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DWRigsby

Chapter 2 – Cemetery

February 16, 2020 by DWRigsby

It was an easy trek, just down the road, not far from where I lived. I guessed it to be about two miles before we caught sight of the iron fence surrounding the cemetery. The moon’s light touched the bare limbs of the trees casting long shadows across the field of headstones. My round-faced friend kept a good pace—a quick two steps, a short hop, then two steps—as though skipping along. There were no exchanges of words or anything of the sort. He kept moving forward, a step, a hop, two steps, holding that box tight against his chest as if protecting a vast fortune that was stolen from a sheik’s palace. He acted as if there were paid thieves closing in, for every once in a while, he’d glance side to side, spying into the night. Our surroundings made me nervous with the moonlight being blocked by a dark wooded area that we soon would be exploring. I noticed his mumbling, which added to our unsettling atmosphere made me wonder if I was headed to my grave with a mad man, a man whose name I didn’t even know.

“What is your name?” I said.

“Dasu.”

“What?”

“Here, through this break in the fence.” He waved his hand and ducked behind chest-high brush and disappeared.

A worrisome thought crept into my head, and an uneasy feeling overcame me. “What if he was sent by someone else? Someone who might want to do me harm?” I said in a low voice and stopped at the edge of the bushes. “Don’t be silly, Luc. No one knows you’re an inspectre, and if they do, they’ll soon learn that you’re nothing but an errand boy who’s been recently promoted to handyman,” I said.

I cautiously moved behind the shrub. It was dark like a tunnel and hard to see, which caused me to walk even slower. My guard ready, in case there might be a struggle, I emerged from the opening.

“Is there a problem?” His face was in the shadow of the moon.

He reminded me of a hooded executioner except without his ax, yet maybe he had a blade. I was getting ahead of myself once again. I looked past my friend into a vast field of headstones, weeping willows, old oaks, and the white moon on the horizon.

My mouth open, stunned by the macabre scenery.

Dasu gave a large wave of his arm. “This way to the north end.”

He headed off, and I followed.

“Are you foreign?”

“No.”

“It’s just Dasu is an unusual name.”

“My parents were quirky and wanted a different name.”

“You sound foreign.”

“I’m not.”

I pondered for a moment that he didn’t want to talk about where he came from while avoiding tripping over a flat gravestone.

“What’s at the north end?”

He stopped, did a cursory look, and put the box down next to his foot. “Look around you, sir, and tell me what you see.”

“I see headstones, trees, and the moon.”

He chuckled. “Graves, sir. What you see are graves of the dead. That is what is on the north end, but there is more for which your eyes do not see.”

“There are graves at this end as well?”

Dasu did not respond.

I followed at a distance, still unsure about my new friend.

Why did I even bother to come out?

I knew that answer—I was curious to know what was in the box and what it had to do with being in a graveyard at this time of night.

A brisk wind cut through as we crossed, passing by old gray headstones, blowing leaves over the dead. The trees clamored with an alertness that made me feel exposed.

Did trees watch over the dead?

It was a silly question and one better suited for another time, perhaps for Decker when I see him.

I smiled.

Dasu was just in front when he was met by another person. I saw him move quickly to the side, protecting the box, then he relaxed and went forward toward the man. I stopped, keeping my distance, looking over my shoulder for an escape if it came to it.

The two men lingered in hushed tones, and I saw my friend take out a few coins and place them into the hands of the other fellow. The new man was taller, lanky, his shoulders broad, his waist tapered, and his clothes hung on him like that of an oversized suit a clown might wear at a carnival. His features were shaded from under the brim of his hat.

He went behind a tree and came back with a shovel. I didn’t like the looks of it—a shovel, in the middle of a graveyard, at night. I had a fleeting thought to leave but decided to stay. I stayed out of curiosity and a faint thought that it was my duty to carry on with Dasu since he’d been redirected to me in Decker’s absence.

This could be a test.

I felt the silver insignia through the coat pocket. I had not donned it, never thought I would but felt it was important to at least have it.

Dasu waved me on, and I continued to follow behind the two men. The air was dry and crisp, and the leaves under my feet crackled from time to time alerting anyone who might be nearby to our presence.

On our way, I noticed a tiny gravestone, no name engraved into it, only a saying. “Never clothed nor taken one bite, found in the middle of the night.” I thought it must be that of a child.

There was a set of six headstones all identical in shape. On the front were first names, the last being the same. A family, I thought, from nearly forty years ago. All the same day—a fire? Murdered? It was difficult to say. The past was gone, but the present still lingered on.

I trailed behind the two men more than fifteen yards, slowing my pace.

“Here.” It was Dasu’s voice.

The two men stood over a grave. As I got closer, I could clearly see the dirt. This grave must have been dug in the fall. No grass had taken root, and the mound sloped from its center down to its edges. The mound should have flattened out from wind and water erosion, but it hadn’t. Maybe this grave was not from the fall but more recent. Though I couldn’t imagine why anyone would bury a body in winter. Breaking the ground was hard enough, digging down to six feet unlikely. In winter the bodies were stored in a holding vault in a cemetery, a church, or a morgue.

That gave me a thought. Maybe Alarbus’s remains were stored in a holding vault and were no longer at a morgue.

The two men had waited for me and were looking down.

“Here?” I pointed at the unmarked grave. “Is there something we need to do?”

“No, through here.” Dasu led us into a hedge in single file along a path. We came to a crypt surrounded by hedges on all corners. It had a large stone door and statues of angels chiseled out of granite. The angels were armed, one with a sword, gripped by two hands, the other held a shield. Defenders.

Dasu held the box near his waist, opened it, and revealed a pair of goggles—they were tinted green with amber rims, leather padding around edges that cupped the sides of the temples. The lenses were thick like bottled glass. He handed them to me.

“What’s this for?” I said.

“Put them on, and you’ll see what cannot be seen.” He smirked.

I didn’t like his smirking nature, seemed out of place, almost disrespectful among the dead. I took the goggles from him, then said, “Sir, please, the dead might see.” He nodded and motioned with his hands for me to don the goggles. I did.

With the goggles in place, all appeared to be the same, only a little greener. The moonlight shimmered with a glistening stream of green in its rays.

“What am I looking for?” I said.

“I will dig, and you watch,” the gravedigger said.

I pulled the goggles off, and I tamped my foot on the ground. “It’s frozen. You can’t dig in winter.”

“We don’t need to go very deep, just a scrape of the dirt will help. Please put on the goggles, and tell me what you see,” Dasu said.

I wasn’t too keen on doing that. “How about you put the goggles on and demonstrate how they work?”

“No, no. It’s better for you. This is the ideal place, and you need to see for yourself.”

The earth was barren, nothing but a thin layer of dormant grass. What was I supposed to see? I pulled the goggles on and looked at the ground.

“Go on,” I said to the gravedigger.

The edge of the shovel hit the hard surface, scraping along like one might do taking a knife to burnt toast. Over and over he scraped at the dirt, taking thin layers off with each swipe. I watched, still nothing out of the ordinary. I shook my head.

“Scrape harder if you must,” Dasu said to the gravedigger.

The man grated the shovel across the soil. I heard the force, his hard breathing, and watched his strained movements. The older man did it again and again. Hitting the terrain, scraping across it.

