Page 3

I jolted awake to sunlight streaming through the bedroom window.

For one blessed moment, my mind was blank.

Then reality crashed back. The mausoleum, the corpse, Morrow's soulless eyes. The bargain I had made to save my own skin.

I sat up, pushing tangled hair from my face.

My mouth tasted foul, and my limbs heavy were with exhaustion despite having slept for hours.

The bedside clock read 3:37 AM.

"Shit," I muttered.

Winters would be waiting for my report.

I stumbled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face.

My reflection in the mirror made me wince.

My dark eyes were dull and tired, my skin more gray than tan, and my hair was a tangled mess. I looked like someone who had seen a ghost. Or something worse.

As I dressed, I tried to convince myself that last night had been a nightmare, a stress-induced hallucination after weeks of homelessness and uncertainty.

But my muddy clothes in the corner said otherwise.

Real.

All of it was real.

I pulled on clean clothes and pulled my hair back, mentally rehearsing what I would tell Winters.

Everything went fine.

No disturbances. Nothing unusual. Just a quiet night in the cemetery.

The lies tasted bitter, but what was the alternative? Sir, I met a corpse-eating monster who has been living here for centuries.

He offered me a deal.

My silence for my life. I took it.

Yeah, that would go over well.

Outside, the cemetery looked painfully normal in the afternoon sun.

Birds sang in the ancient oaks.

Sunlight glinted off polished headstones. A light breeze carried the scent of freshly cut grass.

I followed the main path toward the administrative building, a small brick structure near the front gates.

Inside, the air conditioning raised goosebumps on my arms after the warmth outside.

Winters glanced up from his desk, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

"Ms.

Ruiz. I was beginning to wonder if you'd abandoned the position already."

"Sorry I'm late," I said.

"First night, new surroundings.

I overslept."

He nodded, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

"How did you find your first patrol? Any issues to report?"

I swallowed hard.

"No, sir.

Everything was quiet."

"Good, good." He shuffled some papers on his desk.

"I meant to mention yesterday.

We've had some animal disturbances recently. Digging around the fresher graves. Probably raccoons or foxes, but keep an eye out."

My stomach knotted.

A convenient explanation.

Had previous guards reported "animal disturbances" too?

"I'll keep an eye out," I promised.

"There's something else you should be aware of." Winters removed his glasses, polishing them with a cloth.

"Oakwood Cemetery might be facing some...

changes in the coming months."

"Changes?"

"The Meridian Development Corporation has submitted a proposal to the city council.

They want to relocate the cemetery and build a shopping complex." His mouth thinned with distaste.

"Apparently, fifteen acres of prime real estate is wasted on the dead."

"They can do that? Just dig everything up and move it?"

"With the proper permits and procedures, yes." Winters sighed.

"Some of the graves here date back to the 1700s.

The older ones have no surviving family members to object. The historical society is fighting it, but Meridian has deep pockets and friends on the council."

I thought of Morrow.

What would he do if his easy food source was gone? The thought of him outside the boundaries of the cemetery, free to roam and consume freely, made me shiver.

And what about me?

"What happens to the cottage? To my position?" I asked.

"If the proposal passes, you'd have employment through the relocation process, which could take months." Winters replaced his glasses.

"But eventually, yes, the position would be eliminated."

Just when I had found housing, just when I might be able to start rebuilding my life.

"When will they decide?" I asked.

"There's a council vote next month.

But there's a public forum this Friday where citizens can voice concerns." Winters leaned forward.

"The historical society could use support from the cemetery staff. Having you there would be... helpful."

I nodded.

"Of course."

Winters studied me for a long moment.

"You're certain nothing unusual occurred during your patrol? Nothing you want to report?"

His tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp behind his glasses.

Was he fishing for information about Morrow? Did he know?

"Just quiet," I said.

"Nothing unusual at all."

Relief softened his features.

"Very good.

That will be all, Ms. Ruiz. I'll see you tomorrow."

Outside the administrative building, I paused in the sunlight, weighing my options.

I had hours before my next patrol.

I could return to the cottage, try to rest, and pretend that my world had not been upended.

Instead, I found myself walking deeper into the cemetery.

I told myself it was so I could retrieve my flashlight, but a dark curiosity pulled me toward the older sections.

In daylight, the grounds revealed details I had missed in the darkness.

