“I’m his niece, but... no. You’re fine there, sir. Please, feel free to rest.” She hesitated and indicated the family tomb. “One of the ladies interred here was super kind to people — and, of course, animals.” Hayley wasn’t sure why, but she felt a tremendous empathy for the man. He was so down and out. So down and out that he had to sleep in a cemetery. “Please, I’ll just slip away. And I’m sorry, my crazy cousin is having a slumber party, so there will be some noise.”
She had an unopened water bottle stuffed in the pocket of her jacket. She pulled it out and set it at the end of the bench, smiling at him. “Have a nice night,” she said. “And try to ignore us.”
“Thank you,” he said.
Hayley hurried back out to the main lane in the cemetery, ready to catch up with her friends as they set up for the night in front of the Barclay family mausoleum. Tommy was busy using the little plastic hammer that had come with one of the tents to get the stake to stay in the ground just off the gravel path.
Frank had come with a battery-operated “fire-log” and he was setting it up on the gravel. Marcy, giving instructions, was telling them tents would be on the grass next to the Barclay tomb, the fire “thingy” would be on the gravel, and whoever was telling the story would sit on a little mat by the light from the fire “thingy” and the others could lie on their sleeping bags in the tents.
She was just finishing her instructions when Mary, who had wandered a bit farther along the dirt and gravel central path, started to scream. Scream and scream.
“What the hell?” Tommy demanded. A stray cloud danced across the moon; what light they had paled — and the shadows seemed to darken and grow.
As he walked toward her, Mary turned and threw herself into his arms, half screaming, half shouting out gibberish.
“What, please, Mary, what?” Tommy begged.
“Oh, God! Oh, God, oh God!” Frank breathed at his side, pointing.
The stray cloud covering the moon had moved on. And they could all see.
There was rigging between two tombs, ropes that stretched from one small family tomb to another.
They were tied to...
A corpse. One that was barely real... bones, bits of flesh, pieces of cloth, and a skull with hair and ravaged pieces of cheeks and lips still attached. Hayley stared, stunned.
Tommy Hilliard, tough Tommy Hilliard, let out a scream that might have wakened the dead.
Then they all turned to run; Tommy was so rattled he pushed away from Mary who had been leaning on him. Mary fell, Frank leaped over her.
Marcy still gaped; Hayley came to and rushed for the fallen Mary, along with Art, who had also retained some of his senses. But even as they helped Mary to her feet, Hayley could hear laughter — high-pitched, delighted feminine laughter.
She stood still.
Tiffany Myers, unable to control her amusement, walked out from behind one of the tombs from where the body had been hung. She tossed her long, blonde hair over her shoulder as she appeared, followed by Bobby McGill, who dressed as the “wolf” mascot for their high school games.
Bobby was a sweet guy, but always on the periphery. He hadn’t made the team; he was a little bit pudgy and had never managed to clear up his acne.
And normally, Hayley thought, Tiffany wouldn’t have given him the time of day.
“You, oh, my God! You, Tommy Hilliard! That was hysterical. All of you! Big, brave kids — going to spend the night in the cemetery. Wow. Thankfully, I have this all recorded on my phone. Oh, my God! It’s going to be so wonderful!” She started to laugh again, and she turned and stared at Marcy, “Wow, honey, I guess your cemetery party is really — dead! You forgot to invite me but, hey, not to worry — I wouldn’t really want to be in here with this group of silly cowards. Oh, lord, Marcy, you should have seen yourself. Some grave-digger’s daughter you are.”
“People are interred here, Tiffany. My dad has never dug a grave.”
“Whatever. Oh, my God, that was too good. Bobby, come along now. You were a big help, but I have other things I need to do, other people to see... oh, that was too, too, funny!”
Shrieking with laughter, she started down the path that led to the main gates, followed by Bobby McGill.
Tommy started to go after her; Marcy caught his arm.
“Tommy—”
“Marcy, not to worry. That was sick; she’s had it with me. Maybe we will all go into the house for the night. But I want her phone.” He turned suddenly, wincing. “Mary, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to knock you down. I really did freak.” He stared at the corpse. “And it’s just a leftover Halloween decoration. I don’t know why I didn’t see that!”
“Guys,” Hayley said. “I’ll go after her. I’m not — well, you know. I’m not local anymore — I mean, I’m not in school with you guys. I’ll see if I can reason with her before she gets out. If I need to, I’ll threaten that I’m going to call Officer Claymore, or... I don’t know. Let me try.”
She hoped they listened to her — if Tommy accosted Tiffany, it might get nasty. Tiffany was in a mood.
Tommy was a big guy.
Hayley didn’t want anyone getting hurt.
She heard footsteps behind her and swung around. It was Art.
“Hey, Hayley, I’m not going to speak, just follow, make sure you’re alright, okay?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Hayley had followed a path that led straight to the main gates. But she’d been wrong, apparently. Tiffany didn’t seem to be along the path anywhere. Hayley turned back to Art.
Art shook his head. “She really thinks she can do anything to anyone. I keep hoping that graduation will make a change — get Tommy away from her. Tommy is really okay, you know?”
“I, um, I guess,” Hayley told him. “I’m not in school, but... I mean, anyway — we need to find Tiffany. Right now, I want to deal with her and not Tommy.”
“You know the place, right? Which way?” Art asked.
She hesitated. “She could have cut across to the entrance on Lafitte Court. There’s no street that way, just an alley and then the back of some houses. But if her car is on the road—”
“She would just have to walk down the alley to reach it. Of course, she could crawl over the wall in some places,” he said, pausing to grimace, “but she might break a nail.”
Hayley smiled. “We can cut through here.”
Barclay Cemetery was, from the air, laid out in a cross. There were two main paths through it — one with the center tomb being the Barclay tomb, and the one that crossed. Hayley led Art in a zigzag to reach that center path down from where Marcy and the others waited.
She didn’t want to report failure yet.
The moon was riding high again. Hayley had known the cemetery forever, but she still noted, by the moonlight, the beauty of the tombs, built more like a Colonial or Victorian house than homes for the remains of the dead. Most of the vaults or mausoleums were clean and painted; on some, the owners were far away and long gone from the area. Hayley’s uncle tried to keep up with them, but the space was large, and while there was only an occasional burial now and then, it was an active cemetery, and he tended to be a busy man.
Here and there, the tombs were covered with the darkness of age. Every now and then, a rusty old gate swung open on its hinges; weeds grew up around the tombs, and the atmosphere of death and decaying elegance was heavy. And still...
“She’s done it again,” Art said, shaking his head. “Bitch! She knew we’d come after her. Well, hell, I’m not screaming or staring like a fool again!”
Hayley stopped in her tracks. He was looking toward the gate. Between the last family tombs in the row, connecting ropes were stretched out again. Gargoyles, crosses, any piece of funerary art had been used for the anchors.