“Nothing.” I went to take off the goggles, but Dasu rushed over and put his hand against my arm.

“Be patient. Wait. You’ll see,” Dasu said.

Stifling a groan, I kept the goggles in place. “All right.” I crossed my arms.

The man took the shovel and continued to rake at the hard ground. I edged closer to the marked patch of earth and stared. I saw the shovel head swiping over the area. It’s just a patch of dirt, nothing more.

“Is this some kind of joke?” I said to Dasu.

He came closer.

“It’s no joke, and well, Mr. Decker wasn’t home.”

I looked over at Dasu through the tinted lenses. His face was greener. “Not home? Right, instead you bring me out in the middle of the night, into a cemetery, have me put on these blasted goggles for who knows why only to watch a man who’s likely the next victim of this place scrape off the frozen dirt from an unmarked grave?”

The gravedigger stopped and held a long stare directed at me. “I’ve outlived most in this here ground.”

“Yeah, that was helpful,” I said under my breath.

“Please continue,” Dasu said. He walked over near the man and placed a few more coins into his hand.

“Are you sure you don’t handle accounts?” I said.

Dasu smiled and moved away from our friend. The gravedigger went back to work, scraping the ground.

I watched the shovel’s edge coming into view, scraping across the ground, taking with it a thin layer of dirt. There was nothing out here—just this old man, a foreigner who pretended he didn’t come from a different place, and me. The three of us enjoying a moonlit night in the winter among the dead. Then I saw something.

Filed Under: In The Light of Another

Chapter 1 – The Box

February 5, 2020 by DWRigsby

Khungh, khungh, khungh.

I groaned aloud but remained facedown in bed, pulling my pillow up around my ears. I’d just gotten to bed, avoiding the stack of books Decker had given me to read. It must be eleven. Such a late hour—who could it be?

I likely knew that answer even before the question formed in my head. It was my nosy neighbor, Mr. Decker, no doubt. I wondered what he needed this time? Maybe a way to swindle more money out of me, or maybe he’s brought that damn pipe again.

Khungh, khungh, khungh.

“Blasted knock! Go away!”

The words were pointless because I knew that damnable knock wasn’t going anywhere. Not until I answered.

“All right! All right!” I pried my body from the warmth of my bed and found cold, solid ground under my feet. I reached for my slippers and put them on, taking my time. I glanced around the room for Alarbus, my own personal ghost, but he wasn’t present.

Khungh, khungh, khungh.

I stretched my arms high and yawned. I teetered when I stood, gained balance, then with small steps went into the hall, passing my family portrait, and descended the creaking stairs. I arrived at the front door, avoiding the inflexible spots on the floor.

I drew the curtain back on the side window next to the door and peered out. “My neighbor and his night owls,” I grumbled. “They like to stay up all night and sleep all day.” A frightening thought gripped my mind. “Was Mr. Decker a vampire? Was he out there in the middle of the night, seducing young virgins, because that would be terrifying.” My stomach turned inward on itself, and a series of contractions started from my diaphragm in short, silent movements, increasing in repetition until they were the sounds of laughter coming out my mouth.

“What if he is a vampire?” I whispered softly, forgetting why I was even standing there. My gaze fell onto the door; my eyes widened. Someone was on the other side in the dark, someone who was visiting at this late hour. “Who?” A shudder ran through my spine, and I gasped. “What if he’s dead?” I fidgeted with my hands. “Had Decker died? Was he a walking stiff? A vampire would do, or one of the walking dead. Maybe he was possessed? No, he couldn’t be possessed, but he is old and smells. He might be dead.” I scratched my chin, thinking about what Decker smelled like—sour, dirty, or rotting meat?

“He didn’t smell like any of those. He just smelled old.” I paused a moment in thought. “Do vampires smell?” I shook my head. I had to get a grip on my thoughts. “There are no vampires outside Varney. Get ahold of yourself, or they’ll take you away.” And I knew it to be true. The authorities can be somewhat inflexible when you go off talking about ghosts, demons, or even vampires. I breathed out, then filled my lungs with air, squared my shoulders, and reached for the door.

I retracted my hand and paused a moment, listening. “Maybe they’re gone?” I looked longingly toward the stairwell, which would lead me back to my bedroom where I could lie in my bed, all cozy and warm. But instead, I was here, uncomfortable and cold.

“They must be gone.” I edged my foot to the right, working my way to the stairs, to flee to my sanctuary, to drop into the soft bed and pull the covers over the top of my head. And as I shifted my weight…

Urrrrr.

The treasonous floor gave me away.

“Hello.” I heard a man’s voice on the other side. He had a strange accent, one I couldn’t quite place.

“Blasted boards.” I sneered at the floor and scuffed my heels against it. “One day, one day. A hammer and nails.” I swung my imaginary hammer and smiled at that notion of quieter boards.

I shook my head and opened the door.

I was staring at a short, round fellow, who looked to be in his thirties but gave the impression he was older by the way he dressed. He wore a tweed jacket and a top hat that was a little out of style. His beard was thick in patches and not altogether neat, which told me he was either lazy or uninterested in troubling himself with a lady. I could understand the tophat if he was on the way to the theater—and wearing tails—but he wasn’t wearing tails. He resembled what I thought was a mismatched British imposter.

“Yes?” I said.

“I was told if Mr. Decker was not home to knock on this door,” he said.

“Do you know the hour?”

“I know, sir, but I was told…”

“Told what? By whom? Mr. Decker told you?” I stared through him as though he were a pane of glass.

He fidgeted, and his foot accidentally knocked against something. It drew my attention to a wooden box on the ground that I had not noticed before.

“Mr. Decker left a note on his door… you can see for yourself—”

“We finished the orphanage case.” I tapped my foot and crossed my arms and glared through slits at the poor fellow. “And I’ve not been paid.”

“I don’t have anything to do with accounts.”

“Who does?”

“I don’t know.”

“If you don’t know, then I don’t know why Decker even bothered to send you here.” My hand was on the door, ready to slam it shut. My eyes captured the man lightly tapping the wooden box with the side of his worn boot. Which made me think he shopped in a secondhand store. I looked closer at the box. The box was simply made, square, the size of a shoebox, and it seemed to be made of pine, maybe oak. Perhaps he shined boots in the middle of the night. Eh, that doesn’t seem right.

“What’s inside that box?” I cocked my head and studied it for a moment.

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Go on.”

“I’ll need to show you,” he said with a gleam in his eye.

I wasn’t sure if he was excited to show me what was in the box or if there was something rather dangerous in it. I didn’t care to know, and I was growing tired of this conversation. My bed is where I wanted to be, not standing here discussing what may be in a box.

“If you’re not going to tell me what’s inside the box, you should leave.”

His grin fell away replaced by a slightly furrowed brow. “Pardon?”

“Leave. Or don’t you understand the meaning of the word?”

He fidgeted, then gathered his thoughts and said, “We should depart and go to the cemetery.”

“Cemetery? What the devil are you talking about?”

“There’s one I passed a mile or so back. We could walk it with no problem if you’re not too worried about the cold. There doesn’t appear to be any snowfall and the moon is out, which makes it so much more ideal.”

