Hespent the rest of the night throwing six years of raised beers, bad movies,girlfriend stories, and a steady business partnership into several blackgarbage bags, which he then buried in the woods behind the house.
* * *
Overthe next several days, Chad’s phone buzzed and chimed with increasingfrequency. At first, Mark ignored it; but as more and more texts, calls,e-mails, and other messages came through, he finally replied to them, stating(as Chad) that the number and address had changed, and that he’d let them knowthe new information soon. He didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep this up,however; he expected a visit from the authorities before long.
Markalso began cleaning off Chad’s notebook as best he could, but soon resignedhimself to the fact that it was forever stained with red smears and splatters.It didn’t contain much that he hadn’t already seen—mainly notes on differentbodies and the locations haunted by their spirits, the growth and quality oftheir mushrooms, and descriptions of the ghost-trips.
Butthen there had been Chad’s last entry.
“Darkness,a huge, black sky,”he’d written. “No stars, but there’s a moon, far too big/too close. So muchdead land around me, grey rock stretching to every horizon. No wind, yetthere’s a weird, echoing sort of hollowness.
“Somethingis standing there in the middle of it all, staring up at the moon. It’s got ahead like a skull, bony and angular—and it’s looking at me, staring at me withthose empty, dark sockets.
“Itsjaw parts in a scream that nobody can hear, because there’s nobody, nothingelse, absolutely nobody.
“No—I’mscreaming, screaming and screaming again and again, but nobody can hear me.
“It’sthe great silence, the ultim—”
Onmore than one occasion, Mark found himself wishing that he’d not cut Constanceoff as she’d begun to describe to him where the coffin and its damned contentshad come from.
Healso frequently thought back on what she’d suggested.
Andthen, one early October night, after waking from a vivid terror of his friendstanding beside his bed, screaming, Mark headed back into the woods with ashovel.
* * *
Markset his jaw as he stared down at the cooling, amber slices of mushroom. “Sorry,buddy,” he said, not for the first time.
Heand Chad had often made sick jokes about this, but most of them revolved aroundthe image of them as a couple of crotchety old men. They’d never reallyconsidered this, even as a remote possibility.
Withthe same, numb, automatic mind that had guided him on the night he’d cleaned upChad’s eviscerated body—the same one that had controlled his hands whiledigging the grave, and again when he was digging it back up, and when he placedthe decomposing remains into one of the tanks—Mark scooped up the slices in hishand and shoved them into his mouth. He didn’t bother to grab a slice of bread,nothing in the world could cover the flavor of what he was eating.
Marksat down at the kitchen table and crossed his arms, ignoring the disgust thatthreatened to gag him. He waited for the black spots to open into the finalsights of his dead friend. He coughed once, twice, opened his eyes—
—Chadwas in the basement.
Heshook his head. “Holy shit.” Now that had been a crazy trip.
Helooked back over his notes, making sure he’d jotted down everything—
Thatstrange thumping sound again.
Hebegan to rise from the chair, but his head spun and his stomach lurched.Dropping back down, he let out a shaky breath.
Thethump came again, and with it, a high, keening cry.
Chadlooked around, frowning; the sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere,all at once; above, below, inside, out—what the hell was it? He pressed his thumb andforefinger against his eyes, rubbing out some of the lingering headache fromthe trip, and when he opened them, he saw the body from upstairs hoveringdirectly before him.
Itwas still covered in mold and mushrooms, but its many arms and legs had spread,were twisting and swaying, because something was holding it.
Chadlooked up and gasped, and then he understood, understood everything, as he saw its full shape,all its many arms—fully-formed, as they should be, not the short, stubby hybridappendages of the poor, failed offspring that had somehow been cruelly wrestedfrom a despairing mother and into the horror of light that was this world.
Helooked down at his notebook as the mother’s arms reached for him—
—and Mark began to scream.
we’re allhaunted here
doungaigam
Idon’t remember much about those first few hours after I died.
WhatI do recall was that first moment of awareness when I saw myself lying facedown on my bed. I walked over and reached out to touch my physical self. Myhand passed through my right shoulder and as it did I felt a tingling sensationthroughout my new self. That was when I knew.
Ittook a little longer for the others to realize I was gone. My mom was the onewho found me the next day. She came into my room under the assumption that Iwas asleep after a late night of playing online games with friends from school.It didn’t seem to strike her as odd that I was sprawled across my bed, one legdangling off the side. Any touch of the hangover she might have had from thenight before dissipated when she went to shake me awake and the truth wrappedaround her with its cold grip.
Thestrength of her grief could have moved mountains.
Mydad came running when he heard my mom. It was bad enough to see Mom breakingdown, but to watch my dad, too… I had to leave the room.
Iwalked the hallway of the only home I had ever known. My mom’s cries followedme down the stairs into the living room. Even when I went outside I heard herwailing as if she were next to me. It wasn’t long before sirens came screamingdown the road and emergency vehicles parked in the driveway. I stayed out onthe front porch. I know that probably sounds weird but it seemed like the rightthing to do.
Withinthe hour my sister strolled around the corner of Field and Hoadley. She hadspent the night at her friend Julie’s house. She stopped when she saw theambulance, then gripped her backpack and ran for the house,
