nodded. “I did. I surely did.”
John relaxed slightly, but the fear he felt increased. He swallowed nervously and asked, “Why? Why was she coming out? I mean, she couldn’t have been buried alive, could she?”
“No,” Brian said. “I’ll find out, though. Today’s my first day on the job, and. it looks like figuring out what the hell is going on is the first task.”
“This is a hell of a way to start a new job,” John said sympathetically.
“Yeah,” Brian said. He stood up, looked out the window and frowned. “Tell me I’m not crazy, but there was no fog this morning, right?”
“You’re not crazy,” John said. “The air did get colder, and pretty quick, too. Still doesn’t explain why or how the fog could roll in that fast. Or be so thick.”
Brian nodded, played with an iron ring on his right hand and locked the door to the office. He looked out the window again, shook his head and then he returned to his chair. The old frame creaked under Brian’s weight, and he looked at John.
“Was this the first time you experienced something like this?” Brian asked.
“You mean my dead wife reaching out of her headstone to grab at me?” John asked.
Brian nodded.
“Yes,” John said. “I can’t remember even hearing of anything like this.”
“Well,” Brian said, sighing, “I’ve seen some strange things, but nothing, and I mean nothing, like that.”
“You’ve got me there, friend,” John said. “This is an all-around first for me in every sense of the word. I just stopped by to speak with her. Rather, speak to her.”
“Understood,” Brian said.
The phone on the desk rang.
A sharp, hard sound which filled the small office and stabbed at John’s ears. He blinked and turned his head away.
Brian stood up, crossed the small room and answered the phone.
“Woods Cemetery, Brian Roy speaking,” he said.
Someone responded, and Brian’s face went deathly pale.
Chapter 5: The Call, 7:50 AM, May 2 nd , 2016
Brian stood still and hoped he wouldn’t faint. His blood pressure had dropped, and his lungs seemed empty of oxygen. And even as he was able to realize and comprehend all of it, the voice continued to speak. The terrible, hideous voice of nightmares.
“Hello, Mr. Roy,” the voice was cold and hard, it grated on the nerves and reminded Brian of every bad dream and horrific experience he had ever suffered. It was worse than nails on a chalkboard, worse than the screams of a dying man.
Brian’s hands shook.
“I can almost smell your fear through the phone lines,” the voice whispered. Brian couldn’t tell if the speaker was male or female. “You’re terrified. And you should be. You’re not supposed to be here.
“Woods Cemetery doesn’t need a caretaker, or anyone else,” the voice continued.
“We’ll leave then,” Brian managed to whisper hoarsely.
“Oh no,” the voice said, chuckling. “It’s far too late for leaving. You should never have come. Be careful out there, Mr. Roy, the fog is getting thicker.” And the call ended.
Brian’s mouth was dry as he hung up the phone. He looked out the window and saw the speaker had told him the truth.
Anything beyond the iron fence was hidden by the fog. His world had been shrunk to the size of the cemetery. The fog formed a barrier which followed the lines and angles of the cemetery’s border with a sinister intelligence.
“John,” Brian said, and he looked over at the older man.
For the first time, Brian noticed the huge scar on the right side of John’s face. A mass of twisted and cratered flesh which consumed the entire cheek and part of the forehead. The man’s short silver hair was swept back, and the right eye was a dark, red globe.
John smiled sardonically and nodded his head. “Just saw it?”
“I did,” Brian confessed. “I’ve seen a hell of a lot worse, though. Did time as a forward observer. Saw a little combat.”
John nodded and stood up. “Bad call?” he asked.
Brian
John relaxed slightly, but the fear he felt increased. He swallowed nervously and asked, “Why? Why was she coming out? I mean, she couldn’t have been buried alive, could she?”
“No,” Brian said. “I’ll find out, though. Today’s my first day on the job, and. it looks like figuring out what the hell is going on is the first task.”
“This is a hell of a way to start a new job,” John said sympathetically.
“Yeah,” Brian said. He stood up, looked out the window and frowned. “Tell me I’m not crazy, but there was no fog this morning, right?”
“You’re not crazy,” John said. “The air did get colder, and pretty quick, too. Still doesn’t explain why or how the fog could roll in that fast. Or be so thick.”
Brian nodded, played with an iron ring on his right hand and locked the door to the office. He looked out the window again, shook his head and then he returned to his chair. The old frame creaked under Brian’s weight, and he looked at John.
“Was this the first time you experienced something like this?” Brian asked.
“You mean my dead wife reaching out of her headstone to grab at me?” John asked.
Brian nodded.
“Yes,” John said. “I can’t remember even hearing of anything like this.”
“Well,” Brian said, sighing, “I’ve seen some strange things, but nothing, and I mean nothing, like that.”
“You’ve got me there, friend,” John said. “This is an all-around first for me in every sense of the word. I just stopped by to speak with her. Rather, speak to her.”
“Understood,” Brian said.
The phone on the desk rang.
A sharp, hard sound which filled the small office and stabbed at John’s ears. He blinked and turned his head away.
Brian stood up, crossed the small room and answered the phone.
“Woods Cemetery, Brian Roy speaking,” he said.
Someone responded, and Brian’s face went deathly pale.
Chapter 5: The Call, 7:50 AM, May 2 nd , 2016
Brian stood still and hoped he wouldn’t faint. His blood pressure had dropped, and his lungs seemed empty of oxygen. And even as he was able to realize and comprehend all of it, the voice continued to speak. The terrible, hideous voice of nightmares.
“Hello, Mr. Roy,” the voice was cold and hard, it grated on the nerves and reminded Brian of every bad dream and horrific experience he had ever suffered. It was worse than nails on a chalkboard, worse than the screams of a dying man.
Brian’s hands shook.
“I can almost smell your fear through the phone lines,” the voice whispered. Brian couldn’t tell if the speaker was male or female. “You’re terrified. And you should be. You’re not supposed to be here.
“Woods Cemetery doesn’t need a caretaker, or anyone else,” the voice continued.
“We’ll leave then,” Brian managed to whisper hoarsely.
“Oh no,” the voice said, chuckling. “It’s far too late for leaving. You should never have come. Be careful out there, Mr. Roy, the fog is getting thicker.” And the call ended.
Brian’s mouth was dry as he hung up the phone. He looked out the window and saw the speaker had told him the truth.
Anything beyond the iron fence was hidden by the fog. His world had been shrunk to the size of the cemetery. The fog formed a barrier which followed the lines and angles of the cemetery’s border with a sinister intelligence.
“John,” Brian said, and he looked over at the older man.
For the first time, Brian noticed the huge scar on the right side of John’s face. A mass of twisted and cratered flesh which consumed the entire cheek and part of the forehead. The man’s short silver hair was swept back, and the right eye was a dark, red globe.
John smiled sardonically and nodded his head. “Just saw it?”
“I did,” Brian confessed. “I’ve seen a hell of a lot worse, though. Did time as a forward observer. Saw a little combat.”
John nodded and stood up. “Bad call?” he asked.
Brian
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