“Ideal? You think being in a cemetery on a night like this is enjoyable?”

“Oh yes, very much so. Don’t you?” He rubbed his hands together, and that gleam in his eyes returned. This time I couldn’t tell if it was from malice or a genuine excitement at the idea of going to a cemetery on a moonlit night. In either case, I didn’t care to go anywhere with the little short, rotund fellow. The bed was better.

“Tell Mr. Decker I’m not interested in the case; he’ll need to find someone else to do it.”

The cheerfulness in his mannerism fell away.

I slammed the door, turned, jumped several inches off the floor at the sight of Alarbus. I let out a shuddering breath.

“Greetings to you too.”

I walked around Alarbus because I don’t like walking through him and headed to the stairwell.

“Since you’re up maybe we can locate the rest of my remains?”

I grunted.

“Is that disapproval I hear?” Alarbus said.

I gritted my teeth, knowing full well going back to bed was no longer an option when Alarbus got into the mood of locating his remains. “I thought you said you’d stop haunting me.”

“I never said that.” He looked down his nose. “You’ve a strange notion in your head. It isn’t as if I have any control over who I haunt.”

“Are we going to do this talk again?”

Alarbus stood with his chest out, his shoulders high, his back rigid. His air of royalty told me he wasn’t going to let this go. “I’ve got an idea of where to look for my remains.”

“Decker buried them,” I grumbled.

“Only the parts you brought back, as you know.”

I’d made it a few steps before there was that knock again and the gleamy-eyed-I-love-to-go-to-the-cemetery-on-moonlit-nights man’s muffled voice filtering through. “What I have in this box is a marvel.”

“It’s probably his wit,” Alarbus said.

The man continued, “Mr. Decker would very much like to see it, but he’s away. I am sure he will be very irate when he realizes he missed it.”

“The old man’s always irate,” Alarbus said.

I stifled a laugh and stood there in silence, thinking what the man on the other side said. This box thing was intriguing, and I would like to know what was in it, but there was a side of me that was unsure if I truly wanted to know. I remembered the cross, that unexpected pure white light, the power I felt in my hands. It was unnatural. The whole thing was unnatural, and whatever was in that box was also probably unnatural.

I raised my voice. “Come back tomorrow, and we’ll talk some more.”

The knock came again.

“Why’s he knocking? You were just talking to him.” Alarbus’s left eye squinted.

I held my breath, then let it out slowly and opened the door.

“Perhaps you did not hear me,” I seethed.

“Tomorrow won’t do. I need you to come with me now.”

“To the cemetery?”

“Go with him to the cemetery. Let’s find out what’s in the box,” Alarbus said.

“To the cemetery,” I repeated.

“And on this beautiful moonlit night?” Alarbus added.

“Yes, this very night,” the short man said.

I turned to Alarbus, who was floating behind me.

I sighed. “You and this fellow are truly a trial. He wants me to come out in the dead of night, in the dead of winter, and to take a stroll in a moonlit cemetery. While you want me to go off looking for your missing parts. I’ll never get any rest between the two of you.”

“Does this mean you’re helping me?” Alarbus floated with one leg crossed over the other.

I opened the door.

“What do I need to do? Is this about the orphanage? It was only a draft coming through the attic.”

The man started to open his mouth, but no words came out.

“Listen, I’d already busted my thumb twice hammering nails into the outer planking.”

“Huh.”

“The man is obviously having trouble forming words,” Alarbus said.

I pointed my finger at the man. “I can’t paint, not this time of year; it’s too cold.”

The man stood in silence.

“Maybe you should really let him know what’s on your mind.” Alarbus stood beside me.

“We’d investigated, and that was supposed to be it. I worked on the building, picking up trash and patching the roof as Decker requested. Not that I minded. I’m just letting you know there wasn’t anything supernatural about that case, and I never got paid.”

Alarbus chimed in. “Who in their right mind would be doing any kind of work at the orphanage at this hour?”

“I don’t know anything about an orphanage or accounts.” His hands were out wide, his palms facing upward in a helpless gesture.

“Never mind. What’s this about the cemetery?”

“We must go there,” he said.

“And it has to be now?” I said.

Alarbus stepped forward. “It has to be on this moonlit night, remember?”

“Yes, now while the moon is out.” The man rubbed his hands together.

“See.” Alarbus smiled.

“You still haven’t answered me. Why the cemetery? Why not show me here?”

He lowered his head and shifted his eyes back and forth. “Oh no, not here. We can’t stay here. The cemetery is the best place to show you.” He appeared excited yet suspicious of who might be nearby.

I did not know what he was excited about, and it made me wonder if the man was a little off. Who plays in the cemetery?

“Let me get dressed.” I shut the door.

Filed Under: In The Light of Another

By Cadaver Light – 18

January 23, 2020 by DWRigsby

Chapter 18—Try and Forget

Decker and I were in my sitting room. It was midafternoon, and the light from the sun passed through the windows. I’d missed work, and I was in no condition to try to get there. I was holding my bourbon in my hand, having a sip, still wondering about what had happened. I felt a tingling in my arms, and it traveled into my hands and out into my fingertips. I stretched my fingers and flexed them, trying to get the tingling to stop.

I should get up and get ready and go to work, though by now they’d have someone else covering my route. You’d think that my worries would be about that thing that was inside me. But actually, I wasn’t worried about much right then. I took a sip of the bourbon.

Decker leaned forward and was looking at me for a moment, and then his gaze shifted to the floor. “You’ll recover soon enough.”

I took another drink, this one a little longer than the last.

“Just give it some time, that’s all you need,” he said.

I took another drink, then set the bourbon down on the table. “What was that thing, Decker? Tell me.”

He shook his head. “All that racket, all that pounding on that wall in the cellar. You just couldn’t leave it alone could you, Mr. Stockhelm?”

 “Luc.”

He gave a quick nod.

“What are you talking about? What I was doing?”

“The cellar, the draft that you felt. It was no draft. It was a vengeful spirit, one that I had trapped down in that tunnel nearly a decade ago.”

“You said that draft came from your house.”

“I lied.” Decker rubbed his chin. “But you were drawn to that spirit, and then you started making that hole. I knew I had to come over here and see what was happening and put a stop to it.”

“Spirits don’t exist.” I leaned forward and looked over at Decker, shaking my head. “That doesn’t explain anything—it doesn’t explain what happened to me. Tell me, what happened to me?”

Decker adjusted himself like a businessman might do when he’s about to negotiate a deal, and then he breathed heavily. “I delve into the supernatural. I’ve been doing it for fifty years, maybe more. I don’t know, I’ve lost count. The things that go bump in the night, the creature that hides under your bed or inside a closet or under the stairs, those are the things I search for, and when I find them, I deal with them.” He looked me straight in the eye. “In your case, not only was there the vengeful spirit that I had to deal with again down in that tunnel, but also a demon had possessed you.”

“Well, that’s awfully convenient.”

“Were you planning to go out last night? Cause when I got here you looked awful cozy.”

“No.”

“What made you want to go out?”

“That letter from the postmaster.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think so.”

“Why did you go to the Harken? The Holly is just down the street.”

“I don’t know. When I went to the Holly, I felt uncomfortable.”

