Since I was stuck in Middwood, I'd have to eat. I walked to the grocery store and made my way to the bread aisle.

  I was contemplating a loaf of Sunbeam Bread when a "hello" boomed, followed by a smoky laugh. "It's about time you came to see me," the words rang out from across the store.

  "Oh, shit." I had completely forgotten about Magnolia. I was in the middle of the aisle, in the middle of the store, and there was no way to escape.

  She was all smiles when she ran up to me with her arms open wide. The smell of alcohol and cheap cigarettes hit me before she did. She threw her arms around me. "I was beginning to think I wasn't going to get that rain check."

  I glanced up over the low shelves to see a few onlookers. "Magnolia, please."

  She laughed. "Yes, baby. Beg mamma for some lovin'."

  "Stop. I don't think this is the time or place."

  "Damn, baby, you look disheveled. Wild night? You cheating on me?" she slapped to my chest.

  "No. My car broke down. I don't want to talk about it."

  "I don't want to talk either. Once the church crowd leaves, we can go to the back room."

  "No. You don't understand," I protested.

  She grabbed my crotch. "That's pretty nice," she said with her smoky, boozy breath.

  I pushed her hands off me.

  She squinted her eyes. "What's your problem?" She waved it off. "Look, I've had a bad day you've had a bad week. We need this," she said reaching for me again.

  I stepped out of her reach. "I don't want you."

  She put her hands on her hips. "I beg your pardon? That's not what you said the other night when you were at my place." The half dozen customers stopped their shopping to gawked at us.

  I tilted my head back in exhausted aggravation. I sighed as I grabbed the loaf of bread and walked away from her.

  "Don't you like women?" she snarled from behind me.

  "That has nothing to do with it."

  She caught up with me, walking as close as one of the ghost children. Her drunken breath made me nauseus. "Oh, I get your game. You like a woman who won't stop. What? You want me to beg?" she asked grabbing and pulling at the back of my belt.

  She knelt on the floor. I glanced around the store, and the customers' faces were covered in shock.

  "Get off the floor. People are staring at you."

  "Baby, I'm Magnolia. I'm the only show worth watching in this shit-hole town."

  "You're going to get in trouble," I warned.

  "You want to hold me after class? I could probably fit into one of Scarlet's dresses if that is what you are into."

  I backed away from her. "What is wrong with you?"

  Her eyes darted around furiously as she became aware all the customers in the store were staring at her. She curled her lips in and spoke through her teeth, "Everyone out! The rules don't apply to me, you sheep. You pigs! This is my store! You hear me!"

  "Magnolia, you are drunk. You need to go—"

  She pointed toward the door and shouted, "I said get out, faggot!"

  "Do you need me to get Mr. Self? Maybe he can—"

  "Get out, or I'll kill you. I'll hit you with more than a rock. This is my store."

  I didn't say anything else. I backed away from her and put the loaf of bread on the counter. Even Bobby, the clerk, left. I gave him a concerned look, and he shrugged. "She gets like this sometimes. No big deal."

  I left the store. I couldn't get back to the house soon enough. The only thing on my mind was getting a shower. I needed to disinfect myself of her alcoholic, cigarette, cardboard touch. I could feel her witch hands caressing my back and the other one grabbing my crotch. I reached into my chest pocket and swallowed an anxiety pill.

  60

  "Get in," Peter called, reaching across the seat and opening the door.

  I walked up to his truck. "I thought you were Gary Shindle with another rock."

  "I wouldn't worry about that guy. He'll get what's going to him. Get in."

  "Why?"

  "I want to show you something."

  "I can't. Franklin told me to stay at home."

  "You're not at home now. C'mon, it's more fun when you break the rules," Peter said. "Christian?"

  "I better not."

  "Get in, or I'll lay on the horn and start screaming."

  "Peter—"

  Honk

  "Okay, okay. Damn." I opened the door and got in.

  "Just take me home."

  "I got something better." He turned to me with a hop. "Want to go see the ghost children's graves?"

  My brain stopped, and my gaze froze on him.

  A sly grin grew across his face. "Yeah, you do. Come on."

  The words jumped out of my mouth. "Okay, let's go."

  Did I say that?

  "All right." He turned the key and we roared off.

  The road was a semi-graveled trail with a few strands of grass that still managed to grow in the center of it. Ahead, the path veered to the left. The birch and oaks lined the road leading us away from Peter's house and farther from the town.

  A black mass walked out from the woods on the path. My eyes widened as I pointed and screamed, "Bear!"

  A black bear stood on all fours in the middle of the road ahead of us. Peter swerved to the left, dodging it, but then stopped.

  The bear stood on its hind legs and roared.

  Peter rolled down the window. "Shut up and get out of the road!"

  "What gives? Bears don't..." My words trailed off as the bear lowered itself and walked into the woods.

  I twisted around in my seat, watching. "How did you ...?"

  "He could've moved a little faster. I'm losing my touch."

  "I'm not sure we should be going to the—"

  "Are you whining, Scarlet?" Peter teased. "If anyone asks, I was driving to the graveyard to visit my dear, late grandfather and you were on your way to the graveyard because you have a thing for very old women."