The cemetery was organized in rough chronological sections, the markers growing older and more weathered as I moved toward the back.

Victorian angels gave way to simple stone obelisks, which in turn yielded to ancient markers with barely legible inscriptions.

The mausoleum where I had encountered Morrow stood at the cemetery's furthest corner.

In daylight, it appeared smaller, less imposing.

The stone was crumbling, moss growing in the crevices. The door hung slightly ajar, just as I had left it in my panicked escape.

I hesitated, then steeled myself and approached.

The heavy wooden door creaked as I pushed it wider.

Sunlight spilled across the threshold, illuminating the interior.

Empty.

No sign of my flashlight and no sign of Lawrence Emmett's remains either.

The stone floor was swept clean. Only dark stains on the floor remained as evidence of what had happened.

A chill ran down my spine despite the warm day.

Morrow had cleaned up after himself, erasing the evidence.

How many others had he eaten in this small stone room over the centuries?

Something on the far wall caught my eye.

A section of stone that did not quite match the rest.

I stepped closer, running my fingers along the seam. I pressed against it, and the section swung open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.

What the ?

I should have turned back.

Should have walked away and pretended I had not found this entrance to whatever lay below.

Instead, I pulled out my phone and switched on its flashlight.

The stairs were worn in the center, evidence of countless passages over many years.

They spiraled downward, the air growing cooler with each step.

The smell of earth and copper enveloped me.

At the bottom, a low-ceilinged tunnel stretched into darkness.

My phone's light barely reached a few yards ahead.

I followed it cautiously, one hand trailing along the rough wall.

The tunnel opened into a larger chamber that must have been directly beneath the mausoleum, but twice the size.

My breath caught as my light swept across the space.

It was something between a lair and a museum.

Objects from different eras filled rough-hewn shelves along the walls.

A tarnished Civil War belt buckle, a beaded purse, a gaudy gold ring, a digital watch still blinking 12:00. Centuries of collected items, arranged with careful precision.

In one corner stood a massive wooden chest, its surface scarred and weathered.

I approached it slowly, curious despite my fear.

The lid creaked as I lifted it.

I frowned.

Clothes? A dated security guard uniform and groundskeeper's coveralls.

Office work clothes. All neatly folded, all bearing dark stains I did not want to examine too closely.

I stumbled back from the chest, looking around with new eyes.

This was not a random collection.

They were trophies from Morrow's victims. The previous cemetery workers who had "chosen confrontation" rather than accommodation.

The toe of my boot sent something skidding across the stone floor.

It glinted in the light from my phone as I bent to pick it up.

A name tag. Frank Tillman, Security. The man I replaced.

I let the pin fall from my hand.

What was I doing here? If Morrow found me

I hurried back up the stairs and through the mausoleum, pulling the door shut behind me.

Out in the sunshine, I gulped fresh air, my heart pounding.

What on earth had possessed me to go down there?

I rubbed my face and glanced around.

The sun was already heading toward the horizon.

In a few hours, it would be night. And Morrow would emerge. I was like a nightmare.

I returned to the cottage, my mind spinning.

I had two problems.

The cemetery relocation threatened both Morrow's hunting grounds and my livelihood. I doubted I would be lucky enough to find a job with housing again. That was a major problem.

My second problem, and the more immediate one, was Morrow himself.

The underground chamber confirmed his centuries of existence.

And the fate of those who had crossed him. I was not going to be one of them.

I spent the remaining daylight hours preparing for my second night.

I checked the cottage's locks, even knowing they were probably meaningless against a creature like Morrow.

I found a kitchen knife and tucked it into my boot, equally aware it would provide little protection.

As sunset painted the sky, I pulled on my security jacket.

I paused on the porch to brush the dried mud from my sleeve before I headed for the main path.

My second patrol would begin soon, whether I was ready or not. My phone s flashlight would have to do until I could afford to replace the one I lost.

The first stars appeared as I began to walk the perimeter, my senses alert to every sound, every shadow.

The warm day had given way to a cool evening, mist beginning to gather in the low areas between graves.

I passed a fresh mound of dirt that had not been there during the day. An emergency burial, according to the temporary marker. Helena Ross, aged seventy-nine, interred at 4 PM.

My stomach twisted.

Morrow would feed on her tonight.

This woman's remains would be his meal, her final rest disturbed by needle-like teeth and blackened claws. And I had agreed to it. I looked away and kept walking.