“You were sent to find that demon.”

“Balderdash”

I was trying to wrap my mind around what Decker was telling me, but even though I recalled what I had experienced, I was equally having a hard time believing. “This is absolutely insane. You mean to tell me you talk to spirits and banish demons?”

“How do you explain what happened to you?” He said professionally.

“I don’t know. How do you explain it?”

“I just did.”

My mouth opened slightly, and I rolled my head. “And that’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

He nodded.

I had a flash being in the dark, and my skin tearing. I took a quick drink of bourbon.

“You realize the suffering, the pain that I had to go through?” I said, the hurt in me bubbling to the top, causing my voice to pitch higher. “This would have never have happened to me”—I stopped myself, trying to keep my calm—“this would have never happened if you weren’t snooping around my house.”

Decker edged to the end of his seat and looked directly at me. “If I hadn’t snooped around your house, you’d still be possessed and who knows what else you might have done? Think about Miss Newberry, or have you forgotten so easily?” He tapped the side of his temple.

I gripped the arms of the chair. “No, I haven’t forgotten. I know exactly what happened to me, or at least I remember what happened to me. It didn’t happen to you, it was me.”

Decker sucked in a breath and let it out. “And you profess that if I hadn’t bothered to investigate what was happening in your home that you would somehow be better off?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Mr. Stockhelm.”

“Luc.”

Decker ran his thumb under the lapel of his coat. “Let me tell you now. If I had not come over here, if I had not investigated your home, inquired into what you were doing, then it’s safe to say that you would either be dead or running rampant and murdering innocent people in this city.” He brought his hands together, clasping his left over his right and resting them in his lap. “And I could not allow that on my conscience.” He tilted toward me, getting as close as he could without coming out of his chair. “Do you understand me?”

I shut my eyes for a second to clear my mind. Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight. Maybe he was right about intervening. “So are you saying this is all my fault? Because of some spirit that you believe lured me into my cellar?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. The spirit was the least of our concerns. What I’m saying is that you are susceptible to the supernatural. And being susceptible led you to the situation you found yourself in.” Decker’s eyes were unflinching.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I sat back in my chair, pressing into the cushion.

“I’m not going to sit here and explain everything to you. Here’s what I’ll do. I’m going to get up, and I’m going to go back to my home. I will be there for maybe an hour or two. I have some other dealings that I must attend to, but I will hold off on those. If you feel that you need to come over and discuss this further, then let me know. When those two hours are gone, I will move on with my life, and you can do the same. Does that suit you?”

My head lowered, my shoulders sank inward, and I slouched in my chair. I raised one hand and gave Mr. Decker a wave.

Decker didn’t hesitate and left the room immediately. I heard him go out the front door, and then I heard the door shut.

I took the bourbon in my hand and drank. I stared off in the distance, letting my mind drift just for a moment. I was tired of trying to figure out what or why everything had happened. I got up and walked to the kitchen and retrieved the lantern, and on the way back to the sitting room I drew all my curtains, shutting out the light. Once all the lights were out, I lit the lantern and went back to my sitting chair.

I placed the lantern on the table next to me and adjusted the wick so that the flame would burn low, then reached for the bourbon and took another drink. The lantern’s flame flickered. I could barely make out my heavy bag, and I couldn’t see past the opening to the right heading to the hall. I stared out into the shadows, thinking about what had happened.

There was a sound coming from the hall. The wind perhaps?

I took another drink.

There was a new sound as if the front door had opened, and I wondered if Decker had come back. Maybe he forgot his pipe again? I quickly searched the table but it wasn’t there, and then I realized that what I’d heard was not the door opening. What I’d heard was a faint clink clink clank in my head. I shuddered at the thought. Clink clink clank. There it was again.

I was staring into the black of night at the edge of the room. I thought someone was there.

Clink clink clank.

I reached over and turned the lantern to its lowest point. A mere dim. I remained still.

Clink clink clank.

Inside me, a gripping fear crept into my soul and I began to wonder if the creature had returned.

Clink clink clank.

I took another drink and closed my eyes. It was nothing. It had to be nothing. Everything was gone, taken care of.

I reached over and turned the lantern to a point where the flame disappeared.

Darkness fell on me.

Clink clink clank.

It came back to me in a flood—the Harken, the alley, Miss Newberry, the body, the flames, the blood, the tunnel, but mostly I remembered the pain.

Clink clink clank.

Filed Under: By Cadaver Light

By Cadaver Light – 17

January 23, 2020 by DWRigsby

Chapter 17—Bankrupt

It was dark.

Quiet.

I could not hear my own heartbeat.

I could not hear the creature next to me.

Nothing existed except my own thoughts. I wondered if I was truly alone. I wondered if the creature was still with me. I was as still as a pool of water in a barren desert, yet I was clinging to my existence. Time was an eternal lake in which I floated upon.

That was an odd thought.

Where was this place?

I might be in the tunnel, maybe in a different chamber, farther down leading to Decker’s house.

Even as I thought it to be true, something inside me told me it wasn’t. There must be a way out. I remembered what the creature said in my voice, inside my head. Exit out into the dark. Maybe that was it. I needed to find a way out of this dark place. But first I’d need to muster the courage to find a way out of these restraints.

I drew in my breath and let it out slowly. When my finger touched the iron clasp, a new light, brighter than the previous one, appeared. It was to my right coming from an opened door. Where’d that come from? In the light, I could see a person’s silhouette in the doorway.

Was this a trick? Maybe the creature was doing this. If it could speak to me through my mind, it might be able to make me see things that aren’t even there.

Then a low, guttural voice began to speak.

I cringed at knowing what was to follow. What was to come.

Pain shot into my spine, then it inched up my back little by little from the center radiating outward. My feet and hands tingled along with my arms and legs. The tingling turned into needling, and it intensified. I felt my heart leap against my chest. I writhed in pain, arching my back, hoping for relief, but it didn’t come.

I wanted to scream, but I remembered I had to remain silent.

Wasn’t that what I was to do?

My muscles grew tight, causing my chest to contract, constricting my air and I tried to fight it, but it was no use. Quick, short breaths. The pain rushed through my body like hot steam through an engine. The pressure and heat increased, and when it was too much, I went blind. There was no time to react, to contemplate that my sight was gone.

The heat left my body, leaving it cold. The pain left my body, leaving it numb. I tried to search for a way out, thinking of where to go. Thinking of how to exit through this dark. The words from the creature came back to me—“Exit out to the dark, not the light.” There was no light, no option other than the dark and only the dark, so I let myself go, and into the dark, I went.

I felt calm, serene. I remained still just as the creature had told me to do. I waited and remembered I was not to speak.

Something grabbed me. It was not just a grab but rather like millions of tiny little hooks piercing my skin on every conceivable spot on my body. Next, the hooks pulled outward, holding on to my skin.

I dared not move, I dared not speak. The creature had said it would not be easy.

The hooks stretched my skin and pulled at each fiber. I could hear the skin tear, and it felt like thousands of tiny burns crawling over my flesh, and then I screamed.

In the dark I felt a blade slice my skin, then another, and my skin tore from my body. I screamed so loud my soul ached.

Hooks were digging deeper, ripping the skin from my muscles. A searing pain like nothing I had experienced erupted through my body as my skin came off my sides.

