Barry dropped the dirt to the side and then dug up another scoop full. A yawning crevice appeared beneath the soil--a tunnel, sloping downward at a sharp incline. He'd decided to use the front scoop rather than the back scoop to save time, and the results were worth it. Behind him, the cemetery looked like it had been infested with giant groundhogs. Holes and collapsed graves dotted the landscape. He drove on a few more yards, his progress slowed by weaving the big machine around the tombstones, and then started digging again.
Barry glanced at the sky and saw that it was getting brighter. The first true rays of sunlight crept over the horizon. But here on the ground, it was still dark. He tried to go faster. The backhoe's oversized tires ran overtop a small gravestone. He began digging again, dragging the scoop through the dirt, making trenches instead of holes.
The back end lurched and Barry glanced around. The left rear tire had fallen into the earth. The dirt had collapsed beneath it, and Barry saw that he was sitting on top of a tunnel. Trying to maneuver away before the entire thing caved in, he gunned the engine. The motor thrummed.
When his father began shouting, Barry didn't hear him.
Timmy and Karen plunged through the darkness, running as fast as they could. The flashlight beam bounced off the walls and floor, jostled by the exertion. Timmy let Karen lead the way, but her captivity had left her weak, and she kept stumbling and slowing down. Timmy urged her on. Behind them, he heard the sounds of pursuit. The ghoul howled, sputtering curses and threats. Its feet pounded on the dirt floor.
The tunnels echoed with its harsh, ragged breathing. Karen clambered over the splintered wood from a broken casket, and Timmy urged her to move faster. He cast a terrified glance over his shoulder and saw the ghoul narrowing the distance between them. It ran hunched over, one hand still cradling its wounded groin. It looked like a ghost, the phosphorescent slime glowing all around it as it neared them.
“Hurry.” Timmy pushed her legs.
“I'm trying.”
They cleared the barrier and kept running. Karen stumbled over a rock, but regained her balance. She gasped for air. Timmy was tiring as well. Despite days spent riding bikes and hiking through the woods, he was at the limits of his physical endurance.
His lungs burned, and his leg muscles were beginning to cramp. A sharp pain jolted through his ribs. Clenching his teeth, he rubbed the side-stitch and tried to keep moving.
“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 sound-- the 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 noise-- a 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 half-dried 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? Cold--in 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.
"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 ash-gray 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 wound-- or 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 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 teetered 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 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.