Ghoul (18 page)

“Is it your clubhouse?” Her voice was innocent but her eyes glinted mischievously.

Timmy gasped. “How do you know about that?”

“Everybody knows about your fort.” Katie shrugged. “Erica Altland told me about it at school.”

“Erica--how does she know? It's supposed to be top secret!”

Katie giggled. “I think Doug let the secret slip.”

“Oh, man.” Timmy groaned. “That dipshit.”

Immediately, he felt his ears burning, and worried that he'd offended her. But Katie was laughing.

“I'm sorry,” Timmy apologized. “I shouldn't have said that.”

“That's okay. I don't mind.”

He smiled, relieved. “So ... you want to see it?”

“I better not.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Not today, at least. If what Erica said is true, your clubhouse is underground, and if my dad comes looking for me and can't find me, he'll be mad. Maybe you could show it to me during church some Sunday?"

“Sure. But won't he be looking for you then, too?”

“Not if we play hooky from Sunday school.”

She shoved him playfully, and then dashed off through the graveyard.

“Hey,” Timmy shouted. “Where are you going?”

“To show you something else that's top secret. Catch me if you can.”

Curious, Timmy ran after her. She led him on a chase around the graves, weaving around tombstones and darting behind statues. When they reached the older portion of the cemetery, she slowed down. Timmy caught up with her, winded, but trying hard not to show it. He reached out and tapped her shoulder.

“Tag. You're it.”

“You're out of breath,” Katie teased. “What took you so long? Can't keep up with a girl?”

“No. Just didn't want to make you look bad.”

Laughing, she took his hand again and led him forward. Their fingers entwined. No longer stunned by the display of affection, this time he was able to enjoy it more.

It was quite possibly the best thing he'd ever experienced. He liked how soft her skin was, and how tiny her fingers felt next to his, and the way her red fingernails brushed against his skin when she moved.

They came to a circular depression, almost thirty feet in circumference, where the ground had collapsed-- tapering from several inches on its outer edge to three or four feet in the center.

The grass in the circle was wilted and brown.

“Wow,” Katie said, “what is this?”

“Sinkhole,” Timmy said. “Haven't you noticed how some of the graves are sinking?”

"Yeah. My dad was complaining about it earlier. He said he needed to talk to Mr.

Smeltzer about it. What's making it happen?"

“We think there's a cave underneath the cemetery. Barry, Doug, and me found a tunnel.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. We were gonna explore it, but then ...”

“What?”

“Well, some other stuff came up.”

Sensing his sudden sadness, she led him onward, skirting around the edge of the sinkhole.

“So, what's this big secret?” Timmy asked. “Don't tell me you've got a clubhouse down here, too.”

Katie giggled. “Not quite. My clubhouse is in our garage. But there is something cool that I've always wanted to show you.”

She stopped in front of two old gravestones, which had also begun to sink. The lichen-covered limestone surfaces were pitted and worn by time and exposure to the elements. The dates of births and deaths were faded and unreadable, but the names and epitaphs were still apparent.

“Timothy Rebert,” Timmy read out loud, “and Katie Rebert. Beloved husband and wife.”

He scratched his head.

“Don't you see?” Katie said. “They have the same names as us.”

“Kind of creepy.”

“I think it's sweet.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. It's sweet--just like you.”

Timmy fumbled for words. “So, does this mean ... like ... you want to ...”

Katie laughed. "It doesn't mean anything, other than I noticed the names a long time ago, and I always thought it was nice. They were married and they had the same names as we do."

“So why didn't you ever tell me before?”

“I was afraid you didn't like me. You never talk when I'm around. Barry always talks more.”

Timmy blushed. “I didn't talk because I was afraid you didn't like me. I figured you liked Barry more.”

“I don't. I like you.”

Timmy swallowed, and his stomach fluttered. “You do?”

Katie nodded.

“Um ...”

“Well,” she tapped her foot, “is that all you can say?”

“No,” he blurted. “I... I like you, too. I have for a long time.”

“Good.”

“It's kind of like that note you made for me when we were little.”

He blushed, immediately regretting saying it. She probably didn't even remember what he was talking about.

