The Paupers' Crypt Read Free Page A

nodded. “Really bad. Let’s get out of here.”
    “Lead the way,” John said, gesturing to the door. “Lead the way.”
    With a sigh, Brian stepped over to the door, unlocked it, and stepped out into the cold air. His breath rushed out in a great white cloud.
    “Damn, it got cold,” John muttered.
    “It’ll get colder,” Brian said, shutting the door. He turned to walk to the gate and stopped.
    In horror, he watched as the gates slammed closed.
    “What the …” John asked, confused. “How in the hell did they close themselves?”
    Before Brian could offer up any sort of an answer, the rattle of the chain interrupted him. The heavy steel links which he had so carefully looped around the cross piece of the left gate, only an hour earlier, moved of its own accord.
    He watched, stunned as it moved with all of the grace and ease of a serpent, slid around and through the bars before it finally found its own end. For a brief moment, the lock dangled, open and free, and then it snapped through the end link and closed upon itself. The ‘click’ of the tumblers was nearly smothered by the fog.
    “Oh Christ, we’ll have to climb the fence,” John said.
    Brian put his hand on the man’s arm, and when John looked at him, he shook his head.
    “Why?” John asked.
    “I don’t think it would be the best thing,” Brian answered, looking around. Shadows flickered in the headstones, shapes and figures. Darkness and flashes of white.
    “Maybe not,” John said, “But I can’t stay here. Old as I am, I’ll try my luck,” John said, a note of stubbornness in his voice.
    Brian dropped his hand and took a step back toward the safety of the office.
    John looked around and then he walked forward. He passed close to an old and weathered headstone. The marker was slate, the inscription on it faded from centuries.
    A hand, gray and foul to the eyes, shot out. The fingers were crooked, powerful and quick like a spider’s as they snatched at John’s leg.
    Even as the dead thing latched onto the man, John let out a high pitched scream, one full of pain and terror.
    Brian stepped forward, wary of his heart, and winced as John was pulled down. A second hand slipped out, met its mate and locked around the ankle. Again, John screamed, jerked his leg back and tried to free himself.
    By the time Brian reached him, the hands had dragged John a few inches closer. Brian bent down, raised his right arm and smashed it into the dead thing’s twisted fingers.
    The iron ring met the ghost, and a blast of cold, putrid air knocked Brian backward. He stumbled, caught himself and dropped to a knee as John scrambled away.
    Brian’s head pounded with the ferocity of his heartbeat and John helped him to straighten up. Together, they made it back to the office, and slammed the door closed. Brian staggered to the side chair and plopped down on it, while John collapsed on the floor. While Brian fought to get his heart back under control, he watched as John pulled up his pant leg. A large swatch of flesh was bluish white, and John looked up in shock at Brian.
    “What the hell is it?”
    Brian leaned back while breathing slowly and answered, “It’s frostbite, John.”
     

Chapter 6: What to Do, 8:00 AM, May 2 nd , 2016
     
    Brian didn’t want any more coffee.
    He wanted whiskey. A lot of it.
    He also didn’t want to be at Woods Cemetery, but it seemed like he wasn’t allowed a say about it.
    “Anything out there?” John asked.
    Brian turned away from the window. “Just the fog. Can’t even see the sky. Just fence, trees, and headstones.”
    “Anything else?” John said hopefully.
    Brian looked back out there, saw the strange shapes and images in the headstones, and shook his head. “Not unless you count whatever’s in the markers.”
    “I don’t,” John said.
    “Well,” Brian said with a sigh. “We’ve got nothing then.”
    He took his cellphone out, looked at it and saw he had no service. Angrily, he shoved it back into his