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“Fuck, no! I want to be the villain. Make me super evil and scary. Everyone has to hate me. And I have to die a gruesome death, like dismemberment or exploding organs or being shredded by piranhas.”
“You’re a twisted man, Sky.”
He turned in his seat and flashed gigantic eyes at Nolan while sticking out his bottom lip. “But you still want to go on another date with me, right?” he asked in the most pathetic voice he could muster.
Nolan made a face as if he were thinking about it. Wicked man. A smirk lifted one corner of his mouth. “I was going to see if you were free this Friday.”
“Yes! Yes! I’ll clear my schedule. Yes!”
Was he shameless? Abso-fucking-lutely.
When they arrived at the graveyard, there were several police cars, a coroner’s van, two news SUVs, and a shit-ton of nosy onlookers. Sky instructed Nolan to drive right past it. There was no way he was getting into that cemetery with no one noticing him.
Luckily, there was a smaller graveyard about a mile away that was older and mostly forgotten by the world. Sky had stumbled across it while searching for a particular wildflower that loved to grow in wooded areas near cemeteries. Not that he could blame it. The area where he found it was relaxing. The perfect place for a Sunday picnic, if you didn’t mind eating where the dead were resting.
They almost missed the turnoff for the narrow side road that was rutted. The asphalt had sunken in places and someone had halfheartedly patched it with gravel that now pinged off the metal undercarriage. Nolan slowed to a near crawl to avoid the bigger potholes and to protect the suspension of his poor car.
Near a sharp turn in the road, they found the tall iron gates for the graveyard closed. And rather than an iron fence, a nine-foot stone wall surrounded this place. Someone was very serious about keeping people out of the cemetery or the dead on the inside. Unfortunately, no one had told this person that iron was better at holding the dead inside than stone. The dead didn’t mind climbing stone walls. They sucked at climbing spiked iron.
As they were pulling up, they spotted an older man wrapping a chain around the fence and securing it with a padlock.
“Shit,” Sky swore. “We’ll have to leave and come back. I was sure no one would be here.”
“Do you need to touch the dead? Or cast a spell?”
“No.”
Nolan nodded and parked his car next to the truck. “Let me see if I can talk my way into the graveyard.”
“What?” Sky choked out. That was not what he’d expected Nolan to say.
The crazy man beside him smirked and turned off the engine. He was getting out when it dawned on Sky that he could follow him. Really, his brain was still too sluggish after a terrible night of sleep.
“Sorry, but the cemetery is closed to all visitors until we can get the cops out here,” the man called out as they approached. He appeared to be an old groundskeeper, judging by his worn, dark-green overalls. His faded red ball cap sat low on salt-and-pepper hair that framed a sun-beaten and wrinkled face.
“Yeah, I’m sorry to bother you. Would it be possible for you to give me a hand with something?” Nolan reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. From within it, he drew out what appeared to be a business card that he handed over to the groundskeeper. “You see, I’m an author with a focus on thrillers and horror. I was wondering if you would allow me to walk around the graveyard with my assistant. Take some photos. Not to use in my book, but as inspiration for my next horror novel.”
The groundskeeper frowned at the business card. He held it out in front of him and then drew it close, almost as if he were playing a trombone as he worked to get his eyes to focus on the letters. “I don’t know. It’s wrong to be disturbing the dead. Disrespectful.”
“I promise we won’t disturb the dead,” Nolan replied. “I was hoping to walk the grounds for ten or fifteen minutes. Just enough time to get a feel for what has happened. I think it would help me capture a great spooky atmosphere for my book.” The stunning man shrugged and smiled his most winning smile. “I was going to stop at a graveyard closer to home, but it’s so packed with police and news reporters, I couldn’t risk being caught on camera. Plus, all that buzz ruins the creepy atmosphere I’m aiming for.”
“Huh,” the older man grunted. “So, you’re like one of those popular authors. Like that Stephen King fellow.”
“Well, I don’t think I’m as popular as Stephen King. I wouldn’t mind making Stephen-King money, though.”
“Yeah, yeah. Wouldn’t we all?” The groundskeeper chuckled and nodded. “All right, I can give you like ten, fifteen minutes. You’re just trying to do your job. But don’t go telling anyone I let you inside. The company that runs this place will have my head, and this is a nice, easy job.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it. I promise we’ll be as quick as possible, and we won’t tell a soul,” Nolan stated as they followed the old man to the gate. With a clank and rattle of the chain, the gates were unlocked. Sky followed Nolan inside while the groundskeeper returned to his truck to drink his coffee and smoke a cigarette.
“I thought you said you wrote romance,” Sky hissed in a sharp whisper as they strolled into the graveyard. Huge maple and oak trees dotted the rolling hills, offering a picturesque backdrop among the old granite and marble gravestones. Warm sunlight poked through here and there, dancing across the green grass as the leaves moved in the breeze.
Nolan grinned. “I do. Am I allowed to write only one genre?”
“Well…no, I guess not.”
“I write under three pen names. It helps readers keep my different types of books separated. One writes romance. Another handles horror and thrillers. And the last one does fantasy.”
Huh. That was pretty cool.
