AFTER MIDNIGHT part 3

Copyright (c) 2019 by Randall R. Peterson ALL RIGHTS RESERVED This is a work of fiction. All persons, locations and actions are from the author's imagination or have been used in a fictitious manner.

By R. Peterson

“There is great good in the world … and so there must also be great evil.”

            Joanie Otter and Marsha Heron (Baby Bat) walked through the graves toward the oldest section of Black Rose Cemetery. A full moon, partially shrouded by moving clouds flashed the names on the headstones as they past. Like a middle-school classroom taking roll-call. The night would be attended by the living … and the dead.

            “Where are Snake and Talon?” Baby Bat whispered. “I thought they would be here before us!”

            “Don’t be a doom-cookie,” Joanie hissed. “Jason probably had trouble sneaking out of his house.”

There was an open-grave near the back; someone had removed the plywood and artificial grass that covered it until tomorrow’s funeral. “Trout” Marlow stepped from behind a large oak. As she snapped her black-nailed fingers together, the members of Mortuary Frost from Anaconda appeared from behind trees and bushes as if by magic. “Welcome Grave-queen and Cloverbone spoons?,” she crinkled her nose and stared at Marsha as she lingered on the s. “I hope you did not summon a Ceremony of Týr without forks!” (boys)  Her eyes glowed like tiny green lights. “It would be a shame if we had to eat you rather than your kindergoth.”

            “We tolerate none but Deathbats,” Joanie spit a wad of black gum and Trout had to step sideways to keep from getting it stuck in her bulging afro hair. Joanie shook her head with distain as she glanced at the nine Gothkind Trout had brought with her. “Looks like you could use a few Gravers (new members).”

            Two forks appeared on either side of Trout. The Mortuary Frost spoons had begun to form a circle around Joanie and Marsha. But then a red flash exploded on a nearby grave. Even as Trout spun around to gawp, another grave exploded, then another and another. Icicle, Talon, Snake, Bait, Rats, Boils and Bitch all appeared resting in mortuary posture on grassy beds, illuminated by the glow of emergency flares stuck in the foot of each grave. Zombie-like they rose slowly from invisible caskets and spoke as one ethereal voice from the beyond. “Hear our cries, Mistress of the dark! Favor us come forth to do your bidding. Let us once again barb these worms before they slide away from this Catostomus …who has gorged herself on them!”

            “Nice entrance,” Marsha whispered to Jason as she and Joanie were joined by the entire coven. Trout and her followers huddled together like a drama team that finds itself down thirteen applauses in the first act.

A soft breeze blew overhead tree limbs one direction … and then another. The ancient saplings appeared to be coming together like uninvited trouble at a wedding … a gossip of leaves speaking in harsh whispers to night brides.

            Trout broke from her group and raked her fingernails at the moon. “The hour of witching has come. If no others dare this night … let the blood belong to those here who stand.”

           

-------2-------

Joanie glanced at the skull-shaped watch she wore on a chain around her neck. It was just after midnight. It did look as though they might be the only covens to show for Týr. She was just about to agree with Trout when deathly silence began near the cast-iron gates and spread throughout the cemetery. Joanie and all those standing around the open grave gasped.

“Ham”, Abra Cadaver’s Gravequeen, appeared riding a broomstick (a 1938 Adler Damenrad ladies’ bicycle) in the air six-feet above a swirling mass of black robes.  A woven picnic basket open and strapped above the rear wheel of the classic Wizard of Oz vehicle showered carpet-tacks down on the barefoot coven members marching below. Bloody footprints, illuminated by the moon, made for a spectacular entrance.

When Ham and her followers were seated, thirteen black candles that were arraigned in a circle around the grave-guests lit themselves … and the ceremony of Týr began.

-------3-------

Ham told Mortuary Frost to preserve themselves. She seated a Blowfish wearing her spoon on the ground opposite Trout’s Deathbat. The Anaconda spoon looked nervous as a gob of mud made from grave dirt was placed over each of his closed eyes and he was then blindfolded.  “Blood and bone,” Trout hissed in his ear.” Both Goth males placed their left hands on the grass, palm side up.

Mortuary Frost had been challenged so they went first. Trout’s most vicious soldier hovered a muscled arm above the ground as he clutched a silver fork. He was blind and listening to Trout’s mental instructions. At her unspoken command he slammed the points into the grass drawing blood from three of his opponent’s fingers.