  "You have an active imagination," I said.

  "And you don't?"

  I gave a short laugh. "I used to not be such a stick in the mud."

  "What happened?"

  "I became a teacher," I said matter-of-factly.

  He laughed. "You're such a bad liar. You love your job."

  I sighed with a smile. "I do."

  "Even after you got clobbered in the face with a rock."

  "Stone for a stone. Eye for an eye."

  "What does that mean?"

  "I'm an odd duck, but there’s more too it. The kids make the job or break the job. Plus, when you get older, you have to pay the bills."

  "I thought teachers were supposed to be pretty, young women, not some skinny, hairy man."

  "Just because you can't grow a beard yet doesn't mean that you can talk about mine."

  We rounded the turn in the road and it emptied us out into a field with a view of the sky, and the sky was huge. The clouds were lit by the sun glowed in all the different shades of orange and light purple. Peter slowed and parked the truck.

  "Why did you stop?" I asked.

  He pointed to the corner of the field. "We're here."

  There, on the sloping hillside next to a small pond, sat the graveyard.

  "It's kinda late," I said voicing my concern.

  "Kinda late isn't late. We'll be fine, but hurry up," he said hopping out of the truck.

  A red-brick wall that looked to be about the height of my waist surrounded the graveyard. The gate itself was enormous, at least ten feet of wrought iron extending up to the sky. If they were opened, they would look like bat wings. The mood and feel of the place were sinking as fast as the sun. "Why did they put it so far out?" I asked.

  "So the dead would think twice about walking all the way into town."

  "That's not funny."

  "You'll be fine. We just need to watch each other's backs. Come on. Let’s find out if anyone is here or not."

  We walked the rest of the way in silence. They're all dead, I thought.

  However, that wasn't always the case in Middwood.

  My chest tightened as we got closer to the gate. I wasn't sure if it was fear or the cold wafting off the pond.

  "Peter, let's see the graves and then get out of here. The moon is up."

  Peter shot me a stare. "Look who’s using the town lingo. We have at least an hour before sundown. We will be in and out of here in ten minutes."

  "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

  "Relax," said Peter, pushing open one side of the gate. The hinges screamed as they rotated like a train screeching to halt. "Oops. So much for being quiet. Now everyone knows we're here."

  Waving him off I said, "Hurry up already. This place isn't sitting well with me." I pushed him to keep going. "Do you know where their graves are?"

  He looked at me like I'd just asked the silliest question in Middwood. "Of course; everyone does. They are up on the hill there." He pointed. "See the big angel? They are directly behind her. Folks say they were put there, with the angel's back to them, because they killed their parents. God turned from them, and that's supposedly the reason they're still among us."

  When we got to the top of the hill, I approached the statue. It was a marble piece of art, standing at least nine feet tall. Her wings were opened but slightly wrapped around her. Her face was calm and soft like she was resting, but she gazed over her right shoulder.

  I rounded the statue and there lay four little tombstones. They were so small and already showed wear. It was apparent the town used whatever extra stone remains that were laying around to mark their graves.

  "Laid, but not at rest." A chill hit me, and I couldn't help but look over my shoulder.

  I moved closer, so I could read the inscriptions, but then stopped. I surveyed the earth that covered the graves. The ground was whole, smooth, with dead grass covering all the secrets these kids had. Whatever had come for me in the night hadn't crawled out of its coffin.

  I inched toward the gravestones and adjusted my glasses. I read aloud, "’Joshua Johnson.’" Just saying his name made me uneasy and, again, I glanced around. I continued reading, "’1935—1951. A murderer. May the devil be kinder than you were to your own.’

  Wow."

  I continued to Turtle's and Grace's markers. Again, under each of their names, it read, "A murderer. May the devil be kinder than you were to your own."

  I thought Peter had been teasing me, but there was indeed another grave. It read, "Isaac Johnson. 1940—1951. A murderer. May the devil be kinder than you were to your own."

  Peter walked up behind me.

  "Isaac's the younger brother, right?"

  I turned to see a small boy standing less than ten feet away.

  61

  He was soaking wet with his black hair matted to his head. He wore faded overalls and stood completely still. The only thing that moved was the water dripping off of him.

  I closed my eyes.

  I wished that when I looked again I would see he was just a little concrete statue, something I'd missed.

  I opened my eyes.

  The boy had closed the gap between us. He was just out of arms reach. He was so close I could feel the humidity emanating from him.

  The boy moved toward me. "Is he going to take us away?"

  I shot glances around searching. "Where's Peter?"

  "There's a big gobbler at the treeline."

  "I don't understand."

  "I wonder how Joshua's doing?" He turned to walk away.

  "Wait. I'm here to help." My words melted away as he stopped.

  The boy's body tensed and he formed fists at his side. "Why are you still standing there, boy?" his face soft and innocent. "Can you keep a secret?"

  Finally, I was getting through to one of them.

  His body twitched like someone changed the channel on a TV. Innocent eyes were replaced with an angry glare. Water flowed from his body, exposing bloated, pale blue, broken skin. He gargled, "They said they were going to leave us alone."

  I stood frozen.

  "Wait, why are you doing this?"

