Wake Up Dead - an Undead Anthology (6 page)

With that idea in mind, she ended up staying at the office long past her regular work hours, phoning every prior donor in the books and appealing to them to back the shelter again. She met with some success, but not enough to make up for the loss of Mrs. Fuller by a significant stretch. Skye realized that she would have to repeat this process for many a night if there would be any hope of making ends meet, not to mention coming up with novel ideas for fundraisers on the weekends. She would be suffering for Dr. Taurian’s meddling, as would be her somewhat neglected pets if she were to put in the additional time that would be required.

It was early evening, just after sunset when Skye finally dragged her tired body back out to her hybrid again. She was so fatigued that she almost forgot to pick up the sunscreen that she had been nagging herself to get. She was already part of the way home when she finally remembered and she had to double back to the pharmacy on Green Street, the last one en route to her house. As she reached for her usual brand and SPF, she heard a voice that made her blood turn to ice in her veins.

Despite only having met him once, Skye would know that velvety tone and enchanting chuckle anywhere. Dr. Taurian – Odin, was making a pre-shift purchase, and chatting up the store clerk while he was there. Skye turned to look and saw him leaning casually up against the counter, sucking the girl in with his winning smile and flirtatious banter. It was shameful, really. The clerk was giggly, and her cheeks were flushed, responding positively to his charms. She was much too young for him, likely jail bait. Skye guessed the girl was seventeen at most.

Skye tried to control her temper as she watched the man wrap the clerk around his little finger and tease her mercilessly, but Skye’s rage boiled and surfaced and she was red-faced and breathing heavily by the time he departed for the clinic. He had probably used similar tactics and flattery to win Hannah over and steal her away. He had exercised his suave charms to take advantage of a lonely old woman, perhaps making her feel a little younger again in the process.

Skye wanted to give him a serious piece of her mind. Better yet, beyond just confronting him, she wanted to spy on him and maybe get some idea why he felt compelled to encourage support for the city shelter in the first place. Most veterinarians despised euthanasia, using it only when an animal was terminally ill or in severe pain. Why was Odin so willing to volunteer his services?

Her exhaustion fell away to adrenaline when she advanced upon the counter to pay for her sunscreen. The clerk’s cheeks were still rosier than normal and the girl still seemed a little flustered as she rang Skye’s purchase through. Tucking the plastic tube away in her purse, Skye headed out onto the sidewalk.

She knew that she should have made her way back to her car, and continued on home to tend to her animals and then fall into bed, but the notion of finding out exactly what Dr. Taurian was up to niggled at her brain and would not let her leave well enough alone. She found herself walking away from her car instead, and towards the clinic.

The place where they incinerated the bodies of the animals lay behind the clinic, carefully constructed to code for medical wastes and located on Green Street specifically for zoning purposes. Skye was suddenly possessed by the idea that if something unusual were going on, evidence would be found waiting for incineration. She approached their crematorium with the intention of playing investigator, but as she reached the rear of the building, she heard the back exit begin to open and she was forced to hide, taking cover next to the incinerator behind a dumpster there.

The door opened, and in the dim glow illuminating the space by the crematorium, Skye could just barely make out the form of Dr. Taurian as he stepped out. He walked a couple of paces forward so then she could see his face from her hiding place and he paused, looking a little perplexed, with his brow creasing and his eyes narrowing as if sensing something in the air. With the slightest of shrugs, he continued, striding over to what appeared to be a basement door, unlocking and opening it, and then descending out of sight.

Skye did not dare move, not knowing how long he would be down there and waited instead for his return. He emerged a few moments later with a box, which he carried over to the incinerator and placed upon the ground, just within her view. There were small shapes within it, flattened and shrivelled, and Skye only barely managed to suppress a cry when she realized that they were dead animals, more than should have easily fit within the box. They did not look the way a euthanized creature should look, but instead appeared to have been drained of all fluid. These bone dry corpses would burn quickly and easily, incinerating in a flash.

