Watching, Regina saw the surface of an ornate coffin revealed. She was startled at the shallowness of the grave. The coffin couldn’t have been more than a few inches below the surface of the ground.
The hatchet was being used now to pry the lid off the coffin. It took a few moments, and then the cover was lifted out of the shallow grave and set to one side. Regina caught a quick glimpse of the contents of the coffin before another oilcloth was produced from the folds of the slicker and spread over the cadaver to guard it against the torrential rain.
Despite the dim light, Regina made out the body of Faith Venable. She was dressed in a simple white linen dress. Her arms were crossed over her small breasts. Her eyes were closed and her cheeks were flushed in a remarkable simulation of life. There was a half-smile on her lips.
Completely wrapped in the oilcloth now, the body was removed from the coffin. It was slung over one shoulder, the tools and flashlight were retrieved, and the burdened figure in the slicker and rain-hat started back towards the graveyard gate.
Regina was shaking with cold horror. She was so sick with it that she didn’t even notice that she’d planted her exposed bottom in a puddle. Nevertheless, a moment after the light vanished from sight, she slowly started after it.
She spied it again when she reached the clearing. It was obvious that the figure’s destination was the lean-to. Regina circled to approach it from a different direction. She wanted to get as close as possible.
Luck was with her. She found a small clump of bushes to conceal herself behind only a few yards from the structure. From this vantage point, she had a clear view into its interior.
The view was made possible by the fact that two large candelabras, each containing six large lit candles, had been arranged on a long, low table set up there, one at either end. They were set in such a way that the corners of the lean-to shielded them from the howling wind blowing from the other direction. The body of Faith Venable was stretched out between them. It was no longer covered by the oilcloth. The figure in the slicker stood over it, facing the bushes behind which Regina was hiding.
A flash of lightning spotlighted a head that was thrown back, wildly unfocused eyes, muscles standing out on neck and jaw, a face as chalk-white and bloodless as that of the corpse over which it poised. The mouth was open, but the sounds coming from it were drowned out by rapid claps of thunder which increased in volume until it seemed as if not only the skies, but the Earth itself must split asunder from the explosions. Hands like claws, the fingers spread, moved back and forth over the body of the young girl; the tufts of hair on the backs of the hands glinted with raindrops in the candlelight.
The thunder subsided. The rain fell more softly, no longer drumming on the tin roof of the lean-to, but striking it with a more modest pitter-patter. And then Regina heard for the first time the sounds that were being made by the grave-robber.
“AHHHHHHH—LOO—OO—-OO—OO—OO—OQ! . . . AHHHHHHH—LOO—OO—OO—OO—OO—OO! . . . AHHHHHHH—LOO—OO—OO—OO—OO! . . .”
Regina’s skin crawled, until, almost, horror made her bolt. But she got hold of herself and made herself stay where she was. If she had foreseen what was coming, she might not have.
The mantra wailed to a close. The claw-like hands were on the body now. The white linen dress was removed, folded neatly, and laid to one side. Shoes, stockings and underclothes followed. Another streak of lightning accented the nudity of Faith Venable’s dead body.
Hairy hands unfolded the arms of the corpse to reveal the small breasts. The breasts were squeezed. The cleavage was investigated with long fingernails. The embalmed flesh was fondled. The nipples were caressed. The slight scar where the knife had pierced the heart was traced and retraced by each hirsute hand in turn.
The figure discarded its oilskins. A black turtleneck and black pants were revealed. The pants were unzippered. An obscenely grey-white length of tumescent flesh stood out vilely against the blackness of the clothing.
Regina fought to keep her gorge down. She turned her head away as Faith Venable’s legs were forced apart. When she looked back again, the figure in black was sprawled over the corpse, moving up and down slowly, rhythmically, and once again starting to chant: “AHHHHHHH—LOO—OO—OO—OO—OO . . .”
(There had been no epitaph on Faith Venable’s tombstone. Now one was being provided. It was this: “Born A Virgin - Died A Virgin - Laid In The Grave!”)
Now the figure in black scrambled off the victimized corpse. The body was turned over. It was obvious that the cadaver was to be spared no indignity. The alternate target was also to be assaulted. It was almost as if, with orgasm imminent, the corpse-raper was taking no chances.
(Rumor hath it that should a necrophiliac impregnate his victim, the results are a dead issue!)
It was too much for Regina. She had to get out of there. She jumped to her feet and bolted across the clearing. But this time luck was not with her.
Lightning lit up the sky. It also lit up the open field the way a wartime flare illuminates no-man’s-land. Just before the thunderclap which followed, she heard the startled yell which came from the lean-to. She whirled around with the roar of the thunder and saw the figure in black already charging towards her.
He was swinging the small hatchet from one hand as he came. His fly was still open and the white cylinder of flesh preceded him. Obscene murder on the loose!
Regina fled. She reached the edge of the clearing and plunged wildly into the woods. There was no path there. She scrambled through the underbrush, terrified. A moment later she could hear him thrashing about. He was close. Too close.
Regina stumbled onto the path. She ran as fast as she could. Behind her she heard the pounding of feet—a hard sound, yet squishy—as he too raced through the mud.
There was a bend in the trail. Regina didn’t see the root sticking out there. She went head over heels and slammed into a tree-trunk with her skull. She was momentarily stunned. It was half a moment at least before she recovered her senses.
Too long!
Too late!
He was over her now. The axe, held high, was already beginning its descent. There was no time to avoid the deadly blade. There was no place to hide from the death it brought. There was no chance even to fight back!
It was too late!
Too late!
There was only an instant to regret Regina’s life lost!
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Fresh Lieutenant’s Domain
The axe was a blur of motion on the downswing when the blinding flashlight beam hit the necrophile in the eyes. The first shot sounded a split second later. It hit the wrist of the hand wielding the blade. The axe was detoured from Regina’s jugular; it went spinning off to one side and landed in the mud.
The second shot followed the first without a pause. The bullet caught the assailant from the side, spinning him around. His feet skidded out from under him and he crumpled to the wet ground. He came to rest face-down, his head on a patch of slime-green moss. He lay absolutely still.
The light was in Regina’s eyes now, growing pain-fully stronger as it came closer. Just to one side of it she could make out the revolver, the muzzle still smoking in the heavy rain. Behind it was a vague silhouette of a man.
Then he was bending over her. Strong arms pulled her to her feet. “Are you okay?” Lieutenant Raoul Rodriguez peered anxiously into her face.
Regina started to answer. She wanted to answer. She wanted to tell him that she was all right. But her tongue was all twisted up and the only sounds which got past her lips were wracking sobs. She buried her face against Rodriguez’ chest and he held her tightly, stroking her, murmuring reassuring words, soothing her until her sobs had subsided.