The only emotion Barry felt was an overwhelming surge of relief.
It quickly turned to anger--and fear--when his father opened one eye and stared at him in surprise.
“B-Barry? Wha...”
That was all. He closed his eye. Barry stepped backward, making sure he was out of reach, and then he shot him again. This time, his father's hand twitched feebly. Barry sat the flashlight on a tombstone and approached him cautiously, ready to run if the old man showed any sign of moving more than he had.
He didn't. His chest rose and fell very slightly, but that was all. Barry shoved the barrel of the BB pistol in his face, just inches from his eye. He knelt in the grass, careful to avoid the shards of broken glass. Slowly, he reached into his father 's pocket with his free hand and retrieved the keys. They jingled. His father groaned, but lay still. Barry stood up and hurried away. He grabbed the flashlight and headed for the utility shed.
The faint glow on the horizon was spreading.
Barry reached the shed doors and fumbled for the right key. He held it up to the lock and then cursed out loud. In their panic, in their hurry to rescue Doug, both he and Timmy had forgotten about the new lock.
He threw the keys at the shed. They bounced off the wall and landed in the grass.
Barry ran back over to his father and knelt beside him. He grabbed his father's face in his hands, careful not to touch the wounds, and shook him.
“Dad, what's the combination to the shed?”
His father didn't reply. His eyes twitched, but he made no sound.
“Dad! Wake up. What's the combination?”
Clark mumbled, "S''nother bottle inshide."
“Goddamn it!”
Barry stood up, stalked back over to the shed, and surveyed his father's repair job. The old window had been boarded up, and the plywood sheeting looked thick and strong. He glanced around for something to pry it with, but the ground was barren. His eyes settied on a metal plate stuck into the ground at the foot of a grave. The plate informed him that the man who was buried there, Mick Wagner, had died in service to his country in Korea. Barry ripped the plate from the ground.
The edges were blunt and narrow. He wedged it between the boards and pushed. The nails creaked. The board moved. Spirits rising, Barry dropped the sign, stood back, and kicked the plywood. The sole of his sneaker absorbed most of the impact, but his foot throbbed. The pain was nothing compared to how the rest of his body felt.
Clenching his teeth, he kicked the board again. The plywood clattered to the floor inside.
Barry grabbed the flashlight, clicked it on, and cautiously crawled through the window.
He'd been inside the utility shed thousands of times, but it had never scared him until now. In the darkness, once familiar shapes now became something sinister lurking in the corner.
He stood overtop the hole in the center of the floor and listened, hoping to hear an indication that his friends were still down there-- and alive. Instead, he was greeted by silence.
He found the crowbar, went back outside, and pried the hasp off the doors, lock and all. The doors swung open. Barry retrieved his father's keys, climbed up onto the backhoe, and crossed his fingers. Taking a deep breath, he inserted the key into the ignition and turned it.
The backhoe roared to life.
Exhaling, Barry turned on the headlights and drove it out into the graveyard. Awoken by the rumbling engine, his father stirred, glancing about slowly.
Shit, Barry thought, If he regains consciousness he could screw this whole thing up.
Leaving the engine running, he put the backhoe in park and hopped down. He ran back into the shed, found some long black bungee cords, and wrapped them around his father 's chest, abdomen, and shoulders, tying him to the monument. After making sure they were tight, Barry stood back and smiled.
His old man had fallen unconscious again.
Barry spit in his face.
The sky grew lighter.
The tunnel broadened and all at once, Timmy found himself stepping into a large, roughly circular chamber. He gasped, not so much from fright, but from the scene before him. The dirt floor was littered with bones and other body fragments. A shattered skull stared back at him. His flashlight beam disappeared into its hollow eyes. The ceiling was high, much higher than in the network of tunnels, and Timmy got the impression that he was deep below the cemetery now. It felt like the earth itself was pressing down on him. But neither the bones nor the atmosphere were what made him gasp.
It was the women.
There were two of them. Katie's older sister, Karen, and another woman whom Timmy didn't recognize. He assumed that she was the missing woman he'd heard about on the news. Both of them were dressed in rags, their clothing soiled and torn to shreds. Despite his overwhelming dread, Timmy felt a dark thrill go through him at the sight of Karen Moore's breasts. He immediately felt guilty, but his eyes were drawn back to them again.
