Until
by Andrea Dean Van Scoyoc

   "Oh my god I can’t believe what a chicken shit you are!" he laughed loudly, looking at his friend in total disbelief. "I have never heard of a grown man being afraid of going to a cemetery at night! What the hell do you think can happen in a cemetery? Everyone out there is dead!"

   The young man pouted defiantly.

   "I am not afraid of going to a cemetery at night! I just don’t see what the big draw is in vandalizing other people’s property. It’s rude; it’s disrespectful…not to mention that that shit isn’t cheap. Have you priced gravestones lately?

   The young man was obviously upset at being made fun of, but he was serious. Why would someone find it fun to defile someone’s final resting place?

   The laughing friend stopped his gleeful howling and smiled broadly.

   "No Philip I haven’t priced gravestones lately and if you are smart, you haven’t either. You’re afraid…I know you are!"

   Philip Grandwen sighed audibly. No he wasn’t afraid; he was tired of his friend’s insults.

   "I am not, for the last time, am not afraid of going to a cemetery at night Brad. I just think you are extremely immature for wanting to destroy someone’s peaceful repose. How old are you? It would serve you right if they reached up out of the ground and dragged your ass under."

   Brad Bertran continued to smile broadly.

   "Well Philip, they won’t reach up and drag me under ‘cause you know why? They are dead!"

   Brad took a drink of his beer and set it down. His face spread into a wide and sarcastic grin.

   "Say…Philip, if you aren’t afraid of the cemetery at night, why don’t you come out there with me now?"

   Philip rolled his eyes. "Please Brad. Just because you like to run around in a graveyard at," Brad stopped and looked at his watch, "two o’clock in the morning, doesn’t mean that I want to!"

   "That’s because you’re afraid Philip!"

   "Hey guys, last call, we’re closing. Either of you want anything before I shut the bar down?"

   "No Terry, I’m fine."

   "Nothing more for me Ter, I think I’ve had enough. Hey Terry, let me ask you," Brad looked at Philip and grinned, "you ever been in a graveyard at night?"

   The burly bartender scrunched his forehead and then smiled.

   "Yeah, I used to vandalize them when I was younger, but then realized how stupid that was, so I stopped."

   "Yeah, but you were never afraid were you? Afraid that the dead were going to come out of their graves and get you?"

   Brad wavered his voice, widened his eyes and stuck his arms out stiffly for effect.

   Terry laughed. He was a biker and the owner of the "Drink It Fast, Drink It Slow" bar, the favorite hang out of all the local college kids, but the old hell raisers, like Brad and Philip liked to come in there too. Terry knew Brad and Philip well. He had been quite a hellion in his youth and was more sympathetic to the two friends and the college kids than most of the other bar owners in town.

   "No, I can’t say that I was ever worried about joining any of the stiffs out there. But then again, I was so drunk and stoned most of the time when I was out there, that I probably wouldn’t have cared if the entire cemetery had gotten up!"

   He laughed again and threw his gray ponytail over his shoulder.

   "See you big chicken, Terry wasn’t afraid of cemeteries!"

   Philip was unimpressed.

   "Yeah but Terry also said that he quit vandalizing the graves because of how stupid it was."

   Philip had momentarily gained the upper hand and Brad was annoyed.

   "Yeah, well…to each his own. I still say that you are a chicken shit."

   Philip sighed. "Fine, if you are going to continue to harass me about it, then let’s go. I’ll show you once and for all that I am not afraid and then maybe you’ll just drop it."

   Brad winked at Philip and grinned. "Maybe."

   Brad turned the car off and looked at Philip.

   "So…we’re here, let’s go."

   Brad laughed, opening his car door and running out and into the cemetery.

   Philip couldn’t help but wonder that with all the vandalism that went on in the local cemeteries, especially during Spring break, when the college kids who didn’t have the money to go to Florida, were left with nothing else to do, why the local authorities didn’t just lock the cemetery up at night and post someone to stand watch. Good grief, Andale Point was a college town and a boring one at that. It wasn’t like they were a hub of criminal activity, except for cemetery vandalism.

   Philip slowly got out of the car. He really didn’t want to be here. Why did Brad have to be such a dick? Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone? Philip knew that Brad was in for a rude awakening one day. Guys like him always got what they deserved. He had told him that many times too; not that he expected Brad to actually listen.

   Philip closed the car door and walked into the cemetery, the faint sound of Brad whooping and hollering in his ears.

   "Gotcha!"

   Philip nearly jumped out of his skin. Brad began laughing hysterically.

   "God you really are a chicken shit aren’t you? I cannot believe that cemeteries scare you so much! Everyone out here is dead, what could you possibly be afraid of?"

