After Life (28 page)

so he could dig into his pocket to produce the bottle of holy water; but

as he raised his head to begin a prayer, they suddenly heard a gruff

voice behind them.

They both turned and Father Rush directed the beam of light before them.

It fell on old man Carter, who stood with his pickax in hand. It was as

if he had been born of night itself, just instantly appearing.

To Father Rush the old man looked like a corpse that had crawled out of

an open grave. His face seemed emaciated with its sunken cheeks and

deep-set eyes now two yellowish orbs sucked back into the sockets of his

skull. The bones of his jaw and his forehead looked like they would

burst out of the thin layer of skin that covered them. His lips were

dark purple and writhing like worms on a sidewalk Jessie inhaled the

putrescent stench she had smelled in the hallway of the DeGroot house

before.

It's Mr. Carter, isn't it? she asked in a whisper.

Yes, Father Rush replied quickly.

What are ya doing' here, Father? old man Carter demanded in a voice

that sounded like a death rattle.

Did you dig up this grave, Mr. Carter? Father Rush asked.

It's no business of yours what's done in this cemetery.

This ain't the church's cemetery no more, Carter said.

You've been doing the bidding of the devil himself, Father Rush said.

We're here to put an end to it.

Old man Carter threw his head back so sharply it looked like it might

roll off his neck. His Adam's apple thumped against the wall of skin as

he released a bone-chilling, thin laugh that reverberated through the

cemetery. Jessie pressed her hands to her ears quickly.

All the voices around her cried in a chorus of pain.

Put an end to it? You? Carter laughed again. A man who is a sinner

himself, whose heart is rotten with lust?

Father Rush held his ground. Sternly, his eyes fixed on the decrepit

old man before him, he raised his bottle of holy water and declared, You

shall not open the portals of hell.

And then, in a loud voice, he cried, SATAN, GET THEE BEHIND ME!

He brought his arm back to cast the water over old man Carter, but the

aged cemetery caretaker suddenly moved with the speed of a man a quarter

of his age. He raised his pickax and stepped forward just as Father

Rush began to sprinkle the water. Jessie sensed the confrontation and

cried out as she retreated a few steps.

Some drops splashed on the old man's face. He yowled like a wolf whose

leg had been clamped in the teeth of an iron trap, but his forward

motion brought the pickax down sharply, striking the priest in his

chest, just over his heart, the sharp end of the iron tool ripping into

the organ. Father Rush turned in agony and fell against the retreating

Jessie, his body knocking her back. His weight was too much and she

fell, along with him, down into the open grave, both of them landing on

the crumbling coffin, smashing through the rotted wood.

Above them, old man Carter writhed in agony as the drops of holy water

singed and burned. The fire it created spread rapidly through his face

and drew a line of flame down his chest, tearing it apart. He fell to

his knees and quickly choked on his thickening, blackened tongue.

Instantly his body fell prey to the degeneration held back by the evil

soul that had been housed within.

It turned to dust, smoking.

In moments the tiny cloud was swallowed by the darkness, and then an air

of funeral quiet was restored to this small village of the dead.

Jessie moaned. She wasn't in pain so much as she was twisted awkwardly,

her body half in and half out of the rotting coffin. Father Rush lay

beside her on his back, his left arm draped over her waist. The stench

of damp earth, rotting bones, and newly spilled blood enveloped her and

caused her to choke and gag on her own breath.

Her right shoulder had taken the full brunt of the fall, and a dull ache

began to radiate down her arm and up her neck. She moaned again and

tried to turn away from the priest, whose deadly stillness and silence

filled her with renewed terror.

Slowly she was able to twist herself around and then began to disengage

her body from his. She lifted his arm away and struggled into a sitting

position.

Father?

There was no response. Gradually, with the caution of a munitions

expert attempting to disarm a bomb, she inched her fingers forward over

the clergyman's body.

The handle of the pickax stopped her. She gasped and then followed it

down to where the head of it joined with the priest's body. The tips of

her fingers tapped around his opened chest like a giant spider dancing

over a hot stove. Still lodged in his breast, the iron tool felt warm

and wet. She realized she was gliding her fingers through Father Rush's

trickling blood and screamed.

Trapped as she was in the open grave, her cry reverberated into the

night. It echoed in her own mind, sounding like a second and then a

third scream. Groping about, she felt the sides of the grave and pulled

herself away from the priest's body. She pressed her cheek against the

cool earth and cried, her body shaking. Finally getting hold of

herself, she first got to her knees and then, bracing herself against

the side of the grave, lifted herself into a standing position.

It was a deep grave, nearly six feet down. She would have to find some

footing in order to pull herself out, she thought, and began to kick at

the surrounding wall of earth. Her right arm and shoulder ached so, she

feared she wouldn't have the strength, but once she realized she had

some support, she stepped up and moved her hand over the ground,

searching for something to grab.

Suddenly she felt a hand over hers. Thinking it was old man Carter's,

she started to pull hers away, but the fingers tightened quickly. She

gasped and then screamed, yet the fingers clung to her own.

Easy, she heard a voice say. I'll help you out.