They were covered with red scratches. Both women's hands and feet were bound with thick roots and vines, tied together in crude knots, and then looped around large, heavy logs, insuring that they wouldn 't escape. A corner of the chamber was covered with feces; most of it theirs, he assumed.
The larger piles probably belonged to the ghoul itself. The two women huddled together on a pile of straw and grass, staring at Timmy with wide, horrified eyes.
“Um.” He wasn't sure what to say.
“I... know you ...” Karen spoke haltingly, hesitant, as if she'd forgotten how to talk--or was afraid to. Her voice was hoarse and scratchy. “From ... church?”
Swallowing, Timmy nodded. “Yeah, you do. I'm Timmy Graco, Randy and Elizabeth Graco's son. I'm your sister's ...”-- he started to say boyfriend, but caught himself --“... friend.”
The other woman said nothing. She simply stared at him, that frozen, horrified expression never leaving her face.
Timmy smiled, trying to reassure them.
“Are you okay?” he asked Karen.
She nodded slowly, as if unsure what the word meant. "I... we--it hurt us. Did ...
things."
Karen began to make clicking sounds in her throat. She looked as if she might start screaming. Slowly, Timmy stepped toward them. The other woman shrank away, pressing her back against the dirt wall.
“Look,” Timmy said, keeping his voice calm and soft, “I've come to rescue you. I'll get you out of here.”
Both women whimpered. Tears rolled down Karen's dirty face. The other woman fixated on the knife in Timmy's hand.
“It's okay,” he whispered. “I'm just going to use it to cut you free.”
She shook her head, trembling harder.
“Her name is ... Deb,” Karen rasped. "Her first night here ... all she did was scream.
She ... hasn't said anything since."
Timmy sawed at Karen's bonds first, so that with any luck, Deb would see he didn't mean them any harm. This close to them, he tried to ignore their nudity. It was easier than he'd imagined. Both captives stank of unwashed bodies and something else-- something fishy, almost like almonds or ammonia. He was afraid to ask what it was.
Their pale skin was covered with cuts and scratches and a fine sheen of dried blood and the ghoul's slime. When he was finished freeing her, Karen rubbed her wrists and ankles. Both had red circles where the vines had rubbed the flesh raw. As her circulation returned, he moved over to the other woman. She cowered, moving as far away from him as she could.
“It's okay,” Timmy said. “I promise. I'm just going to get you loose, like I did her.”
She shook her head and turned away from him, squeezing her eyes shut.
Timmy sighed in exasperation. “Why doesn't she believe me?”
“Because,” Karen said, “she thinks you're going to ... do what he's been doing to us.”
“Who?”
Karen frowned. “That thing.”
“The ghoul?”
She nodded. “Is that what it is?”
Rather than answering, Timmy tried again to free the frightened woman.
“Don't scream,” he told her. “I'm not going to hurt you.”
He raised the knife, and she whined, the start of a shriek building in her throat.
“Okay,” he said, and dropped the knife again. “Shhh. Don't scream. It's okay. I put it down.”
Her scream turned into a fearful sigh.
Timmy turned to Karen. “Do you know where it is now?”
“It feeds at night. Usually comes back just before dawn. That's when it... that's when it happens. After that, it sleeps.”
Timmy paused, listening for the sounds of the backhoe. He didn't hear anything. He wondered if he'd even be able to hear it this far below the surface.
“The sun will be up soon,” he told Karen. "We've got to get you both out of here before the ghoul comes back. See if you can help me cut her loose. Then the two of you head straight down that tunnel. It goes for a long way, but keep following it."
“What about you?”
“I've got to find my friend, Doug Keiser. Do you know him?”
She paused; then nodded. "Fat kid? Yeah, I know him. Hangs around with you and the Smeltzer kid. I remember now. All three of you guys used to talk to Pat... he liked you. I'd forgotten. Forgot about... Pat."
Her face blanched, and Timmy thought she might scream. Instead she swooned. He propped her up while she shook against him, her entire body quivering.
“Is he okay?” she asked. “Pat--is he alive?”
“Yeah,” Timmy lied. “Sure. Help me get Deb loose and we'll go see him, okay?”
She nodded. Steadying herself, she rose to her feet.