Next, a spike was driven through my right wrist, then another through my left wrist. Tears shot from my eyes. I screamed so violently I bit hard on my tongue. Blood filled my mouth.

Another slice in the dark, and another. I jerked, tensed my body, trying to find relief, but it never came. Instead, more of my skin was torn off, and I continued to scream.

A light appeared—pure white and bright. It stunned me for I thought I had gone blind.

I could see a doorway where the light came from.

My heart sank, and my will began to falter, falling away from me as easily as a scaffold that has lost its footing. I wanted to beg for mercy, I wanted to ask for forgiveness. I was ready to do anything if only I could be freed.

I was being skinned alive, suspended in air, a bloody ball of flesh. I was being ripped apart.

The creature said to stay in the dark, that the pain would not last, but I didn’t want the dark, I wanted the light.

But the path to the light would be even more painful. And as I thought about the light, it began to fade. I wanted to call out, but my mouth remained shut. The light grew dimmer, and tears ran down my skinless cheeks. This was my chance. I could go into the light, or I would be trapped in the dark forever.

Why was it so hard?

It was hard because of what I had to do to free myself. I had to finish ripping my body from hooks that had dug into me.

But the creature said to stay in the dark.

I had to lift my arms off the spikes that were driven into me.

But the creature said not to move.

I would lose more of myself getting out of there, but if I remained and allowed the light to go, there would be pain but less of it.

But that’s what the creature said.

The creature said to stay still, to not speak.

But the creature is full of shit.

I jerked at the hooks, feeling their bite as they clamped down into my flesh. I surged my will and tried to move, but the hooks dug deeper. I let out my breath, feeling the exhaustion, the pain that permeated my entire being. I willed my arm away, lifting it up and over a spike. I did the same with my other arm, freeing it at a price. The bones in my wrist cracked and popped, and it felt as if someone had broken all the bones and cut away the flesh around them.

I gritted my teeth and twisted my body, making the hooks go deeper but also making them as tight as I could. I felt a pop, a tear, and the hooks tore out of my body, and I fell to the ground whimpering.

I was free.

I crawled to the light, forcing myself along. Cartilage and bone stuck out of my hands, my wrists and arms. Blood ran off my limbs, making the surface slick under me.

When I finally reached the light, I stretched out my bloodied hand and pulled them back. What was it that creature said? Stay in the dark. Do not go into the light. I cried out, and said, “Dear Lord forgive me.” The rays of light moved towards me. I felt a pull, and into a new place, I went.

Filed Under: By Cadaver Light

By Cadaver Light – 16

January 17, 2020 by DWRigsby

Chapter 16—To Be Crucified

The air was thick with an earthy smell. It infiltrated into our nose, into our lungs. We coughed it out. We’d never make it to our house.

His chant was too strong, his words backed by conviction, unrelenting in their pursuit to banish us.

“You, not me.”

“But we are one.”

“And we need to stop.”

“We need to get to the chamber.”

The knife is what you want.

To cut his tendons at the ankles and bring him down to us. Old man with his cross – should have killed him when we had the chance, but you wouldn’t allow us.

We dragged ourselves over the dirt, gripping the side of the opening to the chamber, pulling us into the dark room. We scratched and squirmed, pushing and pulling our body farther into the room. Once inside, near the far-left wall, our hands swept over the dirt floor as I pushed myself along.

Decker’s chanting echoed, calling out to strike us down—a string of words, each one sharpened to a fine edge, cutting into our existence, damning me for what I am.

We were getting closer, nearer to Alarbus’s remains. Decker hovered just outside the chamber.

The old man was no fool, though if we could break his hold, we would make him a fool. He wouldn’t die, no. We would do better than that—Decker would wear a cap, sewn to his scalp, his ears cut from his head, his tongue from his mouth. His hands I would stitch together, each of his fingers, making him invalid. His feet I would keep intact so he might dance for me as a fool does to amuse his master.

I felt my hand grope, and grope, pushing at the dirt, dragging it then groping again, searching for the bag. I finally felt the strap, pulled it to me, heaving the bag and what remained of Alarbus to my side. I ran my hand inside. My fingertips wrapped around a cold limb, and out it came, tossed to the side. I found another body part and tossed it to the side.

My hand brushed across something cold and biting, a sharp edge, cutting the skin just enough for me to feel the sting. We pulled back, nursing my cut for a brief moment, then thrusting my hand back inside. We took the blade out, gripped the knife by its hilt, and waited in the dark.

He needs to come closer.

Why?

He needs to come closer if he is to beat me.

And when he does?

I will cut at his heel, and bring him down.

The light from Decker’s lantern pierced the darkness, exposing me. I saw him at the door, holding the lamp, his talisman out in front. The light grew brighter, and brighter it seemed to the point I had to raise my hand to block its shine. It was then I saw her, a woman, in the doorway dressed in white. She was sleek, elegant, her chin sharp and thrust upward as if she were of nobility. She came to Decker’s side, but he took no notice.

The light got brighter, and brighter, expanding out from her, encompassing her body, saturating it before it overtook me.

There was a tug, at my belly, at the navel. It dragged me across the ground, swept me up, and sucked us into the light where we were propelled by great speed.

The light expanded. We were moving, caught up in the light, traveling to where I had no knowledge. I lashed out at the light, tried to close my eyes, push it from my mind, but it was of no use.

After what seemed several minutes of movement, of being completely enveloped by white light, it collapsed on itself leaving darkness in its wake and a sweet, pungent zing in my nose similar to the scent before rain begins.

I could feel my hands pressed together. My face felt as if on fire, my body heavy as though weighted down. My back was against a stone wall, the cold leaching the warmth from me.

I ran a hand over my arm in the dark and felt cold iron clasped around my wrist. I went to move my arm, and I heard the clink of chains. My arm could go no farther. I jerked the restraints several times, causing loud rattling of metal. After a few moments, I gave up, wondering what was happening to me. I touched the chain. It ran from my wrist to the wall. My shoulders sank low. I dropped my hands to my side, and the chains clinked once again.

I felt stings on my arm and ran my finger across it. There were cuts, nearly one every two to three inches apart. I could feel blood seeping from them. I threw up my hands, rattling the chains once more – and trying to recall what had happened. Searching for the reason of my current state I tried to figure out how long I’d been here, and how I got here.

A faint light appeared above, allowing me to see. I searched for its source, from where the light had come. Was it a candle? A lantern? Squinting to make out its shape, I thought it was the latter. Though I was glad to have it. I could see my cuts more easily, and the bruising of my arms, and legs. I still didn’t know how I got them. Nothing came to mind. Did Decker beat me? Did he take the knife we had, and cut me? I gave pause for the thought came to me – were they from Decker’s words?

Perhaps.

I heard the voice again. When one hears a voice, which is not their own it often gives rise to the pulse and quickens the blood. And when one senses something nearby, not just a voice, something physical, present. It throws you back to a time when you were young, and that whatever was there in the dark, was better left in the dark.

I heard a low snort. My heart leaped, skipping a few beats. I  slowly turned my head toward a large mass lying on the ground three feet from me.