Katie smiled. “I was in first grade and you were in second. It said 'I like you, Timmy,' right?”

“Yeah. Wow, I'm surprised you remember it.”

“I'm surprised you do, too.”

“I still have it, actually. In my room.”

Now it was Katie's turn to blush. “Well, I meant it then and I still do. I like you, Timmy.”

They both stood silently, staring into each other's eyes.

“So,” Timmy stuttered, “does this mean we're going together?”

Now it was Katie's turn to blush. “If you want to.”

“I'd like that.”

“I'd like it, too.”

Timmy wanted to kiss her, and it seemed like Katie was waiting for him to. She looked at him expectantly; her face turned upward, lips slightly parted. But he couldn 't bring himself to do it. Pat Kemp would have done it in a heartbeat, so why couldn't he?

An image of Pat's corpse--what had remained of it--flashed through his mind, and Timmy scowled. Katie noticed it and asked what was wrong.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “For a second there, I was just thinking about Pat. And your sister.”

“Yeah.” Katie nodded. “I've been trying not to. Being with you helps.”

“Good. I'm glad.”

And he was. He was glad being with him helped her, and he was glad to just be with her. Ecstatic. What had started out as the worst day of his life since his grandfather 's death was now turning into something special--something he'd longed for for quite a while.

They strolled on together, hand in hand, and easier with one another than they'd been before. Timmy picked a full, yellow dandelion and gave it to her. She clutched it to her chest and smiled.

“I'll keep it forever.”

“Well, not forever,” Timmy said. “Nothing lasts forever.”

“Flowers do, if you press them in a book. My mom showed me how.”

“Cool.”

They continued on their way. Timmy wondered how much longer their parents and the police would be. He didn't want the day to end.

Katie looked up into the treetops. “You know what's weird?”

“Hmm?”

"There aren't any birds around. I haven't seen or heard a single one since we left my parents. No squirrels, either."

Timmy thought again of the cows in the field, and how they'd been reluctant to approach the border with the cemetery. Could they sense the cave somehow? Did they know the ground was weakening, and they avoided it? He 'd read in school about how some animals could predict earthquakes and tornadoes.

Maybe this was something similar.

They passed by a broken tombstone. It had fallen to the ground and cracked in half, its marred surface so worn with age that most of the writing was illegible. The only thing they could still make out on it was an odd symbol -- one half of it on each section of broken stone. Playing in the graveyard, Timmy had seen plenty of symbols on the stones before --crosses and hands clasped in prayer and lambs and open bibles. But he'd never seen one like this. It looked like the sun, rising over a hill. In the middle of the sun were two crosses, one upright and the other upside down. The image, shattered as it was, filled him with dread, but he didn't understand why. Katie must have noticed it too, because she shivered against him.

“Never seen one like that before,” Timmy said. “Wonder what it is?”

“It's ugly. I don't like it.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. I just don't. It makes me feel ... weird.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Me too.”

There was some faint writing carved directly beneath both halves of the symbol, barely discernible beneath the clinging green lichen. Timmy brushed the crumbling moss aside, pushed the two pieces of limestone together, and tried to read it.

I. N. I. R.

I.

SANCTUS SPIRITUS I. N. I. R.

I.

“What's it mean?” he asked.

“How should I know?” Katie teased. “You're a grade ahead of me. Have you studied Latin yet?”

"No. We don't get Latin. Just Spanish, French, and German--and I'm not taking any of those. I just figured you might know, your dad being a preacher and everything. It looks religious."

Katie studied the faded letters, tracing them with her fingers. “I-N-I-R-I... that's what's on the pulpit at the front of the church, right?”

Timmy nodded. “I think so. Something like that. Do you know what it stands for?”

“No. I guess we learn that in catechism class, and we don't take that until we're fourteen. I wonder what knocked the tombstone over?”

“Oh, it happens a lot, especially in this section. They get old and fall over, or people push them.”

“People knock them over on purpose?” She sounded surprised.

Timmy nodded. "Sure. Ronny and those guys knocked a bunch over last Halloween. It took Barry's old man a week to put them all back up again. Some of them couldn 't be fixed. The church had to pay for new ones."

