Back From The Dead

Something felt…wrong.

Scott and David stood on either side of him as the shovel hit something more solid. Grunting with the exertion, Gordon carefully levered the shovel under the bulk and lifted it. As he lifted the mass of soil and dead flesh, David gasped. “Aww, man, that thing’s deader than shit!”

Gordon dumped the dead rabbit on the ground, not even feeling sick at the sight of the worms doing their number on the animal. Already there were maggots writhing about the body — how the hell did flies burrow underground to lay their eggs anyway? Underneath the earthy smell of wet soil was the scent of rotting flesh.

“Well shit, I was actually looking forward to this,” Scott said.

“Yeah, me too.” David.

“Dammit,” Gordon said.

“So why do you think it didn’t work?” Scott asked.

“I don’t know,” Gordon replied. “I did everything right. Followed everything in the book to the letter.”

“Maybe it’s because animals don’t have souls,” David surmised. “I mean…the demon can’t take their soul and use their body as a vessel. Know what I mean?”

Gordon nodded. It made perfect sense. But still…

There was that feeling. Something was there. In the woods.

Do they feel anything? Gordon thought. Or am I just imagining things?

“Well, might as well bury it and get going,” David suggested. “We can try again.”

“Yeah,” Gordon said, anything to agree with them and get the hell out of here. He shoved the animal back into the hole and started piling the dirt back over it. When the hole was filled up completely, he stomped the soil down.

“What kind of animal are we going to try it with next time?” David asked Gordon.

“You mean we’re going to try this again?” Scott asked. He looked doubtful. “The shit obviously didn’t work.”

“I don’t think we’re going to try it again,” Gordon said. He started heading out of the clearing. He didn’t tell them that he agreed with what they were saying, that they were right. That might be the impression they got out of his response but it wasn’t his intention.

Something did work.

He could feel it.

Scott and David followed along behind him. They talked and Gordon answered, but he wasn’t really paying attention to what they were saying. “We can still bury him out here when he’s dead,” Scott said. “Nobody’ll find him.”

“Yeah,” David answered. “Too bad we’re not going to know if he’ll come back from the dead.” To Gordon: “Hey, Gordon, whaddaya think? Think this’ll still work?”

“I don’t know,” Gordon said, his heart racing. He felt his skin bristle; gooseflesh.

He didn’t want to give them his honest opinion.

That he felt whatever it was he’d done out there last night had worked.

Chapter Eight

Tim Gaines had just finished his homework — his last big assignment before the semester ended — when there was a knock on the front door.

His mother was in the kitchen stacking the dishwasher, and his father was in the living room watching the news. Dad looked out the window and frowned. “It’s the police,” he said.

“What?” Tim got up from his chair and walked over to the living room window. Sure enough, a black and white squad car was parked in front of the townhouse.

Dad was already up and crossing the room to the front door. When he answered the door, Officer Frank Clapton stood on the stoop, a grim expression on his face. Officer Clapton had been one of the investigating officers in the Scott Bradfield and David Bruce assault case five years ago. In the intervening years he’d been a strong ally to the Gaines family, providing Tim with the occasional escort home, or stopping by to see how he was doing. When Jennifer Walbert spread the rumor that he was killing neighborhood cats for satanic sacrifices, Office Clapton had been the investigating officer. He’d even apologized to Tim’s parents that night for the trouble.

“Officer Clapton,” Dad said, opening the screen door. “What seems to be the problem?”

Naomi came in from the kitchen and Tim’s heart clenched in his chest when he saw the look on Officer Clapton’s face. “Evening Mr. and Mrs. Gaines. Sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid I have to talk to your son.” His eyes focused on Tim. For the first time they looked accusing.

“What’s going on?” Tim said. What did they say about me this time? Who said it? I thought they were finished with this shit! I thought it was finally over! Unbidden, Tim felt his eyes begin to tear up.

Officer Clapton extracted a slim notebook from his breast pocket. He flipped through to a fresh page, pen in hand. “Mind telling me where you were two nights ago, Tim?”

“He was right here!” Naomi said, her voice and features showing frustration and a hint of anger. “Where else do you think he’d be on a school night?”

“Please, Mrs. Gaines,” Officer Clapton said. Tim could tell by the tone of his voice that he didn’t want to question him. He turned back to Tim. “Specifically between the hours of ten-thirty P.M. and five A.M. yesterday morning.”

“He was asleep!” Naomi stated, the irritation clear in her voice now.

“I was asleep,” Tim said at the same time.

“Are you sure?” Officer Clapton asked.

“Will you mind telling us what this is about, Officer?” His father asked.

Officer Clapton ignored the question. He looked at Tim’s parents. “Can you two place Tim in his bedroom at those times?”

“Yes!” Naomi stated vehemently.

“Absolutely,” Dad said, his voice and stance firm.

Office Clapton regarded them calmly. “Two nights ago Reamstown Cemetery was vandalized. Somebody broke into one of the graves and stole…certain body parts. Reamstown police recovered evidence and called us. I wouldn’t be here if that evidence didn’t lead straight to you, Tim.”

Tim felt the blood run from his face. “Wh…what evidence?”

“Do you own a book called Back From the Dead?”

At the mention of the book, Tim felt like he was going to faint. He could tell that the cop knew Tim owned the book; he could probably see it in his face. “Um…well…yeah, I do, but — ”

“Reamstown police found it at the scene,” Officer Clapton continued. “It had your name and address written on the inside cover. Are you sure you were home between the hours of — ”

“I said he was here!” Naomi Gaines was suddenly in front of her husband and son, hands on her hips, a ragged dishtowel in her hand. She faced Officer Clapton, her features pure anger. “I don’t care what you found, Tim would never be involved in something so…so…”

“Believe me, I know how this looks,” Officer Clapton said. “I know the hassle you people have gone through with every religious freak in town accusing you of everything from killing animals for the devil to vandalizing school property with satanic symbols. I know you’ve had to endure years of rumors and harassment and I’m sorry for it. But…I have to ask this stuff. We have the book. It has your name and address on it, a crime was committed…parts of a human body were stolen!”

“I loaned that book out!” Tim said suddenly and then it all came out in a rush, like a confession. “I loaned that book to Gordon Smith. He asked if he could borrow it and I gave it to him Monday afternoon.”