He wanted to talk to his beloved Rachel one last time.
When he got to the plot of ground where his wife was buried he saw for the first time, in the light of day, the black, cursed water that made up the Judas Portal. He also detected the sulfurous, rotting smell. Ten feet to the right of the portal, he saw a huge gaping hole dug into the center of his wife’s soupy grave plot. The extra dirt from inside the hole was mounded high around the outside of the opening. Deep claw marks littered the muddy mound.
Stephenson’s heart jumped. She’s alive! My Rachel is alive!
He hurried forward and bent over on one knee to look down into the dim, odious hole. He saw all the way to the bottom. More embedded claw marks lined the inside of the hole. An open, coffin stared back up at him. It was empty.
Where is my Rachel? Where did she go?
He spun his head around on a swivel several times. There was no sign of her. Frantic to find her, he leapt to his feet and ran the entire length and breadth of the cemetery calling her name. She was nowhere to be found.
Exhausted, he returned home hoping to find her waiting for him. There was no trace of her. Although frustrated by not finding her, Stephenson had regained confidence in the Monkey’s Paw. Since his wish had obviously worked, he was confident it was only a matter of time before his revived wife returned home to greet him.
After all, where else would she go?
Encouraged, he removed the revolver from his pants pocket and placed it on the end table beside his recliner, then took a seat. He would simply wait there for her for as long as it took.
An hour later, there was a knock at the door.
Stephenson, motivated by anticipation, made a beeline down the hallway and flung the door open. Like a homing pigeon returning to roost, Stephenson’s beloved wife, Rachel, had found her way home.
Only she wasn’t what he was expecting.
She’d been underground for several years and other than the clothes she’d been buried in, was nearly devoid of recognizable features to tell him she was his wife. Her hair and nails had continued to grow and what little skin she had left was soft and droopy. It hung from her bones like wrinkled fabric from a curtain rod. And she stunk to high heavens. Her face still had most of its skin; it was puffy around the cheeks and sunken in around the eyes and mouth, even showing a few teeth, but her midsection had none. The dress she wore was badly deteriorated and made it easy to see all the way through her via the empty spaces between her ribs.
The initial shock of seeing her ghastly form froze Stephenson in his tracks. She looked like she belonged in a horror flick. He stared at her in disbelief, unable to muster a sound.
Oh, my dear Lord. What have I done?
As he stood paralyzed, gaping at her emaciated body, she raised her arms out in front of her as if gesturing for a hug.
“Together forever, my love,” she said, in a low raspy voice.
Before he could respond she took a clumsy step toward him.
“Together forever, my love,” she repeated.
Horrified, Stephenson back peddled into the wall behind him then turned and stumbled down the hall screaming. “No, please. Get away from me!”
When he reached the den, his eye caught his revolver lying on the end table. Breathing heavily, he turned to see his undead wife making a labored and jerky, almost robotic, advance toward him. Her arms were still extended outward. Her outstretched arms and awkward gait gave her an eerie resemblance to Frankenstein’s monster.
“Together forever, my love,” she crooned.
Acting out of instinct, he raced to retrieve the revolver from the end table. As soon as he turned his back, Rachel shuffled forward following after him. He had only taken a couple of strides when his haste got the better of him and he fell face first onto the floor. With her steady gait, the undead corpse advanced upon him. Panicked and sweaty, Stephenson jumped to his feet and scrambled like a wild man toward the gun. Undeterred, the half-dressed corpse pursued him with her love.
“Together forever, my love,” she garbled.
Finally, he reached the end table and grabbed for the gun. He gripped it firmly in his right hand, quickly pulled back the pistol’s hammer, then spun to face his wife straight on. She was surprisingly fast for a corpse and had already made it to within only a few feet of him. With tears streaming down his face he pointed the gun at her head. “I’m sorry, dear.”
Then he pulled the trigger.
Chapter 20
Like a jet airplane, Finn and Andria’s car screeched into The Powers Group’s parking lot. Any faster around the curves and the momentum would have tipped them over onto two wheels. Straight ahead, Finn spotted a few open parking spaces up front and made a bee-line for them. When the nose of the car was within a few feet of the first space, he slammed on the brakes and slung the rear-end around perfectly mimicking an Ace Ventura park job. When the vehicle came to a jolting stop, they both swung the doors open and leapt onto the paved ground. Without a word, they bolted toward the building’s entrance on their way to Andrew’s office.
“Boy, you two have no idea how glad I am to see you,” Andrew shouted, anxiously waving them into his office.
“Glad to hear it, sir,” Finn said, clutching the door frame and laboring for breath.
“But I’m sorry to say that I’ve got more news.”
“What’s that?” Andria inquired.
“In the short time, it took you to drive over here, there’s been another, third, surge in Concord.”
“The same as the others?”
“Don’t know yet, but my guess would be, yes.” He paused a moment then continued, “I’m not sure what else Stephenson’s up to, but if that was his third wish, it can’t be good. We need to put a stop to this craziness, and fast! Give me five minutes of your undivided attention to explain a few things then be off like a flash to stop this maniac. Agreed?”
“Agreed, sir,” they both said, nodding and attentive.
“Good. Now each of you take a pair of these protective gloves and listen carefully.”
The latest paranormal surge led Finn and Andria to the entrance of an expansive cemetery situated across the street from the suburban neighborhood they’d investigated early on the first day of the case.
This time it was already past dark when they arrived. With no street lights around the cemetery, their vehicle’s headlights provided the only light. The halogen beams clearly revealed a padlocked iron gate blocking their ingress into the property.
“Now what?” Andria asked, looking at Finn from the passenger’s seat.
“Without the key to that lock, not much,” Finn said. “Unless, of course, we search for another, less conspicuous way in.”
He said this last bit playfully, dancing his eyebrows up and down.
A mischievous grin spread across Andria’s face. “You know I’m always game for that,” she said. “I just wish we knew exactly what we’re supposed to be looking for.”
“I have a feeling we’ll know it when we see it.” Finn said.
After retrieving flashlights and a map of the cemetery from the car they approached the gate and tried the lock. It didn’t budge. A quick scan along both sides of the road revealed a six-foot, black, wrought iron fence surrounding the cemetery’s perimeter. Based on terrain, the side which ran along the highway they’d driven in on, looked to offer the path of least resistance.
“This way,” Finn said, pointing his finger to indicate a parallel route along the road.
Even using flashlights, it was slow-go. It was close to half an hour before they came across a breach in the fence that showed promise. With flashlights in hand, they contorted their bodies and sneaked through the narrow separation in the fence one at a time. Once inside, they paused to look around and gather their bearings. Their flashlight beams revealed well-kept, manicured cemetery grounds with concrete walkways conveniently traversing the graves. To their surprise, they also discovered a grandiose stone mausoleum standing in the distance atop a gradually ascending slope in the center of the property.