What is that thing? A dog? I scooted away, as far as I could, a mere six inches before the chains gripped me still, keeping me from escaping the hideous thing that lay beside me. I noticed more chains on my ankles, but they did not go to the wall—they ran across the cold stone floor and connected to the creature, chaining us together as if we were convicts on a work farm.

I saw its chest rise and fall, its large back flexing with rippling muscle. That’s not a dog. It’s too large, and though it resembled a dog, its head was shaped differently, flatter, no snout, no large ears flopping on the sides or perked with alertness.

Then the mass of muscle moved, this time pulling slightly on the chains connected to my ankles—clink clink clank—causing me to inch closer, but I grabbed them and held the chains fast. After several minutes my arms began to shake, the weight pulling downward to a point I released the chains, letting them go slack against the ground—clink clink clank.

When the thing moved again, the chains were drawn toward it.

—clink clink clank—

I also was drawn toward it. I tried to scramble, making a racket with the chains

—clink clink clink clank—

causing the thing to suddenly sit up, turn its head to me, and look at me with those black onyx eyes.

“What are you?” My voice cracked, and I tried to move away from it but couldn’t. The chains rattled

—clink clink clink—

as they held me in place.

The creature drew closer, pointing its finger in my direction. I froze, wondering what to do.

I felt my brow grow tight, and my face drew down my mouth opening. “Help!” I screamed. “Help me! Anybody!”

I tried again to move, yet the chains sang out their song of restraint—clink clink clank.

The creature inched closer. It smelled sweet and musty. It ran its hand through my hair staring into my eyes as if trying to communicate, and then I heard a voice. It was low at first, but then it was as clear as any voice one might hear.

When the pain comes, it will only last a moment.  The voice was inviting, sincere, even welcoming.

I heard the words, but they weren’t mine, they were from it.

You must do what I tell you when it comes. The voice came through, this time it reminded me of how a father might speak to his son when discussing a very important topic, or event that is to come.

 When it comes? I wondered what it meant, feared what it meant. When it comes? What is coming? What’s not here already?

It smelled my hair, sniffing me as if it were an animal.

Do not move when it starts. Wait as long as you can bear, then wait longer. Do not speak. Pay no mind to the light. It will be very painful. When the pain grows to a level you feel you are being ripped apart, you come back. When you come back, I will be here to help you, and we shall continue. You must endure.

It turned its head toward the light that came from above. The creature stood. I recoiled at its massive, nearly seven feet tall stature. I shimmied against the wall as much as I could, keeping away from it. The creature put its hand around the lamp’s glass, lifted it, exposed the flame within, and blew it out.

Dark fell upon us.

You must exit out into the dark, not the light.

Filed Under: By Cadaver Light

By Cadaver Light – 15

January 9, 2020 by DWRigsby

Chapter 15—A Red Glow

At first, I was amazed at how red the pipe turned, but I didn’t feel any heat. I was looking at it closer, trying to identify where the light was coming from.

“Decker?”

The burning continued, I heard thousands of voices descend into my mind, drowning out every thought, every emotion except one. I could hear the words, but I couldn’t make them out, but I understood what they were telling me.

Drop it.

I dropped the pipe and stared at it, watching the red glow dissipate. The voices were all gone. I was in a fog, my mind clouded, my thoughts jumbled as I struggled to understand what had just happened.

Decker stepped closer, like a military man who was in formation being called on by his commander for duty.

Of course, Decker had to be in the War between the States. I should have known that.

He used quick yet controlled movement of the lantern to bring it within inches of my hand. His hand traveled precisely in a practiced manner into his pocket where it rested. His eyes flashed wide.

“What have you done with Mr. Stockhelm?”

I narrowed my gaze, wondering what the old crazy fool was talking about. He already knew about Alarbus. Before I had time to wonder much more something else took control of me.

 He knows. The voice said.

I felt as though I was removed, placed far away as though I’d become the spectator instead of the actor.

“An obvious trick, old man. Using a pipe packed with sulfurs, shavings of iron and copper.” I heard my voice, but it was not my own. It was deeper and raspier. The words flowed from my mouth as if an actor on stage, though I was unaware of the script. I heard the words coming from my mouth, but they weren’t mine.

 “You should consider leaving.” The old man’s body was stiff, his hand deep in his pocket still, the other thrust the lantern the direction I should go.

My focus was directed to Decker, zeroing in on his eyes, making sure he knew we were not about to leave. “Or what?”

Decker stepped closer.

“You must fight Mr. Stockhelm.”

“I can’t,” I said, or I tried to. I could feel my mouth going up and down, but nothing came out. Like a nightmare scream.  

I could see my neighbor’s composure, strong, ready, yet reserved. He understood. Then he stopped peering into my eyes, and I knew he was about to address what had control of me.

Decker spoke aloud in what I thought was Latin.

I felt a sudden pressure in my chest, and I clutched the spot with my hand. My hand reached out and smacked the old man across the face.

Decker recoiled.

I was now pushing, driving him against the tunnel wall. My body held him in place.

Decker was strong, but not strong enough to stop my hands from wrapping around his neck. My hands squeezed while I labored to stop my fingers from crushing Decker’s windpipe.

Stop it. I heard its voice, dark, and thick. It carried a menacing tone within it and nearly shattered my will upon hearing. It sent me away, far away, but I was still able to see, able to hear, just not able to do anything. It felt I had been pushed to the back of the theatre, away from the exit.

I could feel my hands tighten once again. I rushed toward the view of Decker outside my body, where I met an invisible shield. It kept me at a shorter distance than before, but I was now able to see my hands working to collapse the old man’s windpipe. Decker began to croak, like a frog who’d lost its voice, his face reddened while his eyes widened. “That’s right. You’re dying. You’re dying, and you can’t stop me.”

It was in that moment I notice decker bringing his arms up high, the lantern’s light blinded me temporarily before I saw his arms come down hard onto my forearms. My hold broke, I felt a hard push where I stumbled backward, the wall caught me.

I was relieved.

“You idiot.” I heard that voice.

Latin words rolled from Decker’s tongue.

I fell, hitting the ground with my knees, rolled to my side and hit the ground with my shoulder. My breath grew short, and I wildly wondered what was happening to me.

Decker stood over me and continued to chant. He pulled something from his pocket. I couldn’t make it out, the image was a small dark blur dangled from a thin rope. I forced my hand to reach out to the object only for my other hand to swat it away. I focused more, and the thing in his hand came into view. It was a cross.

The pain quickened in my chest and I had the sudden urge to defecate. I reached toward him again.

Spit flew from his mouth as he chanted in a loud, boisterous voice.

“Stop or we’ll devour your soul.” The voice reverberated in the theater in my head.

My heart pounded against my chest. We crawled along, pulling with my arms for my legs had grown limp. I could feel him walking with me, calling out with his words, not letting me go. Inch after inch I clawed at the ground, making my way while he continued to rant on.

I felt his boot in the middle of my back, a hard push, and I went down onto my belly.

If only we had a knife.

No!

Yes!

My body came to an abrupt halt, it lifted my upper body, turned me at the shoulders. I slowly raised my head to look at Mr. Decker.

What was he doing to me?

There was great pressure, like my ribs were about to crack under the mass of a boulder.

Get the knife.