Her mind reeled. She shook her head vigorously to refuse, but the hand

moved down to her wrist and began to tug. Her body lifted and she was

unable to resist being pulled out of the grave. When she was out and

lying on the ground, the hand released her. Her arm recoiled like a

frightened snake. She held her breath in anticipation.

What a mess you've caused, Dr. Beezly said. You should just see what's

left of my faithful cemetery care taker. Oh yes, I keep forgetting you

can't see. Well, here, then. Feel what's left.

He dropped a handful of cremated dust over her face.

She cried out and covered herself. The dust continued to fall over the

back of her hands.

Leave me alone, she pleaded. Leave me alone.

I'd like to leave you alone, but you won't leave me alone, he replied.

She heard him shuffle past and stand gazing down into the grave.

Thanks to you, Father Rush is dead. Actually I always found him to be a

grave man, he added, and laughed hideously. A fallen soldier of the

Lord. And he never had his last rites. He paused. What will become of

his troubled soul, I wonder? You know, the doctor continued, turning

toward her, that's always been one of the more interesting aspects of my

existence and power--not knowing the disposition of every soul.

What I mean is some of the people I would never have expected to turn

up, do turn up at my door, and some I expected and counted on never

arrive. How do you explain that?

Could it be, he mused, that there is no logic in the spiritual world

after all? That it resembles this world, a world full of chance and

accident, where good people often suffer and bad people often prosper,

where babies die in infancy and cantankerous, mean old men live into

their nineties . . . like old man Carter there, now reduced to a few

ounces of gray dust?

In your ruminating and pondering, did you ever consider the possibility

that this world is hell, and that's why there is disease and war, crime

and hate? Maybe you are already a citizen of my kingdom, eh? Maybe

this decrepit priest lying below and all his fellow clergyman of every

denomination are clowns I've created for my own amusement'

He laughed again, the sound of it stinging her ears.

She pulled herself back and took a deep breath.

What's the matter? Aren't you enjoying our little talk? Am I filling

you with too many doubts?

No, she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

You can't fill me with any doubts.

Ah, still defiant. Interesting, isn't it--the will to resist, the

stamina you still possess.

Here lies your savior, Father Rush, his heart crushed by a pickax. You

are blind and your husband remains in a coma back in the hospital. Yet

you fight on--futilely, I might add. Once you're gone, the nurses will

listen to me again. I'll have him moved and then this loyal soul you

and your priest nearly kept shut up will have a new home and become

another of my faithful here on earth.

Now, let's see, he continued, your meddling cost me old man Carter, so I

think I'll keep Lee living in the DeGroot house. He can become a

part-time caretaker, he added, and laughed again.

Just imagine the irony--he will be out here digging up the graves from

now on.

No, Jessie said. She backed away on her hands.

No, she cried. She turned and pulled herself to a standing position.

Going somewhere? Dr. Beezly asked. Don't you want to rest with your

priest? You will make such a nice dead couple. What do they say . . .

"The blind leading the blind'

His laughter propelled her forward. She charged ahead, but smacked

right into a monument. Stunned, she spun and fell to the ground again.

She moaned and struggled to her knees. She could hear his horrible

footsteps that step and slide, that step and slide.

NO! she cried, and stood up. Hands out, she walked quickly forward.

The voices began to call to her, but all of them so loud and so mixed,

they merely confused her.

She stopped again when she felt another monument, only this one softened

in her fingers and metamorphosed into the naked body of a man. She

tried to pull back, but his skin was as sticky as flypaper. All the

while she heard the hideous laughter behind her. Suddenly the body

softened even more and her hands fell through, her fingers drowning in

blood and becoming twisted in the organs.

The revolting feelings brought her to her knees, and just as quickly as

the monument had changed, it returned to being a monument.

She gasped; her mind reeled, yet she found the strength to stand again

and start away once more. She moved slowly, her arms extended, sobbing,

her chest aching, her body trembling so hard, she barely could keep her

footing. She had no idea where she was heading; she even had the sense

she was going in circles. Suddenly she heard a familiar voice calling

from just ahead and stopped.

Lee?

Jessie, what's happening? What are you doing here?

Lee? Is it you? Is it really you? She listened keen Of course it's

me, he said.

But we left you in the hospital, in a coma . . . Lee?

I snapped out of it and came after you as soon as I found out what you

were doing, he replied. Now come away, quickly, he added. His voice

became lower, thinner. He seemed to be fading, pulling back, away from

her.

Lee?

Jessie . . . come to me . . . Jessie.

Why are you going away from me, Lee? She surged to her left. Lee,

please, help me.

This way, Jessie. I'm leading you out, away. Just follow. Quickly.

She walked faster. A great silence had come over the cemetery again.

She could actually hear her own footsteps and that shuffling somewhere

behind her. But Lee's voice had become so small and thin, it was lost

in the wind.

LEE! she called, and walked as fast as she could without stumbling.

Suddenly she heard him again, this time loud and distinct, only his

voice was coming from below. She paused.

Lee?

Just a few more feet, Jessie. Just a few more feet, he said.

Where are you, Lee?

Right here, right ahead of you. Come to me, my Jessie, my love.

Slowly, hesitantly, she took a step forward and then another, holding

her hands out.

Lee, I'm afraid. Please.