it in place with the magic powwow symbol?
And then, when the grave and the symbol were destroyed, the ghoul had been freed?
Timmy had always been fascinated by the supernatural, and believed a lot of it. When they were six, he and Doug had thought they saw Bigfoot near the creek in Bowman ' s Woods. It had turned out just to be a tree, but Timmy still believed it was possible, and that perhaps one day they would come across Bigfoot in the forest. He believed in Bigfoot. He believed in ghosts. He believed in flying saucers and sea serpents and demonic possession. Timmy believed that people really did disappear inside the Bermuda Triangle and that some dinosaurs probably escaped the Ice Age and were still alive in the deep, dark corners of the world in places like Loch Ness and Lake Champlain. He believed in pyrokinesis, telekinesis, extrasensory perception, and remote viewing. He didn ' t know where these beliefs came from, just that he had always had them. The bookshelves in his room were full of books on the topics. He ' d always viewed the world with wideeyed fascination. He 'd noticed over the last few years that many of his friends at schoolfriends who had once believed just as fervently as himno longer considered the possible existence of ghosts or monsters. Perhaps they viewed them as fallacies, the same way he viewed
Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. But while Timmy no longer fell for those parental inventions, he still believed in the supernatural. He believed in monsters. Maybe it was because he' d retained that sense of wonder that so many others his age seemed to be losing.
Or maybe it was because of what he read and what he wrote. The monsters were real, and not all of them were adults or attack dogs. Just because he couldn't see them, it didn't mean that they didn't exist. Timmy believed because he wanted to believe, and if growing up meant that time dulled your perceptions and eradicated that belief, erased the possibility of magic and monsters, then he wanted to stay twelve forever.
He thought over everything he' d ever read about ghouls, both from this particular comic book and others. They lived in tunnels and warrens beneath cemeteries and burial grounds. They were nocturnal and hated sunlight. In this particular story, the ghoul had been destroyed by direct exposure to sunlight. It was that way in most of the other comics, too. On a few occasions, they ' d been destroyed by fire, and once by being dropped into a vat of acid, but daylight seemed to be the only sure bet. Ghouls ate the dead, which was why they dug beneath graveyards.
The Golgotha Lutheran Church cemetery was collapsing in spots. The ground was sinking.
There was a tunnel entrance inside the utility shed. Supposedly, according to Clark Smelter, there was a cave running beneath the grounds. But what if it wasn 't a cave? What if it was the ghoul' s tunnels, as it burrowed from grave to grave devouring the dead?
Somehow, the sigil keeping it imprisoned had been shattered? It had begun feasting on the dead, first in the old part of the cemetery and then up into the new section. That would explain the steadily sinking ground, and why they'd first noticed it around the older graves.
He thought about his grandfather's sinking grave. Could it have…?
Timmy shuddered, unable to complete the thought.
Ghouls ate the dead. All of the stories agreed on this. In some of them, they ate living humans as well. That would explain some of the recent disappearances. Maybe not the woman on the news, Deb Lentz (her car had been discovered all the way over in Porters), but possibly Ronny, Jason, and Steve maybe they' d been partying in the graveyard. And it certainly fit with Pat and Karen 's disappearance. It seemed pretty certain they' d been parked in the graveyard. Maybe the ghoul had eaten Karen and stuck Pat 's body in the trunk for safekeeping, intending to eat him later.
There was only one problem with that theory. Could ghouls drive cars? Timmy looked at the comic again. If they had long claws in real life like they did in fiction, then probably not. Which meant that someone else had hidden the Nova.
In some of the comics, the ghouls had used human helpers, sort of like Dracula' s assistant, Renfield. They worked for the creatures, did their bidding, helped to conceal their existence, and were paid with money and jewelry stolen from the dead extra baubles from the creatures' treasure hoard. In one back issue of Vault of Evil, the villagers had hung the ghoul's human familiar from an old tree in the graveyard. If there was a ghoul beneath the cemetery, did it have an assistant, and if so, who was it?
It didn't take him long to come up with an answer. It was Barry's father who'd suddenly forbid them to play in the cemetery, who'd put up the no trespassing signs and had blown off the sinking graves by suggesting there were sinkholes. He' d had more money than normal, and Mrs. Smeltzer was wearing lots of new jewelry some of which seemed really old, like the antiques at the flea market. He was angrier and more violent than ever, like he was suffering from stress or guilt or something.
And Barry had mentioned several times that his father was out late at night. So if he was right, then how could he go about proving it? If Barry' s father found out he suspected, there was no telling what could happen. But if Timmy could prove there was a ghoul, if he could get evidence without Mr. Smeltzer finding out, then maybe people would believe him. He ' d have to tell Doug and Barry his suspicions. If he was right, they couldn 't just waltz down into the tunnel beneath the utility shed. That would be suicide. They' d have to be better prepared than that. He thought of Doug 's map. Tomorrow morning, if Mr. Smeltzer wasn't around, he' d get the map from the Dugout and try to figure out exactly how far the ghoul 's tunnels reached, based on where the graves were sinking. That was the first step.
When his mother knocked on the door and told him to take a shower, brush his teeth, and get ready for bed, Timmy was so preoccupied with planning that he barely heard her. He rushed through the bathroom, barely allowing the water to hit his body before he was out of the shower and toweling off. He made quick work of putting on his pajamas and ran the toothbrush across his teeth once or twice. Then he went out into the living room.
His mother was curled up on the couch watching a sitcom. She looked up from the television.
'You ready for bed?'
Timmy nodded.
'You want to watch TV with me until your dad gets home?'
'No, that's okay. I thought I might read for a while.'
'Alright.' She paused, studying him. 'You sure you're okay, Tim?' He smiled. 'Positive. Everything's going to be just fine.'
'May I be excused?'
Rhonda Smeltzer glanced over at her son's plate. His foodpork chops, mashed potatoes, and lima beanshad barely been touched. Barry had taken a few bites and then pushed the rest around with his fork. He hadn 't spoken during the entire meal. Indeed, he hadn' t spoken since returning home from the cemetery. When the police had shown up and questioned Clark, Barry had stayed in his room. His face was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
They matched the circles beneath her own eyes.
'Aren't you going to eat, sweetie?'
'No.' Barry shook his head. 'I'm not that hungry.'
'Eat your supper.' Clark shoveled a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.
'I don't feel good.'
'None of your lip. Eat your goddamn food. When I was in Vietnam, I saw a hundred starving kids that would have given their left arm to have just a mouthful of what you got on that plate.'
Barry put his fork down. 'That's a shame. Why don't you send mine over to them?' Clark choked on his food. He grabbed his glass, took a quick drink, and then slammed it back down on the table. Milk sloshed out.
'What did you say?'
Barry sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest in defiance. 'I said why don't you send my dinner over to them. Then they won' t be starving anymore.' Clark started to rise, but Rhonda reached out and placed her hand atop his clenched fist.
'Dear,' she pleaded, 'he's just upset. We all are. The police were here for so long, and it's been'
Clark tore his hand free of hers, picked up his glass, and threw the milk in her face. Rhonda gasped in surprise. Milk dripped from her nose and chin.
'That's where he gets it from,' he said. 'Boy talks back and doesn't listen. Acts like a smartass because his bitch of a mother is the same way.'
'You motherfucker.' Barry jumped to his feet, sending his chair crashing backward to the floor.
Fists clenched, his father rose to meet his challenge.
