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  "Wife," the ghoul screeched. "Return to me, now. You cannot forsake me. My kind must live."

  Karen sobbed, but didn't look back. Behind them, they heard their pursuer crash into the pile of shattered timbers.

  "Woman, I will not warn you again."

  Desperate to put more distance between themselves and the creature, Timmy and Karen pushed on while the ghoul clambered through the wreckage. They reached a crossroads, with side tunnels branching out in three different directions. Over the ghoul

  's enraged shouts, Timmy heard a new soundthe muffled rumble of a diesel engine. It was the backhoe. It had to be. Sure enough, farther up the tunnel, dirt showered down from the surface. Confused by the falling debris, Karen weaved right and darted into one of the side tunnels.

  "No," Timmy shouted. "That's the wrong way!" If she heard him, she gave no indication. She passed beyond the reach of his flashlight beam. He paused for just a moment, unsure of what to do. The ghoul growled, and then surged forward. It reached for him, talons clicking together. Timmy ran after Karen. Bones crunched under his feet. The tunnels began to shake. The first thing Clark Smeltzer was aware of was the noisea loud, steady rumble that made his head throb and his teeth ache. It thrummed through the very earth and cleaved the air around him. A machine, by the sound maybe a motor. The second thing he noticed was that the pain in his head was minor compared to the rest of him. Each breath brought fresh jabs of agony in his chest and sides. His face and throat felt like they ' d been burned. He tried to move and found he couldn 't. He' d been tied up with bungee cords. Clark took a few shallow breaths and then leaned forward, trying to loosen his bonds. His muscles screamed, and so did he. His voice was lost beneath the din of the machine. The bungee cords tightened, then went slack, tightened and slacked, as he slowly rocked back and forth. The rubber bands squeaked against the tombstone' s marble surface. Finally, they slipped down his body. He pulled his arms free and unfastened the cords. Clark squinted at his hands through crusted eyes, saw halfdried blood, and then touched his cheek. He shivered. The action brought more pain. His fingers came away red, fresh blood coating the already dried blood.

  Fucked me up, he thought. Damn thing fucked me up good.

  He shuddered. It was very cold. But that couldn't be right, could it? Coldin the middle of June? His teeth wouldn't stop chattering.

  He forced his eyes open further. Only one of them obeyed. The other stayed shut. He turned his head slowly, seeking the source of the rumbling noise, and more pain ripped through him, causing his entire body to spasm. Clark clenched his hands into fists and forced his head to turn. His remaining good eye widened in surprise. Somehow, Barry had gotten inside the utility shed. The little bastard had picked the lock and hijacked the backhoe. As Clark watched, the scoop threw another clod of earth into the sky. He was digging up the cemetery obviously taking revenge for the beating Clark had handed down to him earlier.

  "Hey!" he shouted. "You little fuck. What are you doing?" Barry ignored him.

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  "Don't pretend you can't hear me, you son of a bitch. Get off that fucking backhoe!

  I mean it."

  The engine revved higher. The machine rolled forward, the front end bouncing over a tombstone.

  "Barry! You mind me, boy."

  Fists still clenched, Clark stumbled to his feet. So his worthless son was pissed off about getting his ass beat? He' d teach him now. This was vandalism, plain and simple. Barry was about to get a beating he 'd never, ever forget.

  "Okay. I warned you. You still ain't learned. This time, you don't get another chance." Clark staggered forward, grinning through the pain. Blood ran into his one good eye, and he saw red.

  Karen moaned.

  Timmy turned around and pointed the flashlight back the way they'd come.

  "Oh God… Oh God…

  Karen kept repeating it over and over. Timmy wasn' t sure if she was praying or just going into shock. If it was a prayer, it had gone unanswered. They had reached a dead end a mound of dirt and rock sealed the side tunnel off from the surface. An ashgray bone protruded from the center of the pile. All around them, the walls trembled. Timmy could hear the backhoe very clearly now, and it was easy to figure out what had happened. This tunnel had led to a grave. With Barry digging above them, the soil around the grave had collapsed, sinking down into the chasm below. Now they were trapped. Timmy stared back down the tunnel. It curved away into the darkness, sloping downward.

