me of embezzlement or conspiracy to frame you or whatever the fuck else the voices in your crazy fucking head told you about.”
They both looked at me expectantly, anticipating some sort of confession. They could keep looking. I wasn’t about to cede to Robert’s slanderous nonsense. I knew who I was and I knew what I had been doing for the last three years. I felt my brow start to knit and my teeth start to grind.
“You just shut your fucking mouth!” I screamed. “I’ve had it with your bullshit!”
Mrs. Jones’s eyes were giant and shimmering with tears that would stream down her face at any second. I tried my best to calm down and turned to the frightened old woman.
“You’ve got to believe me, Miss McAvoy.”
Both of the Joneses paused and stared at me puzzled.
“McAvoy?” Robert said, breaking the awkward silence. He looked at her quizzically and she shrugged her shoulders with a confused smile.
“Joey… honey, I think you’ve maybe been a little confused.”
“What?” I muttered.
“What are you saying?”
“I know I haven’t been Mrs. Jones for more than twenty years, but it was never McAvoy. I was a Cleary. Minerva Cleary.”
I felt as though I had been slapped across the face.
“But… you remembered me. You brought up my mom. You…”
“Joey, you told me about her on the phone. I’m sorry dear, but I’ve just been playing along. You seemed so positive, so I took your word for it. I saw many children pass through my classroom throughout the years and it’s been so long since I’ve taught. Of course, I’d forget a few. But I’m sorry Joey, I don’t think we’ve ever met.”
My head was shaking slowly and I couldn’t find the words to respond. I felt far away as if I was watching what I was seeing from the back row of a theater.
“And just what the hell are you doing in my stepmother’s house, anyway?”
I was trembling with disbelief. Everything I knew, my whole world, was crumbling around me. No. None of this was right. I wasn’t crazy. They were trying to pull a grift on me or something. Before anything else could come to my mind, the familiar phantom chill coursed its way through my body. It didn’t scare me this time, though. I welcomed it.
these people are deceivers and enemies. they doubt your worth and stand in the way of our well-being. do what you came to do and set us free.
“Earth to Templeton,” Robert snarled. “What the fuck are you doing at my fucking stepmother’s house?”
Earth to Templeton. Earth to Joey fucking Templeton just like the old bag said to me twenty-five years ago. Jonas was right, these two were after me. She probably called him earlier today to make sure that he showed up. Let’s humiliate Templeton just like we always did. He’s just some nut anyway. Hell, we can probably convince him that he’s really crazy. Well fuck that. I’d show these monsters crazy. I’d give them exactly what they deserved.
I knew it was jammed, but drawing a gun on someone is still great for intimidation. Besides, I could still pistol whip their fucking noses into their brains with it. Mrs. Jones… no. Miss McAvoy screamed when I pointed the pistol at her. A second of sheer terror overcame Robert before he leaped toward the gun and began to assail me. That second was worth it. He was scared — real scared. He pried the gun from my hands before wrestling me to the floor and punching me repeatedly in the kidneys. Miss McAvoy was shaking in the corner and hyperventilating. She reached toward the oxygen tank to give herself another shot, but it tipped over in the chaos, and the tube was ripped from her nostrils.
think, joseph. find a weapon and kill them now!
Robert shifted his attention to my face. I felt my nose break as he landed a heavy punch. He continued, smashing my face until I felt like I was drowning in blood. Another blow shattered my upper cheekbone and I felt the eyeball float around unsupported. Eventually, his hands shifted focus to my neck and began to throttle, no doubt attempting to end me once and for all. I did the only thing I could think of to defend myself. The gob of blood, phlegm, and shards of broken teeth that I spat into his eye caused him to reel back and loosen his grip. I rolled over hard and managed to free myself. Finally, I stumbled out of harm’s way, but I was still empty-handed and Robert could easily overpower me. I needed something to take him out. From the corner of my eye, I saw my means of salvation – the army green oxygen tank.