  "Can you keep a secret?" he hissed.

  "What?"

  "Do you think you're strong enough to get them yourself?

  If you make this harder for me I'm going to make you suffer." He came at me, and I held up my hands.

  He lifted me with ease and, with the force of two grown men, threw me like I was the child. I hit the ground, flipping over myself before tumbling to a stop. I looked up. Beside me was a looming tombstone. Six inches to the left and I might have been killed.

  He curled his lip, exposing his bone-like teeth.

  He stood directly over me, snarling in my face. Water dripped off of his body onto my face. I turned away. A chill came off his body, surrounding me with the cold mold from his clothes and rot from his flesh.

  My eyes were closed. The pressure of his little hand grabbed my shirt. I trembled. I managed to form the words. "You wanted me to see you."

  * * *

  I looked again, and the boy was gone.

  I scampered to my feet, grabbing my chest. I choked as I tried to breathe through the pain.

  I glanced to my right.

  Isaac stood there, dripping. "Do you think you're strong enough to get them yourself?"

  I stumbled into a run. I ran as fast as I could. I glanced back to see if the ghost child was pursuing me, but, when I did, I collided with something.

  We were both knocked to the ground. We instantly scrambled to get away from each other, but then realized neither of us was our pursuer. It was Peter.

  "Who are you running from?" we asked at the same time.

  I pointed behind me, "Isaac?"

  "No," Peter shook his head. "Joshua Johnson."

  A short distance away, Joshua rounded a row of graves. He was wearing the gray hoodie.

  "What did you do?" I asked.

  "I'm not sure, but he's pissed. Come on!" He pulled me up. I turned to get another look at Joshua. He picked up speed and broke into a sprint.

  "How do you outrun a ghost?" I asked as we both ran.

  Peter recited, "’When out after dark, don't stop, never stop moving!’"

  The ground under my feet failed. I fell and kept falling. I couldn’t tell if I had been hit again, but the impact felt the same. What made it different was the additional force of Peter's body falling on top of me.

  I pushed Peter off, and we fought to get to our feet. We'd fallen in a pit of some kind. The walls were made of dirt, rotten roots, and worms. We were in a tight rectangular hole that was at least ten feet deep.

  Peter's face grew in panic. "What is this? What is this?" He jumped and clawed at the cold dirt to climb up. "An open grave?"

  I yanked him down.

  Movement approached above us.

  I pushed him into the darkest corner. Peter protested, but I covered his mouth.

  We waited in complete silence. I removed my hand from his mouth. We glanced at each other then turned our eyes to the cloudy sky above. The only sounds were our heartbeats and our attempted quiet, shallow breaths.

  Joshua's pace slowed, then stopped. I prayed he didn't know where we were. It was our only chance.

  The steps got closer. I blocked Peter with my arm, keeping him behind me and pressed us into the pit's wall. Joshua was right on top of us, but from our angle, we couldn't yet see any part of him. He took another step, and I could see the tip of the hood of his sweatshirt. I hoped, if we couldn't see the opening of his hood, then he couldn't see us.

  Peter and I held our breath.

  Joshua whipped his head around and darted off. Peter and I let out sighs of relief. We stayed still for several minutes.

  After a communication of charades, Peter and I decided I would slowly raise him up so he could make sure Joshua was gone. I leaned against the dirt wall. Peter climbed up my back and peered out.

  He jumped back to the mud floor with a squish. "It's all clear," he whispered.

  "Good, let's get out of this thing. Why is it so deep?"

  "Christian, it's in a graveyard, it's a grave."

  "Graves aren't ten feet deep."

  "I don't know, I've never died before."

  "Whose is it?"

  "Probably no one's yet. This is Middwood. It's a tradition to have a least one grave always dug."

  "Let's focus on getting out of here. Help me out first, and then I'll pull you up."

  Peter looked at me.

  "What?" I asked, "I'm not that heavy. Besides, you wouldn't be strong enough to pull me up."

  Peter nodded and moved to the wall. He knelt and clamped his hands together. I grabbed a nearby root with both hands to help pull myself out.

  He counted in the faintest whispered breaths, "One, two, three."

  My head cleared the top of the opening, but I lost my grip and fell. Peter caught me.

  "Maybe we should—"

  "No," I answered, " it will work, we just have to get the timing right. I need to grab the ground once you boost me up."

  He moved into the hoisting position. "This is fun, huh?" he said with sarcasm.

  I grabbed his shoulder. "A complete blast." I wasn't about to start complaining. It wasn't his fault I was in an open grave in the middle of nowhere. It was mine. "Let's try this again."

  "One, two, three."

  I pulled harder, and Peter pushed. Once I cleared the opening, I grabbed at the dirt and thin grass. I kicked my legs against the inside wall. Peter continued pushing me up, giving me extra help. With one last kick, I'd be clear, but that one last kick made contact somewhere on Peter's body.

  "Awh!"

  I continued to pull myself up.

  Boots stepped in front of my face.

  62

  Casteel stood looking down at me.

  I let go of the grass and slid back down into the grave with a plop.

  Peter looked at me. "Are they still up there?"

  "No," I replied.

 

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