  He wondered if there was time to run back out to the main passage and find another route. But even as he considered this the pale luminescence thrown off by the ghoul ' s body lit up the tunnel walls beyond the bend. Timmy shrank away, placing himself between Karen and their pursuer. She reached out and took his hand. Numb with terror, he barely felt it when she squeezed.

  He thought of Katie, and how her hand had felt in his. He thought of his parents, and wished he could see them again, one more time, if only to tell them that he was sorry. He thought of Doug.

  "I don't want to die," Timmy whispered. "Please." The walls around them shook and rumbled. Dirt spilled down on them, showering their hair and shoulders. Coughing, they brushed it off. A cloud of dust filled the narrow passageway, obscuring the flashlight beam. Their hands squeezed tighter. When the dust cleared, the ghoul had rounded the corner and stood several yards away. The creature cocked its pointed head and laughed.

  "There is nowhere left for you to flee. You have offered good sport, boy, and for that I am grateful. But it is time to end this charade.

  I will make your death quick, not out of kindness or pity. Believe me, I would relish the chance to flay your skin slowly for your transgressions. But I must still deal with what is transpiring on the surface. Did you and the grave digger ' s son really think to shake the foundations of my kingdom?"

  Timmy licked his lips, too frightened to respond. His nostrils and the back of his throat tasted like dirt. His mouth was dry.

  "Never mind," the ghoul said. "Tonight, you shall both feed me. And feed my wives, as well."

  Karen squeezed Timmy's hand so hard that his knuckles popped. The ghoul raised its claws and took a menacing step forward. Timmy's eyes were drawn to the knife woundor where the knife wound should have been. It had healed already, and the only sign that Deb had even stabbed the creature was the dried blood on its thighs Page 136

  and legs.

  The tunnel shook again and the ceiling rustled. More dirt showered down upon them all. The ghoul stumbled backward. Timmy and Karen pressed themselves against the wall, holding their breath so they wouldn 't choke. The sound of the backhoe's engine swelled, filling the tunnels.

  You were right, Barry, Timmy thought. We shouldn't have tried to do this ourselves. We should have just told the adults. We can't fight a monster…

  The cloud of dust dissipated, and the ghoul lunged for him. Barry struggled with the gearshift. It vibrated in his hand, refusing to budge. The backhoe rocked back and forth, the front end swaying precariously several feet off the ground. He'd spotted a fresh sinkhole and had tried to back up so he wouldn' t drive over the depression. He was afraid the ground might give way. In the process of turning around, he ' d driven up over a tombstone and was now stuck. He pushed harder on the stick. The gears made an awful grinding sound. Black smoke belched from the exhaust pipe.

  The sunrise grew brighter on the horizon, the glowing orb now peeking over the treetops of Bowman's Woods.

  Grunting, Barry tried again. As he wrestled with the gearshift, something tugged at his arm. Barry glanced down, saw a bloody hand clenching his wrist, and screamed. His father clung to the side of the backhoe. The old man was grinning. Blood coursed down his face. It looked like he could barely stand, let alone hang on to the bucking vehicle, yet his grip tightened.

  "That's it for you, boy." Clark spat blood. "Time to take your medicine, once and for all."

  "Get off me." Barry jerked his arm away, breaking his father's grip. Arms flailing, Clark teeter
ed backward, and then fell forward and grabbed the backhoe' s sides. He swiped at Barry's head with one fist, but in his weakened state, his aim was off. Barry easily dodged the blow, and then struck back. This time he connected. His fist plowed into his father 's already mangled mouth. Clark's lips exploded beneath his son's knuckles. More blood splattered them both. Barry' s other hand slipped off the steering wheel. The backhoe careened atop the tombstone, leaning forward at a dangerous angle. Both father and son grabbed on tight, struggling to keep their balance. Pain lashed through Barry 's hand. He glanced down and saw a piece of his father' s tooth jutting from the knuckle of his middle finger.

  Clark's hand shot forward and closed around Barry's throat. Barry tried to breathe, but couldn't. His tongue and eyes bulged. Grunting, his father squeezed tighter, his fingers digging into Barry 's flesh.

  "Look at this shit," Clark wheezed. "All this damage. You did this, you little punk." Barry could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears. His head began to pound. He tried again to take a breath, but his father's grip was firm. Barry' s lips started bleeding again. He reached up with both hands and clawed at his father ' s wrist and forearm, trying to dislodge him. He pried at the thick fingers, but his father was too strong.