What choice did I have? Confront him and end up like Frank Tillman? Run and risk him finding me wherever I went? There was a gravity to his threats.

A sense of the inevitable.

I believed him when he said he would catch me if I ran.

I finished my patrol, circling back to Helena Ross's grave.

Still undisturbed.

I glanced around. The thought of Morrow lurking in the shadows made my skin crawl. I hurried away.

The temperature had dropped during my patrol, and I was looking forward to the thermos of coffee I had left on the counter.

As the cottage came into view, I rubbed at my arms through the thin material of my work jacket.

I was stepping onto the porch when I noticed something on the welcome mat.

A small object that gleamed dully in my flashlight beam.

I leaned over to look at it.

A tarnished silver locket with an equally tarnished chain.

The cover was engraved with flowers and ivy.

I picked it up carefully, turning it over in my palm.

"Do you like it?"

I jerked upright, nearly dropping the locket.

Morrow emerged from the darkness as if he were part of it.

In the weak porch light, he looked even more unnatural than I remembered. His black eyes shone in the light.

"You left this?" I managed to ask.

"Payment," he said.

"For your discretion."

I looked down at the locket again.

"Where did you get it?"

"It belonged to Eliza Hargrove, buried here in 1872." Morrow tilted his head in that unnatural way of his.

"She has no further need of adornment."

I should have been revolted.

He had taken this from a grave, a personal item buried with its owner.

But it was beautiful. It had been a long time since I had anything beautiful.

"You've been in my domain," Morrow said suddenly.

I froze. "What?"

"I smell my chamber on you." He took a step, then another, creeping closer.

"You found the entrance."

I backed toward the door, the locket clutched in my fist.

"I was looking for my flashlight."

"No.

You were curious." Another step closer.

"Most who make the bargain avoid knowing more than necessary. They blind themselves to my existence as much as possible." His head tilted, studying me. "But not you."

"What are you going to do?" I whispered.

Morrow paused only a few feet away.

"Do? Nothing.

Curiosity is not betrayal." His lipless mouth curved into that terrible smile. "In fact, I find it... refreshing."

I relaxed slightly, though I kept my back pressed to the front door.

"I heard they want to relocate the cemetery."

Something flashed in those unnatural eyes.

"Yes.

The living always seek profit."

"What will you do if it happens?" I asked.

Morrow made a gesture that might have been a shrug.

"I have relocated many times."

I frowned.

Somehow I had imagined Morrow as a permanent fixture.

The idea of him being free to leave when he pleased was uniquely terrifying.

"Would you like to see?" he asked suddenly.

"See what?"

"What lies beneath." Morrow gestured toward the cemetery.

Every instinct warned against following this creature into the darkness.

Yet that same dark curiosity that had driven me to explore his chamber pulled at me now.

"Yes," I heard myself say.

Morrow's mouth stretched wide enough to bare his teeth.

He extended one long-fingered hand toward me, the black claws gleaming in the porch light.

I tucked the locket into my pocket and stepped forward. I did not take his offered hand, but I followed when he turned and walked into the darkness.

I mentally screamed at myself as I followed a corpse-eating monster into the bowels of the cemetery.

Self-preservation told me to turn back, but I needed to understand.

As we walked deeper into the graveyard, fog curled around the headstones.

Morrow moved silently between the plots, occasionally glancing back at me.

Each time, his eyes glowed in the light of my phone s flashlight, and his lipless mouth curved.

I got the impression I amused him. I was not sure if that was a benefit or not.

We bypassed the mausoleum where we had first met, instead approaching a four-sided tombstone.

It was over six feet tall and wider than my arm span, the stone sides worn completely smooth.

Morrow placed his palm against the center of the side and pushed. Stone grated against stone as a panel swung inward, revealing a gaping darkness beyond.

"Come, he said.

He stepped into the darkness, then paused when I hesitated.

He turned to look at me.

"Are you afraid, Carmen Ruiz?"

"Yes," I admitted.

No point lying to a creature who could probably smell my fear.

His lipless mouth curved slightly.

"Good.

Fear is appropriate. But know that while you keep our bargain, you have nothing to fear from me."

Cold comfort from a corpse-eating monster who killed my predecessor.

I took a deep breath and stepped forward, following him down a steep staircase as the stone door closed behind me.

Hopefully, I was imagining the finality of it.