My body turned over onto my back facing Decker. Aches ran over my body, and my muscles grew tight and screamed for mercy as I crab-crawled away.

I could feel it grab hold of me harder. Like a swimmer trying to drown a fellow swimmer to stop themselves from drowning but instead of dragging my body down into the depths of water, it was dragging my soul.

I could see Decker through the slit of my eyes, standing over me, holding that wretched thing. We should have killed him when we had the chance. I crawled backward, dragging my legs. Down the tunnel I went, the dirt grinding into my pants and shirt, my skin cold and clammy. I kept hearing his blasted words, words that fell like daggers over and over, tearing into me. He should be dead. How stupid we were. How very stupid.

Filed Under: By Cadaver Light

By Cadaver Light – 14

January 3, 2020 by DWRigsby

Chapter 14—What We Seek in Shadows

I watched Decker with an unearthly calm. I was even able to take note that the lantern gave off a yellow hue that made Mr. Decker’s normally brown eyes turn almost mustard in color.

I felt my nose burn – it was the acrid smell of kerosene. Must be on the bag. Then the smell faded as I approached him and was replaced by the smell of a roasted man. 

Poor Alarbus.

Poor Decker. The voice in my head said.

 I vaguely wondered if roasted Decker would smell the same. His body was worn, aged, fragile. A bit fatter. It might, it might not. I’d need more kerosene to know for certain.

When I got within a few feet of Mr. Decker, he thrust his lantern at me and said, “Don’t come any closer.”

I held a level stare at him. His face twitched.

Suddenly he pivoted on his back foot, came around, and shoved me into the wall while moving toward the doorway. I recovered and widened my stance. He backed away, still keeping the lamp out in front.

It was a good move, yet he didn’t run, which was better for me. I took a step toward him.

“Stop!” His brow rose and curved, stretching the skin around the bridge of his nose, causing horizontal wrinkles across his forehead. His yellowed eyes were wide, his chin jutting outward. His chest was elevated, puffed up like a cock with his shoulders expanded, making his body look wider.

I cocked my head. “Not to sound condescending, but if I wanted to harm you, I’d have done it, despite your strength for a man of years.”

His brows lowered, drew together. Creased lines appeared vertically across his brow, and his lower lip tightened to the point it turned whitish. “Watch it cabbage brain. I’ve fought and beat better men than you.”

His hand went inside his coat pocket.

I stopped, then backed away, giving him space, thinking about what he might have inside his pocket. A weapon was likely, but what sort of weapon was the question.

Be careful.

“I know,” I said through pursed lips.

“What’s that?” Decker shifted closer to the entryway.

“Nothing.”

He removed his hand from his pocket and lowered the lamp, illuminating the bag. “This is nothing?”

I kept my eyes directly on him. “It’s difficult to explain.”

You don’t need to explain.

I snapped my head in Decker’s direction.

Get him off guard.

I’m glaring, but then I relaxed my eyes and showed my hands, palms out. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.” The corners of my mouth turned downward.

I could end it.

Not yet.

“I was at the Harken. I went there after your quarterly search for that ugly pipe.” I wanted him to know I wasn’t a bad guy, to pay no attention to the body in the corner.

I tried a friendly smile.

Decker didn’t respond

“I ordered a bourbon, just the one.”

“Well, you had plenty before you left.”

“Just the one.”

Decker nodded.

“There was a woman on my route there. She was sitting at the end of the bar with some man I didn’t recognize. I got suspicious. When the two of them left, I followed.”

“Is this the poor fellow?” Mr. Decker looked down at the letter bag.

I looked away, my head tilted slightly toward the ground. “Yes, that’s him.”

I brought my gaze up and met Decker’s eyes. They were without any feeling, like that of a man who’d seen much in his life.

I could end this all.

In a minute.

Wait. He’s a tricky one. The voice in my head said.

“They went into an alley. I waited at the corner to see what they were doing. I thought they were just being lovers, so I started to leave, then I heard a commotion. It didn’t sound like lovemaking.”

I looked at Decker to see if he was an old prude who might blush at the idea that I knew what lovemaking sounded like. It was pointless. He had the lantern in front of him again and his face covered in bright spots and dark shadows. Masklike. So, I was unable to tell if he was a blushing man.

“I went down the alley, and this man is choking her. I confronted him, he let her go and then…” My memory disjointed, and I tried to recall what had happened. Was it self-defense or did I murder Alarbus? I decided the former was the better answer.

You let me in.

“I did.”

“What was that?” Decker asked.

I shook my head.

“There was a struggle, I was able to get his knife, and then I killed him.”

You’d think a weight would have been lifted from my conscience, but that wasn’t the case. If anything, I felt heavier, but not with guilt or shame. What I felt was something unusual, a kind of satisfaction at having been able to share what I’d done. I recoiled, not from Decker but from within, realizing that my feeling was not something I’d ever accept. But then I also knew that was at least a partial lie.

I looked to Decker to see if there was anything there, any empathy that might be in his gaze, maybe a downward glance with a short smile, followed by words to console me in my situation. If only to let me know that I’d had no choice in the matter, but instead what I witnessed was a man who showed no emotions at all. His stare was unflinching as if he were looking into me, reading my soul.

“You killed him?” Decker said.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I slit his throat.” It came out franker than I’d wanted.

Decker pointed to the bag. “Looks you did more than slit his throat.” His gaze locked onto me.

I looked away, shielding myself from his constant stare working to unearth what was deep inside, then brought my focus on him.

“Who is he?” he said while digging his fingers into his beard, giving it a good scratch.

“I don’t know. I call him Alarbus.” My brow crinkled and my mouth twisted. I stepped toward the wall and leaned against it.

“Why did you do this to him?” He was expressionless, his eyes directed at me.

I scratched my neck. Why lie?

“I was afraid. I left him intact in the alley and came home. The woman I rescued knows me. I was afraid she might report me to the authorities. I went back to cover up what had happened. I know it sounds strange.”

“You thought that your best defense for a woman claiming that you killed someone was to chop off his limbs and bring them back to your domicile?”

 “I burned the rest so he couldn’t be identified.”

“And him not being identified helps you when a woman goes to the police, reports a homicide perpetrated by you in an alley. When the authorities got to said alley, there’s a limbless burning corpse, and you are untouchable?’

“It sounds ridiculous when you say it in that way.”

“It sounds insane when you said it the way you said it. I will accept ridiculous.”

It didn’t matter because Miss Newberry should have never had left the Harken with Alarbus, and Mr. Decker should have never come into my home uninvited. It seemed that no matter what others did, I would be the one blamed.

And if there’s no one left, then there’s no one to blame.

Decker’s eyes were looking upward, his hand on his chin.

He’s trying to think of a lie you would believe so he could escape and report you.

I know.

He had entered your home uninvited.

I know.

There was no prearranged meeting, so no one else knew he was in here with us.

I know.

If we had invited him, say for dinner, then it was likely someone might know, but that wasn’t the case.

I know.

I doubted anyone saw us outside. Even if they saw Mr. Decker going into our place, they probably couldn’t tell who it was and probably didn’t even care.

I know.

I edged closer to him. He didn’t seem to notice. His gaze was on the ceiling, his focus not on anything external, but internal. He was lost in thought.