  "You ain't no son of mine."

  Barry's legs thrashed. The ringing in his ears grew louder. His hands fell away, weakening. Clark's grip tightened.

  "You ain't no son of mine," he repeated.

  Metal shrieked against stone. The backhoe tilted forward, then plunged over. The motor sputtered and died. All around them, the ground collapsed, falling down into the earth with a deafening roar. The sinkhole yawned wide like an eager mouth, waiting to devour them all. The front scoop disappeared into the earth, followed by the grille, headlights, and front tires. Barry slammed against the roll cage. Wire mesh pressed Page 137

  against his cheek. His father ' s grip slipped from his throat as Clark struggled to avoid falling.

  Gasping for breath, Barry held on tight as the backhoe again lurched forward. His stomach felt sick. His fingers clutched the wire mesh. His father scrabbled for purchase, clinging to the steering wheel. The backhoe tipped forward and plunged headlong into the chasm.

  As the ghoul approached, Timmy tried to scream. Instead, all that came out was a muffled whine. Clouds of dust swirled in the air. The creature loomed before him, its stink filling the tunnel. Slime dripped from its pores, pooling at its feet. It raised its claws to strike And the tunnel collapsed behind them. Tons of dirt filled the passageway, sealing off the other end. The flashlight slipped from Timmy' s grasp. He dropped to his knees, pulling Karen down with him. Both of them covered their mouths and noses as more dust filled the air. Timmy closed his eyes. A great roaring sound filled his ears, and then faded.

  He opened his eyes again.

  Despite the debris in the air, he could see. The ceiling was gone. Dim sunlight spilled through the chasm. The backhoe filled the tunnel, surrounded by piles of dirt, broken tombstones, and splintered coffins. Barry knelt in the dirt, coughing and gagging. The wound on his cheek had opened up again, and there were fresh cuts and scratches on his face and arms. His neck was bruised. The purple blotches looked like finger marks. There was no sign of the ghoul. Next to him, Karen threw up.

  Timmy patted her back, unsure of what to do. "You okay?" Gasping, she nodded. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Timmy crawled over to Barry. Despite his injuries, Barry smiled.

  "You're rescued."

  "What happened?"

  Groaning, Barry struggled to his feet. "The ground caved in. I couldn't jump off because my old man"

  His eyes grew wide. He turned around quickly; then looked back to Timmy.

  "Where is he?"

  Timmy frowned. "The ghoul? I don't know. He must have took off when you came crashing through."

  "No," Barry shook his head. "My old man. He was on the backhoe when it fell." They searched through the wreckage. The backhoe had landed on its front, and the scoop was imbedded in the tunnel floor. The dirt had piled up around it, burying the entire front end. The rear scoop jutted through the crevice in the ceiling and out to the surface. They clambered over the mounds of earth, searching. Timmy gasped. "Is that…"

  Barry knelt in the dirt. His father's hand jutted from the soil. Dane Graco' s freemason ring was still on his finger. Without a word, Barry pulled the ring free and tossed it to Timmy.

  "There. You should have this."

  "Thanks." Timmy put the ring in his pocket. "Are you gonna be all right?" Barry shrugged, his eyes not leaving the hand. "Yeah. I mean, maybe I should be sad, because he was my father, but I'm not. I don't even feel happy. I' m just… empty. Does that make sense?"

  Timmy nodded.

  Barry ran his hands through his hair, shaking out the dirt. "He said I wasn't any son of his. Right before we fell."

  "That's not true."

  "Yeah, it is. He may have been my old man, biologically, but I ain't his son. No way. I'm Page 138

  nothing like him, and I'm never gonna be. I swear it."

  Karen stepped forward. "Can we go?"

  "What about the other woman?" Timmy asked. "Deb? We can't just leave her down here."

  "Where is she?" Barry stared at Karen's breasts, then quickly looked away.

  "Back there somewhere." Timmy pointed past the pile of dirt choking the tunnel.

  "We'll have to dig through that."

  "With what," Barry snorted. "Our bare hands?" Karen climbed up the backhoe. "We'll get help. They can send a rescue squad in to dig her out, just like they do when a mine collapses. I' m not waiting for that thing to come back. She might not even be alive anymore. She was pretty… out of it. I think her mind went after the first time the ghoul…"

  Rather than finishing the sentence, she turned her face skyward. Timmy and Barry watched her climb. Barry leaned close and whispered in his ear.