“Why didn't they make Ronny, Jason, and Steve pay?”

"Couldn't prove it was them, I guess. But we knew. They bragged about it one day when they cornered us while we were sledding. Anyway, these things fall over all the time. Could have been the way the ground's settling, too. Might have shifted and knocked it over."

Then they heard Reverend Moore's voice, calling for Katie. They looked up and saw him at the top of the hill, near the utility shed. Timmy's heart sank, knowing that their time together was at an end. Spotting the two of them, Katie's father walked down the hill toward them. Immediately, Katie let go of Timmy's hand. He felt an immediate longing for contact again, but restrained himself. He 'd already been in enough trouble today. He didn't need Reverend Moore getting mad at him, as well.

“There you are,” the preacher said as he drew closer. He looked tired and beaten.

His face was puffy and sweat poured off his forehead and cheeks. His thinning hair was plastered against his scalp. "You ready to go, sweetheart? Your mom is in the car already. She's pretty tired."

“Yeah, I'm ready, I guess.” She glanced at Timmy and smiled. "Thanks again, Timmy.

For everything."

He returned the smile, and tried to keep his feet on the ground.

“Yes, Timothy,” Reverend Moore said, sticking out his hand, “thanks for taking care of my little girl. You're a fine boy. Your parents should be proud.”

Timmy shook his hand, trying to keep a firm grip. “Thanks, sir.”

The preacher noticed the broken tombstone. "Good Lord. That's the third stone I've seen like that today. Not to mention how the ground is sinking. Have you noticed it?"

Timmy nodded. “Yeah, it's happening all over the cemetery. We think there's a cave underneath.”

Reverend Moore arched his eyebrows. "Really? Well, it wouldn't surprise me. This whole area is riddled with limestone. But I would think Mr. Smeltzer would have let the church board know. To be honest, I'm disappointed in the cemetery's general appearance lately. After all, it's not only a place for our loved ones, but a reflection of the church, and of God himself."

Timmy wasn't sure of how to respond, so he tried to look thoughtful and concerned.

Laughing, Reverend Moore gripped his shoulder and squeezed. "I'm sorry, Tim. These are matters for adults, not for you. There will be plenty of time to worry about things like this when you're older."

“Reverend Moore, can I ask you something before you leave?”

“Of course you can. What is it, son?”

Timmy pointed at the broken tombstone. “Well, Katie and I were wondering what that meant. It's weird looking.”

The preacher knelt beside the marker and studied the faded symbol and writing. "Why, it's an old powwow charm. I didn't even realize we had anything like it here on the grounds. You don 't see many of these anymore."

“Powwow?” Timmy had visions of Indians dancing in a circle to the beat of drums.

"I suppose they don't teach you about that in school,“ Reverend Moore said. ”Powwow is something our ancestors believed in. I guess some of the older folks in the county still believe in it today, too. This part of Pennsylvania was mostly settled by the Germans, English, and Irish. When they came here, they brought their own customs and folklore and beliefs.

They were all good Christians, of course. But in many cases, they had no place of worship, and no minister to see to their faith. Some towns had a preacher like myself travel through once a month, but he had many other towns to see too, and so the settlers were pretty much left to their own devices.

Sometimes they strayed from the Lord's teachings. That's how powwow came about. It was a mix of Christianity and their own folklore. Some folks call it white magic, but you know what the Bible says about that."

Timmy, who spent most sermons writing stories in the margins of the church bulletin, didn't know what the Bible said about white magic, but he nodded as if he understood because he wanted Katie's father to like him. It had never mattered to him before, but now that they were officially going together, it seemed very important.

"Thou shall not suffer a witch to live. Of course, powwow isn't really witchcraft, at least not by my definition. It's more superstition than anything. I only know of one person in the area who supposedly still practices it, and that's Nelson LeHorn over in Seven Valleys. And he seems like a nice gentleman. Doesn't attend our church, of course, but we can hardly cast doubt on him just for that.

My interactions with him have always been pleasant. He seems to know God 's love."