Her hand over her mouth, Skye watched as Dr. Taurian tossed the withered little bodies one by one into the crematorium. He then ignited it and flinging the empty box aside, he re-entered the clinic through the back door. Once he was gone, she stepped out and glanced around. There was no way of preserving the evidence that he had discarded in the incinerator, probably fully ablaze by this point, but Skye noted that he had left the basement door unlocked. Perhaps, she thought to herself, she would find more examples of his strange practices there. She crept over to the basement door, and pulled it open.

It was dark inside, the faint light from the back of the clinic extending only a few stairs in. Skye had no idea where the inside light switch would be and she started to descend very slowly and carefully, feeling around at the walls as she went.

Without warning, there was suddenly a painful blow to the small of her back that propelled her forward, like someone landing their foot there with a full force kick. Flailing her arms out in an unsuccessful attempt to grab at an unseen railing, or anything that might be extending out from the wall, she found herself plummeting. When she finally collided with hard cement floor in the blackness, she felt bones crack and break, and excruciating pain. In the shock of the moment, the world faded away.

Skye came around a few moments later, still in complete darkness and horrible agony. She tried to call for help out, but found that she could barely draw in a breath, and her scream came out only as a whimper. She heard quiet footsteps on the stairs behind her, as someone descended into the basement with her.

“Help me,” she pleaded, with her voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m badly hurt. I’m sure that I’ve broken something, maybe even my back. Please, you have to help me.”

Skye heard the person approach her and kneel beside her on the floor. Her potential saviour leaned over her, and she felt the person’s breath on her face. It was not warm as she was expecting, however – it was icy cold.

“So, this is how it has to be, Ms. Henshaw. You could not leave well enough alone.”

She recognized that voice, with its velvety tone. Skye flinched at the sound of it, and yelped as the sudden movement launched another searing pain through her body.

“What are you going to do to me?” she whispered hoarsely.

“I never wanted to hurt anyone, understand, just live my life in peace. I fed when I had to, and then this beautiful solution was presented to me, an optimal situation considering my background and skill-set. But you had to meddle didn’t you? And now look at how things stand. Pity – I liked you, and more than just because you smelled so...delicious,” Dr. Taurian’s mouth was next to her ear now and Skye could hear him inhaling. Terrified, her heart pounded in her chest and her mouth had gone dry.

“What?” she gasped, little more than a squeak.

“They weren’t enough, you know. I was always so hungry. I needed more, or I might slip again. I didn’t want to slip again. I was hoping the expansion at the city shelter was the answer, but you wouldn’t let it rest, and now you know my secret.”

He paused and she felt a tongue flick out and lick at her ear.

“Ahhh – you’re bleeding,” he moaned, ravenously . It was a deep guttural sound and it made Skye shiver.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Don’t do this...let me go. I won’t tell. I won’t tell.”

“No, you won’t; I’ll see to that. You made this more convenient by coming here. I won’t have to drag you out to Capstick Park . You’ll be much easier to dispose of.”

When Dr. Taurian spoke, his lips brushed her ear, as well as the points of his fangs. Skye cringed, trying to squirm away from him, and again she could barely move without being wracked by pain. She squealed in response, which extended into her first truly audible shriek as he grabbed her and yanked her towards him, nuzzling at her neck and panting.

“A caterwaul,” he insisted. “There are animals screaming down here all the time. They’ll chock it up to nothing but a caterwaul.”

Her tormentor sighed as he lapped at her jaw-line, pressing his body against her. Skye trembled from the hurt and shook from her great gasping sobs.

“Don’t worry,” Dr. Taurian whispered. “I realize that you are suffering terribly. I’m very humane. I’m an expert in euthanasia. It will only sting briefly, while I put you out of your misery...”

SUGAR SKULLS

Rebecca Snow

The crickets screeched like fingers down a blackboard as Jesse stopped outside the locked iron gate. Darkness soaked though the cemetery like the tears he’d cried into his father’s handkerchief seven years ago when the old woman had died. The chirping insects silenced as a figure stumbled close to where Jesse stood. The council laws stated that as long as he stayed a few steps away from the bars, he was safe. The extra chains looped around the entrance gate kept the walkers at bay but did nothing for the festive atmosphere the evening used to hold.