  "Do you think the ghoul is dead?"

  "I don't know," Timmy said. "My eyes were shut. I didn't see where it went."

  "What about Doug? Did you find him?"

  Timmy lowered his head. His lip quivered. "Yeah. He's… I don't want to talk about it right now."

  "Shit."

  "Yeah."

  Karen shimmied up the rear scoop's arm. When she reached the ceiling, she looked back down at them.

  "You guys coming?"

  Nodding, the boys climbed onto the backhoe. Barry started up first, followed by Timmy. Timmy had only ascended a few feet when he heard a soft rustling noise. He glanced down at the mound of debris. It was moving.

  "Shit. Go, go, go!"

  "What is it?" Barry stopped, looking down in concern.

  "Just go," Timmy screamed. "Hurry!"

  A clawed hand erupted from the dirt, followed by another. Several of the ghoul' s talons had been ripped away, and its fingers were bleeding. Its arms thrust forward, followed by its pointed, oversized head. Its yellow eyes smoldered with rage. Screaming, Barry began climbing again. Timmy pushed on his feet, urging him to go faster.

  The ghoul sprang from the mound and shook off the dirt. Then it rose to its full height.

  "My bride!" It beckoned to Karen. "Return now, and I shall not hurt you." With a shriek, Karen pulled herself up to the surface and out into the light. Barry and Timmy climbed higher.

  "No," the ghoul roared. "No, no, no, no, no. I will not allow this. My kind must live again. You will not take away my chance at parentage."

  It leaped onto the backhoe. The scoop arm rocked back and forth, and both boys had to cling tight to keep from falling. Like a spider, the ghoul raced up the side of the machine, its long arms and legs scrabbling for purchase. Barry reached the top and heaved himself over the side onto solid ground. He extended his hand down into the hole and Timmy grasped it.

  "Hurry," Barry shouted. "It's almost on you." Timmy pushed with his legs and reached the top. The ghoul was directly beneath him. He could feel its breath on his ankles; hear it hissing wit
h rage. Then it howled but this time, the sound was different.

  Timmy crawled out of the hole and glanced back down. The dim sunlight had touched Page 139

  the ghoul' s arm, and the pale flesh sizzled. The slime coating the appendage bubbled and popped, and a thin line of smoke curled upward.

  "Come on." Barry grabbed Timmy's arm and pulled him to his feet. Timmy shrugged him off and stared in horrified fascination, absolutely transfixed as the ghoul's arm continued to smolder.

  "Timmy, let's go!"

  Barry shoved him forward. Timmy stumbled, and then followed. They ran between the tombstones. Karen sprinted ahead of them, heading for the church. The sun 's upper half had cleared the treetops now, and the blue light of predawn had given way to the red glow of sunrise.

  "No. My family…" The ghoul emerged from the crevice. Smoke billowed from its body as the light touched its flesh. Even as they ran, the boys heard it sizzling behind them. Still, it pursued them with determination, screaming for Karen to come back. As they neared the church, the creature 's shouts faded. Timmy turned and stared.

  The ghoul writhed in the grass, its body contorted with pain. Timmy had once found a slug on his parent' s sidewalk, and had poured salt over the unfortunate creature. He was reminded of that now. The ghoul ' s pale flesh sloughed away each time the monster moved. The muscles and tissue beneath bubbled and burned. A layer of white foam covered everything. Timmy expected the ghoul to explode, like in the movies and comic books, but instead, it simply pawed at the earth, making pathetic mewling sounds and watching Karen race away. Even after its eyes had melted and run out onto the ground, its head remained upright and pointed in her direction.

  "My… family…"

  The boys watched until there was nothing left but a bubbling puddle. And then Timmy began to cry. He thought about their attack on Catcher, the guilt and shame he'd felt after the fact. Like Doug had said, the dog wasn' t a monster. It was just doing what it was supposed to do. What it had been bred to do. Protecting it 's home. When they' d attacked, and Catcher had run around in a circle, yelping and whining and pawing at his eyes, he hadn 't looked like a monster. He'd looked pitiful. Timmy stared at the stewing remains of the ghoul. It didn't look like a monster anymore.