Timmy shined the flashlight back to Deb. This time she met his gaze. Her lower lip trembled.
“Please,” Timmy said. “I need to help my friend. Let me help you first, okay?”
Her nod was barely perceptible, but she consented in silence. Timmy began cutting her bonds.
“Hurry,” Karen urged.
“I'm going as fast as I can. This knife wouldn't cut a wet monkey.”
Karen frowned at the odd statement. Timmy grinned, and tried to squelch the sudden sadness that overcame him. It had been a long-time private joke between him, Barry, and Doug. Doug had first uttered it one night when they were camping out, and the phrase had never failed to make all three of them laugh.
Now, it just made Timmy want to cry.
“Have you seen Doug down here? I can't leave without him.”
The vines and roots around Deb's wrists and ankles fell away. She still looked afraid. Trying to ease her fears, Timmy sat the pocketknife down and backed away from it, still crouched at eye level with the frightened woman.
“We haven't seen him,” Karen said. “But why would he have been down here in the first place? Was he helping you?”
Before Timmy could respond, there was a rustling sound behind them. Deb screamed-- a hoarse, wretched sound, like gargling with glass. She clawed at the dirt and stared over Timmy's shoulder. At the same time, Timmy became aware of a faint illumination spreading throughout the chamber. It wasn't much, but it was definitely noticeable-- a pale, flickering luminescence, much like the light cast by the slime. The foul stench that permeated the entire tunnel network suddenly became stronger.
And then something hissed. It sounded like air rushing from a punctured tire.
Karen shrieked. Deb pressed against the wall. The hairs on the back of Timmy's neck prickled. He was afraid to turn around, afraid that if he did, he might pee his pants.
But he did anyway, and came face to face with Doug.
His best friend's disembodied head swung back and forth like a pendulum, dangling from the ghoul's left hand. Its long, curved talons gripped Doug's hair. The creature stood in the entranceway to the chamber, blocking their escape.
It looked nothing like the monsters depicted in Timmy 's comic books. Naked, its body was almost completely devoid of hair, except for between its legs and a few long strands along its body. It was thin, but its limbs were knotted with corded muscles and its stomach bulged considerably, as if it were pregnant.
Its white skin was covered in filth, and yet still shone with an eerie incandescence.
It had yellow, baleful eyes, a pointed head, and thick black lips that resembled two pieces of raw liver. Its mouth and face were slicked with fresh blood. The ghoul 's gray tongue flicked out and licked some away. Then it grinned, revealing pointed teeth. They looked very sharp.
“Are you looking for this, child?” Its voice was like sandpaper.
Timmy couldn't speak.
The ghoul held Doug's head aloft. “A friend of yours, yes? He was succulent. A fine repast, indeed. The fat melted in my mouth. For too long I have fed on carrion. I wonder how you will taste.”
Timmy shouted at Karen to run, but even as he did, he realized there was nowhere to run to. His voice sounded very small and afraid. He couldn't take his eyes off Doug's head.
“You are trespassing in my home,” the ghoul said. “Disturbing my mates, and threatening discord amongst my tribe. You should not have come here.”
Growling, the ghoul flung Doug's head at them and then leapt. Timmy flung his hands up in front of his face and dodged right. Karen jumped to the left. The head bounced off the wall, knocking soil loose, and then rolled across the floor. The ghoul followed behind it, landing in front of Deb. Teeth snapping, it whirled toward Timmy.
With a frantic, shrill scream, Deb seized the pocketknife with both hands and plunged the blade into the creature's groin. The ghoul shuddered, then howled. Its hands cradled its wounded testicles.
Blood spilled through its fingers. Timmy stared at it in horror, then glanced back down at Doug's head. His dead, sightless eyes seemed to be staring right at Timmy.
“Run!” Karen grabbed his arm and led him toward the exit.
As they fled, Timmy glanced over his shoulder. Bellowing with pain and rage, the ghoul ripped the knife free. Still on her knees, Deb lashed out with her bare hands, striking at the creature. It struck back, knocking her to the floor with one swipe of its massive hand. Then it turned and faced them.
“I will kill you slowly, boy.”
Timmy ran.
The backhoe's front scoop gouged at the earth. The engine coughed, but kept running.