I watched him, thinking about this room, this chamber, this tunnel.

No one has been in here for a long time.

I hadn’t even known it was here.

If we were to wall up the hole, no one would know this place ever existed.

Maybe a long time from now, after I was dead, someone might find this tunnel, knock out the wall as I did.

But all they’ll have was bones and questions.

“I know.”

Decker was now looking at me, which caught me by surprise.

He moved closer with the lantern.

I moved to the side, then around him and stood in the doorway.

He held the lantern near my face, focusing on something.

I became acutely aware of sweat on my brow and felt perspiration run down the sides of my temples, down onto my neck. I wiped the streams away and dried my fingers on my jacket.

Mr. Decker came forward and gripped my shoulder. “I won’t say a word about this to anyone. But for God’s sake—next time just go straight to the authorities.”

I heard his words, I heard the sincerity in his voice, but some things can’t be unsaid.

“Mr. Decker, I made a mistake. I know that.” I reached for his hand. He hesitated but then took mine. I shook his hand vigorously as though I’d met President Harrison himself.

“Take my advice. You don’t want anyone else to know what you’ve done, do you? Banging around in here at night is going to attract attention.”

He stopped, waiting for a response. I nodded.

“I think the best thing,” he continued “is to bury this man’s remains, read him a prayer from the good book, and never think on this again.”

My eyes remained steady on Decker’s face.

“Are you going to allow me to leave?” he said.

I moved to the side then followed him out of the chamber, but instead of turning in the direction of my home, he turned the opposite direction.

“The exit’s this way.” I pointed back toward my cellar.

Decker stopped and faced me. Shadows formed on his face as he brought the lantern around. “I want to know something.”

“All right.” I fidgeted with my hands.

“I’m not concerned about the authorities, not yet, but I am concerned about the woman. What are you going to do about her?”

 I stopped looking at him. He turned around bringing the lantern with him, hurting my eyes as the pupils shrunk rapidly to adjust to the change in the lighting.

He realized I was feigning ignorance.

“You know exactly what I mean.” His brow furrowed.

I know.

“What’s down there?” I pointed down the tunnel.

“My home.”

“Did you know about this tunnel?”

“What about Miss Ne…?” He fumbled with her name.

“Miss Newberry?”

“Yes. Miss Newberry. What about her?” Decker was touching the side of his coat pocket, once again I wondered what kind of weapon he had.

“There’s nothing I can do. Why, do you have a suggestion?” I asked.

“Have you thought about killing her?” His brow was flat, his lips pursed together.

Burn her.

“No.”

He folded his arms. “Of course, you have. Even I know she could be a problem for you.”

I shifted my gaze to the flame inside the lamp. “I could talk with her. Her silence on this matter is all I ask. There’s a good chance she doesn’t want to go to the authorities. You know how people can be.”

Decker turned away, his back to me once again leaving me in the dark.

I was standing there, my eyes wide, waiting for him to turn back around, thinking maybe he was checking something farther down the tunnel.

He can’t leave. The voice in my head said.

“You feel that draft?” I said.

Decker spoke over his shoulder. ““Yes, I can feel it. That’s coming from my cellar.” He lowered his lantern.

“Why would the draft come from your cellar?” I quickened my steps to get closer to him.

“Because I left my cellar door open, and my windows are open.” Decker picked up the pace.

“Were they open earlier?”

Decker stopped suddenly, turned and looked at me.

I backed away a few steps.

“When?”

“Before you showed up with your pipe.”

“Yes, I was removing something from the tunnel.” Decker stepped away.

“That’s why I was banging around, trying to find out where that draft came from.” I followed him.

“Hmm.”

“What did you take from the tunnel?”

“Nothing you need to be concerned about.” He picked up his pace again.

I followed behind Decker about four paces closing the gap.

Decker hurried up his pace.

I quickened my steps.

I was nearly on top of him when I reached out.

Clunk

Something hit the floor. I stopped, and so did Decker.

He turned about, lowering his lantern toward the ground. It was his pipe. I crouched and picked it up.

“You keep misplacing this pipe.” It was the same one I’d found in my house earlier.

I held out the clay pipe to Decker from my crouched position.

Decker was expressionless, standing still, his body unmoving, his face set like stone.

I rose and stood to face him.

“Everything all right?” I said wondering if he might be having a stroke.

He was staring at me.

“Do you want it?”

Decker didn’t move.

Then I felt a burning sensation. The pipe in my hand began to glow red.

Filed Under: By Cadaver Light

By Cadaver Light – 13

December 26, 2019 by DWRigsby

Chapter 13—Dead Men Do Not Speak

 “What are you thinking, old man?” I said through shorts bursts of breath.

I arrived at the door, flung it open, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Mr. Decker.”

No answer.

I quickly, without thought, turned right and scurried down the hall like a fox chasing a rabbit. I leaned over the sink, jerked the curtain back letting the rays of sunlight filter into the kitchen. With a heightened since I immediately scampered through the hall, stopping at the bottom of the staircase wondering if the old man had gone upstairs.

“Decker,” I called up the stairs, but no answer.

I hurried to the kitchen, glancing at the disturbed pile of clothes I’d left when cleaning up.

I swore one of my choice swears.

Trotting through the kitchen, I directly went to the cellar door. “Why’d you go down there?” I muttered under my breath. I stopped at the door, closed my eyes for the briefest moments, breathed slowly, then opened the door. At the bottom I caught a glimpse of light, it disappeared. I drew in the dry, cool air, then let it out.

I quietly descended the steps, silent and smooth—feeling as if I were a large cat.

There at the bottom of the stairs, I could see the light in the tunnel. I moved to the hole in the wall where I saw his silhouette created by the lantern he carried.

“Decker,” I called.  The light veered in my direction, just a little, but then it resumed before continuing its former motion. “I know you heard me,” I said, my voice low and guttural.

I stepped over the broken wall, ducking my head. Still, the light moved away, and then Mr. Decker vanished from sight. The tunnel felt hollow, void of life, a place none should enter. Yet here we were.

Here we are.

“Should I call out again?”

What for?

“To see what he’s doing.”

You know what he’s doing.

“Yes, I know.”

I hastened through the tunnel.

 “It’s not what it looks like.”

Oh, and he’ll believe you?

“He might.”

He won’t.

I stopped talking before I came around the corner and stood in the doorway.

Mr. Decker was holding a lantern over the remains of Alarbus.

You know what to do.

I watched Decker, thinking that maybe there was a way out of this, a way for me to explain.

Don’t explain. Just do.

“Do what?” I said aloud.

Decker turned around slowly, shining the lantern’s light on me.

“I can explain,” I said and moved toward him.

He drew himself into a defensive stance and held his lamp in front as if it were protection. “Best you stay put.” His eyes and body steadfast, unmoving, no sign of fear.

I held up my hands. “Mr. Decker. There’s a misunderstanding. I can explain what happened if you let me.”

“Explain it to the authorities,” he said.

I dropped my head down, rotating it side to side, then reared back and cracked my neck. I lowered my gaze upon the old man. My mouth twitched.

Of all the things Mr. Decker could have said, I was relieved that he had said that.

Filed Under: By Cadaver Light

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