   "Cemeteries can be a lot scarier than you think Brad. Let’s just go, ok? I came here with you like I said I would, I have proven that I am not afraid, can we just go now?" Philip whined.

   "Nope," Brad gloated gleefully, "you’re still afraid and I am going to make you stay out here until you face your fear and stop being such a pussy."

   Philip pursed his lips.

   "I faced my fears a long time ago Brad. Why don’t you face your immaturity and grow up?"

   Brad laughed and ran off again. Philip slowly shook his head. Brad really could be a nice guy…he just seemed more than happy to be a dick most of the time. That was why he had so few friends. No one ever stayed around him long enough to see the nice side of him.

   Philip cringed as he heard the dull thud of something hard and heavy hitting the lush loam that bathed this particular cemetery. Many trees dotted the landscape, forming somewhat of a canopy over the grounds, making the dirt rich and fertile. Somewhere, Philip smelled roses. That didn’t surprise him, as this cemetery was very old and well tended, not only by volunteers from the local High School, who had taken an avid interest in it, but also by the local ladies clubs.

   "Woo hoo! Not so much of a bad boy are you?" Philip heard Brad cheer.

   Philip looked up in the direction of Brad’s voice.

   "Hey Brad, I have had enough of this man. I’m outta here."

   Philip answered the ringing phone. He hoped it wasn’t another solicitor. God he hated those people! How many times did he have to tell them that he didn’t need siding for a home that he didn’t own? Then, to make matters worse, every time the caller would find out that he didn’t own the home, they would get huffy with him like it was his fault that they were too stupid to note in their records the previous one hundred times they called, that he didn’t own the house?

   Philip held the receiver to his ear.

   "H…hello?"

   "I can’t believe you ran out on me last night you wuss!"

   Philip gripped the receiver tightly.

   "I didn’t want to go to start with you ass."

   Brad laughed.

   "You are really a piece of work Philip. Well you will be dismayed to know that I am going back out there again tonight. I saw this huge stone that I want to tackle. If I can get that thing down to the ground, then I really will reign supreme!"

   Philip was incredulous.

   "Brad you dickhead! You are not talking about an animal or some character on those stupid computer games you play that you have to hunt down and kill, you are talking about a monument, a monument that means something to someone, that someone paid a lot of money for. What if they don’t have the money to replace it once you get done with it?"

   Brad huffed loudly and then laughed again.

   "God Philip, stop being such a boy scout! You act as if people give a shit about those monuments! This stone is way back in the older part of the cemetery, where no one goes anyway. No one will even know it is knocked down!"

   "Yes they will Brad, the ladies garden club works back there."

   "So?"

   "Yeah well Brad, they might all be old and half of them blind, but they aren’t that blind that they won’t see a giant stone that was up, is now on the ground! Give it a rest why don’t you?"

   Brad’s mocking laughter rang in Philip’s ears.

   "You really are pathetic Philip. Well, I am going back out there again tonight, and if you want to come, fine, but don’t try and stop me."

   Philip could feel the veins in his neck bulge.

   "Fine, if you insist on going, I will go with you. But be warned Brad, one of these days you will get yours. There are far worse things in life than karma."

   "Yeah ok philosophy boy, point taken."

   This scenario was becoming all too familiar to Philip. He sat in the car for just a minute.

   "Well, are you coming or what you puss?"

   Philip climbed out of the car. His stomach was knotted and he felt sick. He didn’t really want to do this, but felt as if he had no choice. He had made a promise and now he had to follow through on that promise, no matter how disgusting it was.

   Brad led the way through the better part of the cemetery to the older part. Before they even got to the back, Philip could see Brad’s hopeful conquest looming before them in the darkness, its shadow outlined like a spectral beacon against the moonlit sky.

   "So you really think you can topple this behemoth by yourself do you Brad?"

   Brad eyed Philip shrewdly. "I guess I’m going to have to huh, being as you are too much of a pansy to help me."

   Philip shrugged. "Have it your way."

   Brad climbed on top of the stone and looked it over.

   Philip sat down on the ground and watched the young man that he was sometimes ashamed to call his friend, try and figure out how to bring the massive gravestone down.

   "You know Brad…they say that this cemetery is haunted and that if you vandalize it, the dead will come back for you."

   Brad strained to lift a section of the stone and then wiped his brow off.

   "Yeah, well, I guess the dead are on hiatus then because I have been coming here nearly every night for six months and I haven’t had any of the undead try and get me yet!"

   Brad hopped down off the stone and cupped his hands to his mouth.

   "Hey! Undead assholes! My name is Brad Handerston and I have been vandalizing your cemetery for the past six months. So if you rotting piles of pestilence are so concerned about it, why haven’t you tried to stop me?"