The hike to the graveyard on this late October evening had taken longer than he’d remembered. He wasn’t surprised because he didn’t often take the trip at night, and the wakeful hoots of owls and scuffling of possums made him stop at random intervals to listen for the shuffling step of the dead. After the three years of a sort of siege, the council proclaimed that the town was safe enough with the walking corpses isolated in the boneyards. Jesse wondered what happened when someone died in his sleep or was killed in an accident. They couldn’t keep everyone under lock and key twenty-four hours a day. It was safer to be careful, so Jesse took his time.

Reaching into the paper sack he carried, the teenager fumbled open a damp book of matches. His trembling fingers fumbled several times as he tried to find a match that would catch fire and then several more to ignite the wick in his lantern. When he’d closed the globe around the flame, his gaze returned to the bars. Arms stretched to their limits trying to grasp any part of his living form. Skin peeling like onions flaked from the underlying tissue. Bones jutted in odd angles having punctured through the surrounding flesh.

The lamplight flickered across the dead faces. Their mouths hung open as they hissed and moaned for him to come closer. Jesse’s feet remained rooted to the spot where he stood. He lifted the lamp higher to illuminate the crowding corpses. Deceased friends and neighbors swayed in the dancing shadows. Old Mr. Barstow’s good Sunday suit hung from his emaciated frame. Dirt from his dig to the surface crusted the edges of his wedding band. Jesse remembered how Mrs. Barstow had howled at the funeral. Two weeks later, she’d walked in front of a bus. Scanning the small crowd, Jesse didn’t see her. She’d had a closed casket service, so there was a good chance that she was stuck eight feet under without enough motor control to tunnel through the soil. His second grade math teacher thrashed at the bars as if remembering the snake he’d put in her desk drawer. The entire library staff huddled in a pack ready to pick apart any unwary live patron who happened to intrude. Jesse found it strange that the dead still collected in the groups they’d formed in life. A guard passed, tipping his hat to the boy.

“Evening, sir,” Jesse said.

The man’s eyes twinkled. He flashed Jesse a quick grin before continuing on his circuit around the barricade.

A familiar floral pattern fluttered at the back of the crowd. Jesse took a few sideways hopping steps before he could make out any part of the body shrouded by the blossomy, moth-eaten cotton. He bounced, bobbing and weaving, as he tried to catch a glimpse of the clambering cadaver.

Finally, it broke free of the shuffling stiffs and dragged itself toward the fence. Leathery, cracked skin was drawn close to the bones as the arms shot through the bars. Skeletal fingers opened and closed as if attempting to revive a lifeless heart. The jaw hung slack, showcasing several empty spaces. The dentures had been lost long ago. Even so, a mummified smile lingered.

“Gramma,” Jesse whispered. “Gramma, it’s me, Jesse.”

The brittle hand continued to squeeze and release, squeeze and release. A hiss rattled from the gaping mouth. The lantern’s flame sliced the dead woman’s face with shadow bars from the wrought iron rods. Dried soil crumbled from beneath her ragged nails. Her clouded eyes flicked in their sockets in a mad search for the young man’s voice. A second guard’s footsteps trickled past.

Jesse spread a patterned blue blanket on the ground just out of reach of the decaying fingers. Squatting next to the thick wool, he felt around in the crinkling bag and removed a small potted marigold. He peeled off the price sticker and set the container on an uneven patch of ground. When it toppled, a bit of dark soil confettied the lighter dirt. Jesse righted the wobbling plant. With the toe of his boot, he scooted the green plastic pot toward the bars. His hand disappeared again into the open sack and removed a few small wreaths of the orange flowers. He rose to his feet.

“Sandy made these for you,” Jesse said. “You remember Sandy. My little sister.” He smiled into his grandmother’s dead eyes and draped the flower rings around her wrists. “She wanted to come, too, but you know Mom.” Jesse lowered his eyes to survey a clump of dry grass. Strands of his dark hair curtained his forehead. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”