Soft hissing from Abra Cadaver sounded like a hungry wind chewing on the trees. After a lingering silence where Joanie could hardly breathe, Ham’s fork blindly floated to a spot directly above the enemy’s spayed hand and with a ferocious downward thrust impaled the Mortuary Frost palm almost in the center.

Joanie blew doom crumbs, Abra Cadaver had drawn the most blood and the advantage belonged to them. They were lethal good.

Trout slipped the twisted fork-handle ring, which matched the fork-end her soldier wore around his neck, from her finger and gave it to Ham. Her coven member now belonged to Ham. She watched as her former fork was dragged, by Ham’s coven, bleeding to a circle of withered black roses from whence many suspected (incorrectly) that the cemetery got its name. There the captured Goth male would be Black lipped (sexually initiated) and have his tongue dipped in tar (take new coven vows).

“Would you like a few minutes to say your final farewells?” Ham had a way of speaking that sounded like vicious laughter as she addressed Joanie. Cloverbone was up next.

Joanie was trying to think of something dark to reply when everyone was startled by headlights turning into the cemetery. “More of your friends?” Ham hissed. Three vehicles stopped for a few seconds and then rumbled through the open gates.

The automobiles were long and as dark as shadows. Baby Bat had the best night eyes. “They’re not cops,” she muttered. Still none standing around the open grave felt any relief.

“They’re hearses!” Trout gasped as they moved slowly down the single blacktop lane.

“Who schedules a funeral at midnight?” Ham and Trout both scowled at Joanie as if she were making a joke.

“Those who would not be caught dead in daylight,” Baby Bat finished.

-------4-------

Joanie noticed the Nevada license plates on each of the long black cars as they pulled to a stop near them. A large group of men, their faces and hands painted white to resemble skull and bones climbed out. A robust black man wearing an antique business suit and nineteenth century top-hat approached the group smiling. He was followed by six shapes wearing dark hoods. “I was hoping you would be here.” His smile grew broader but it did nothing to dispel the sudden fear that gripped Joanie.

“Who are you?” Ham asked.

“We are like you, contenders for the crown of Týr,” the man said almost laughing. “Although it’s really not necessary that we immerse ourselves in such unorthodox contests … but by your own coven bylaws, victory would appear to have some benefit to us.”

“You never answered her question.” Joanie found her voice.

“Why we are of course the Seven Deadly Skins from the most sinful city on Earth,” the man said. “Las Vegas is as close to Perdition as is possible for mortals to produce … especially in the summer. How many times have you heard people describe their costly misadventures in the lights that lie … as hot as Hell?”

The man took off his hat and bowed. “Il mio nome è Avidità … and please excuse me if I couldn’t summon humans with the necessary desires and abilities to be my disciples. They just weren’t bad enough.” He gestured to the first figure behind him. “This is Pride!” The figure removed the hood and revealed itself to be a large lion. It gazed at Joanie and the others with hungry eyes. Avidità went on. “What’s a coven without Envy?” The second figure turned out to be a leering African jackal. “Always following …. waiting for that one slow-one to fall … but gluttony is everywhere!”  A shadow behind his skull- men turned out to be a large dog digging up old bones. “Lust, Anger and Sloth … and I believe we’re complete!” The man who called himself Avidità laughed as three more of his followers removed their hoods revealing themselves to be a huge Rabbit with red eyes, a snorting Bull with vapors coming from its nostrils, and a snoozing Bear with the remains of a small animal caught in its teeth.

“You were not invited here. Leave now!” Joanie sounded more forceful than she felt.

“Oh, no one is allowed to leave just yet,” Avidità said. He removed an enormous key from his coat pocket and brandished it like a musical conductor’s baton. With a wave of his hand Joanie and the others heard the distant iron cemetery gates slam shut.

“You’re locking us in here?” Trout was almost screaming. One of her spoons took off running and the Lion dropped it to the bloody ground within seconds.

“Oh the gates are not locked,” Avidità  insisted. “In fact I took great pains to see them opened!”

“You’re the ones who stole the cemetery gate key from the library!” Joanie gasped.

“What do you want?” Ham was trying to keep her coven from bolting.

“Why the same things you do.” Avidità smiled. “An army of the night of course … only on a much bigger scale.”

The ground began to tremble and at first Joanie thought it was an earthquake. Then one grave opened and then another. Walking corpses some rotted for more than a century crawled from the ground and began to assemble around the man? who called himself Greed.

TO BE CONTINUED ….