   Brad’s voice finished its echoing taunt and then he put his hand to his ear, exaggerating his listening to the night. Only the sound of crickets answered him.

   "See Philip. Your friends are just as big of wusses as you are. There is no one here that can do a thing to me."

   Brad laughed and turned his back to Philip and scaled the huge stone once again. He got his footing and felt his way around the base, as he held on tight. He wasn’t that high up on the stone yet, but it was dark and he didn’t need to be falling off and landing on his ass or breaking his neck. That would be embarrassing.

   Brad looked out at Philip, but Philip wasn’t there. Brad walked back around to the front of the stone and jumped down again.

   "Philip you pussy! This is getting old! Forget you."

   Brad was suddenly and forcefully pushed from behind. He lost his balance and went sprawling into the moist Earth, getting chunk of loam in his mouth.

   "What the hell?"

   Brad turned around to see Philip standing over him.

   "Who’s the wuss now Brad?"

   Brad jumped to his feet.

   "You bastard!"

   Philip shrugged.

   "I only gave you what you deserved Brad. Well, no actually, you deserve worse than that."

   "Yeah, well bring it on Philip. You are a wuss and that is not my problem."

   Philip’s face flushed.

   "I am a wuss just because I don’t like vandalizing cemeteries? You are sick Brad and it is you that is pathetic! But I guess that doesn’t matter anyway."

   Brad felt his face flush. Never had Philip stood up to him, not for the three years he had known him. This was a side of Philip that Brad didn’t think he would ever see.

   "Yeah, and why is that Philip? You going to go to the cops? Or better yet, let me guess…your dead friends have come back from vacationing in Transylvania and have decided to punish me?"

   Philip grinned and Brad wasn’t sure that he liked the grin. There was something ominous about it, something…evil.

   "Actually Brad, you aren’t that far off."

   Philip raised his hands into the air like some Druid priest calling down the elements.

   Brad felt the Earth shake and rumble and instinctively he looked down. What was that that had moved by his foot? It looked like something was coming up out of the ground!

   Brad stepped instinctively back and tripped over something, hitting his back hard on the dew covered ground. He regained his bearings, struggling to breathe and scrambled up to see what he had tripped over. He pushed the object with his hand and it moved! He pushed it again and it seemed to rise up out of the ground! Suddenly, the object turned and Brad realized that he was staring into a face…a hideous, bony and flesh flaked face. Not much in the way of covering was left on the head, as it continued to rise out of the ground.

   Brad jumped to his feet and looked around. In the shadows he could see shapes ambling toward him from all over the cemetery! He turned to run and was grabbed by Philip who held him in an iron grip. Brad struggled but it was no use, Philip was unmoving and each time Brad struggled, Philip tightened his grip. It was painful.

   "Brad, there’s some people I’d like you to meet. These are my friends and they are so happy that you could join us tonight. They haven’t had anything to eat in a long time and as fat as you are, you should feed them well for at least…oh a night or so!"

   Philip laughed loudly and loosened his grip on Brad just a bit. Brad tried to get away and Philip snatched him roughly back, tightening his grip on Brad’s beefy arms so tightly that he cried out in pain.

   "I tried and tried to tell you, I warned you, I begged you, I pleaded with you, I did everything I could to keep you out of this cemetery, but you wouldn’t listen. I’m sorry to say that you aren’t the first and I doubt you will be the last to get your due here, although vandalism in this cemetery has gone down in the past couple of years."

   "Wha…what are you?" Brad stammered breathlessly. The smell that surrounded him was unbearable. It couldn’t be the skeletal remains of the "people" that stood before him, they hardly had any flesh. Brad sniffed the air and he realized that the smell was closer to him…much closer. He slowly turned his head to look at Philip.

   Philip grinned at him, but it wasn’t Philip, it was something other than Philip. Nearly toothless, his rotting and open skin barely covered his face. Ooze from somewhere inside him leaked down his face and dripped onto the shirt. One of his eyes was missing.

   Philip pressed his rotted mouth to Brad’s ear and Brad retched. The odor of decay was more than he could bear. He vomited and before his horrified eyes, two of the skeletal men, he guessed they were men, as they had on what looked like the remnants of suits, ran up and began gobbling handfuls of the vomit that lay at his feet. Brad retched again and more of the zombies stepped forward as if wishing to share in his regurgitation.

   "See Brad, you’re popular already! I’ve never seen them so eager!"

   Philip playfully shook Brad and laughed, a horrible guttural laugh that sounded as if he were choking. Philip hacked and spat a large dollop of phlegm on the ground.