I lunged toward the canister and snatched it into my hands. Robert had wiped the blood from his eyes only long enough to see the metal cylinder swinging toward his face. A hollow thud rang out as I slammed the tank into his mouth. He toppled over onto his back with a puzzled expression on his face. Seizing my opportunity, I jumped on top of him, straddling his chest as I repeatedly pounded the tank into his skull. This brutal scene was soundtracked by Miss McAvoy’s screams that decrescendoed as she ran out of breath. Once his skull split like a crushed melon, I stopped.
After getting back to my feet, I paced over toward Miss McAvoy. She held her hands in front of her face as if that would somehow save her.
“Admit it,” I demanded. “Your name was Miss McAvoy.”
Panic overcame her. Her breaths were shallow and frequent like a dog panting in the summer sun. She opened her mouth, but did not possess the air to produce a sound.
“Say it!”
“I-I’m…”
“Say your name. Say your fucking name!”
She was shaking now. Her shallow breathing was overtaken by choking and coughs, but I knew she was just stalling. I lifted the can over my head and her eyes somehow opened wider – impossibly, sickeningly wide.
“McAvoy,” she managed to spit out.
I smiled, knowing that I was right all along. Whatever these two were trying to pull on me had failed. I had seen right through their rouse. I was ready to end it, to swing the tank down on her like I hand swung it down on her conspirator, when Jonas’ frozen grip took my shoulder.
stop, there is no need.
The ghost was right. Her breathing had slowed to a crawl and her eyes were becoming glassy. With one last shallow breath, her life ceased. I don’t know if it was a lack of oxygen, the shock of seeing her stepson killed, a heart attack, or some combination of the three, but it didn’t matter. The old woman was dead. Good riddance.
The adrenaline began to fade as I looked at the scene around me. Miss McAvoy’s house, which had been tidy to a sterile degree, was now ransacked and blood-covered. The pain in my broken face and sides was no longer muffled, and I felt such agony inside that I thought I must be bleeding internally. I couldn’t dwell on any of this.
I needed to focus on getting the hell out of here unnoticed and bringing the tank to Jonas’ grave.
When I closed the door behind me, the sun was shining. The happy pink exterior of the house contrasted wildly with the carnage inside. I wiped the blood from my nose and walked over to my van carrying the oxygen tank like it was a baby.
After I set the blood-matted tank on the ground in front of the gravestone, something felt off. I waited for Jonas to whisper something like, “job well done” or “we’re finally free,” but there was nothing. I felt no weight lifted from my shoulders or any sense of conclusion, I was just left empty and unsatisfied. I looked down at the grave once more, giving the ghost one more chance to show himself.
HERE LIES JONAS TURLINGTON MARCH 4, 1804 – AUGUST 12, 1877
Turlington? Why did it say the wrong name? Was I at the wrong stone? I looked all around me for landmarks indicating that I had made a mistake. Try as I did to convince myself otherwise, I knew that this was the right stone – the only one of this shape on top of the hill. I stumbled back down the slope looking for some cosmic intervention. By the time I reached the van, I had received none. Reaching through the shattered van window that once read “St. Anne’s Mental Hospital,” I unlocked the door from the inside. I got in, wiping away the few remaining beads of broken glass from the seat, and hunched down to hotwire the vehicle once again. When the engine roared to life, I drove through the cemetery gates.
Ignoring the morbid, blood-covered mask that had replaced my face in the rearview mirror, I saw the cemetery fall away behind me. I didn’t think I would ever be returning to St. Anne’s. I thought it would actually be in my best interest to leave this town and never come back. That was a shame. I wouldn’t be able to return the gun that I stole from my dad’s trailer.
As I pulled off on the interstate, I suddenly felt a sense of peace overtake me. Perhaps the curse had been lifted after all. Why would Jonas need to speak to me after I brought him the proof anyway? He was probably busy ascending to the next plane of existence.
The last buildings of the town visible in my rearview became obscured by the sloping hills. I felt good. For the first time in my life, I felt lucky.