Pale as Death by Heather Graham

Author:Heather Graham [Graham, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MIRA Books
Published: 2018-05-24T16:36:44+00:00

10

Thursday night

The place might have been less eerie, Sophie thought, if it weren’t for the floodlights.

They created little spits of light...surrounded by fields of looming dark shadows.

Some of the graves were ancient—whatever had once been etched into the stones that marked them had long ago worn away.

Some—for instance, a small but very old vault—had evidently been researched, and a plaque in front told them that the man interred there had been a farmer, beloved by his wife and children. His wife, and many of those children, now lay with him in the vault.

There were carvings of angels and cherubs. Some broken, some weeping, and in the strange light, it looked as if they mourned time itself—time, and all those forgotten as it swiftly passed on by.

No grave with readable stones or plaques seemed to be less than a hundred years old, making the burial ground feel like a museum of funerary art. There were stacked graves, one stone or concrete sarcophagus atop another, mausoleums, vaults, plain markers for soldiers lost in World War I, and tombstones depicting death memorials in styles ranging from old Spanish to Victorian.

Bruce stood amidst a row of sculptured lambs, a field where children had been buried. Spanish names blended with English and other European names.

From where they were, they looked up at the old church.

“What do you think?” Sophie asked him.

He turned and looked at her. “No ghosts.”

She arched a brow. She hadn’t been looking for ghosts.

The whole thing about ghosts being real to her was far too new.

“The church...might have catacombs. What do you think?” she asked him.

He answered by walking to the church door. He tried it. It was double-padlocked.

“I think you need a search warrant,” he told her.

She nodded, admitting the truth. Yes, she would need a search warrant. They were on private property. A lie about hearing screams might not stand up in court, and if they were to find something, a good attorney could have it all thrown out.

“I think there’s something here,” she said.

“Can you get a search warrant?” he asked.

She shrugged. “We can just ask the owners, too. We’ll get a hold of Kenneth and find out about his contacts with them... They’ll probably let us search. And the burial ground is open by day. It’s small and compact, and honestly, I didn’t even know it existed, but others apparently do.”

“Then we need to get started on the proper channels,” he told her.

“We could check for an open window,” she said.

He smiled slowly. “Meet you around the other side.”

“Right,” she said.

She had to admit, as she walked around the far side of the building, where the floodlights provided little glow, that she felt chilled.

Chilled—and frightened.

And she wondered why a dark graveyard—with its old, broken, moss-covered and decaying stones—could create such an unease in her heart.

She jumped, certain that she had heard something out of place. A strange sound, like a swift whispering, with a rush of air. And then a small crack, like a step on gravel.

She froze, listening.

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