   "There you go guys, you can have that too!"

   Brad closed his eyes. He forced the vomit that was burning its way up his throat, back down.

   "Oh that’s right Brad, you asked me a question. What am I? Hmm, well I used to be human. Yes, I was human once, just like you and I was a dick, just like you. I used to have so much fun in here vandalizing the stones and I even dug one casket up on a dare! Yep, I was as bad as they came."

   One of the zombies stepped forward and held up a bony hand with a missing finger.

   "Yes sir, Mr. Fletcher…that was my handiwork. You see Brad; it was Mr. Fletcher here that I dug up. My friend Carroll dared me to and so we went and got drunk one night at a local pub and came out here shovels in hand! Well, Carroll puked and passed out, bastard never could hold his liquor and I set about digging Mr. Fletcher up. It was rumored that he was buried with all of his money being as he didn’t trust banks. I don’t blame him…back in eighteen seventy-two I wouldn’t have trusted banks either! Hell you can hardly trust them now!"

   Philip laughed loudly.

   "Well, I dug poor Mr. Fletcher up, god he stank! He was rotted and maggots had taken residence up in his chest cavity…it nearly made me sick! Well, to make a long story short, Mr. Fletcher wasn’t buried with any of his money and so in anger at wasting my time and straining my back on his heavy ass coffin, I cut one of his fingers off that held a giant, diamond ring. I could have pawned that sucker and got a fortune for it."

   Philip stopped speaking and the silence was worse than anything Brad thought he’d never hear.

   "I never made it out of the cemetery with the ring or my life. As I stood marveling at the ring, I found myself surrounded by the undead, as if they had come from thin air and they set upon me. One man in particular grabbed me and held me captive, much the same way I am holding you captive now. He was the guardian of this cemetery. Right before I died, he told me the same story I am now telling you.

   You see Brad, this cemetery is protected and always has been. The inhabitants back here ignore a lot of what goes on, if it is first and last time vandals or people who don’t venture back this far that do mischief. It’s up to the undead in the front of the cemetery to take care of their own up there, but back here, well, that is where we…I come in. For my crime of continued disrespect to the dead here, I was killed…yet I didn’t die. I woke up in a coffin, surrounded by the undead that had attacked me. The guardian of this section of the cemetery stood over me and told me that he had fulfilled his debt to society, for the same crime that I had been sentenced for, and that he was now able to rest in peace. The task of taking care of this cemetery was passed to me. I didn’t want it, but what choice did I have? I didn’t. I had committed horrible crimes against the people here and their property and I deserved what I got. So, for fifty years I have guarded this cemetery. I will for another fifty. Those who are chronic offenders, damaging this cemetery either beyond repair or making restoration of stones nearly impossible, if they come back after they have committed their crime, it is my responsibility to make sure that they never leave.

   You see Brad, I told you that you would get what’s coming to you and I told you there were worse things in this cemetery than karma, but as with all stupid assholes like yourself, you wouldn’t listen. You don’t get to be guardian though Brad, as I haven’t finished my sentence yet, so you just get to die. Sorry, no glitz, no glamour, no getting to walk in the night, you just get eaten. If it makes you feel better though, you’re better off. This job is murder."

   Philip snorted and then laughed again.

   "God I kill myself sometimes!"

   Brad trembled so hard that he vomited again, only this time; he wasn’t fortunate enough to land it on the grass…it landed all down the front of him. Philip pushed Brad into the crowd of hungry zombies, wrenching his left arm, and they tore Brad apart. His screams lasted only moments.

   Philip walked off, Brad’s left arm in his hand. He walked over to a concrete bench and sat down, biting into Brad’s twitching arm. The flesh was good.

   Philip looked up at the trees hanging over him and sat back. He had never wanted to kill his friend, he really had liked Brad, but Brad had left him no choice. Philip was thankful that he was allowed to walk amongst humans still, but it didn’t make his job any easier. He had only fifty years left to serve and he hoped that people would stop vandalizing cemeteries…he hoped.

©2004 Andrea Dean Van Scoyoc

Andrea Dean Van Scoyoc, is a Goth/Macabre/Erotica author, living in Tampa, Florida, and has been writing for over 20 years.

In addition to being a published poet, Andrea has recently had the honor and her lifelong dream fulfilled by having her dark and erotic drama “Gothique – A Man of Two Worlds” being accepted for publication by the esteemed publisher, Black Death Books, one of the leaders in today’s publishing world of the dark and macabre.

When not writing, Andrea is an aspiring Gothic model, and enjoys photographing old, historical cemeteries and collecting gravestone epitaphs. Please visit her at: http://www.angelfire.com/goth2/mypersonalpage/