When Graveyards Yawn by G. Wells Taylor

Author:G. Wells Taylor [Taylor, G. Wells]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror, Lang:en, Apocalypse Trilogy
Publisher: PublishAmerica
Published: 2012-03-30T15:01:08+00:00

Chapter 38

In the hallway, it was dark. Somewhere ahead of us came the mad pleasure-pain shriek and giggle of a woman. After it, a man laughed frenetically—donkey-like. That came from the accountants who rented offices down the hall from me. I didn’t like them. They had too much dirt under their fingernails for accountants. I unlocked the office door pushed it open and heard a rustling sound. I pulled my gun free and shoved the door with it. The inner office was dark, but enough light slipped past the blinds to expose the corners in bars of gray. Nothing. I looked down. An envelope lay crumpled at my feet. I bent, picked it up. Elmo was a shadow behind me.

We had stepped out for a late supper after I returned from Crisco’s. I needed the fuel. All that detox and running around, and sleeplessness. Elmo came for company. He hadn’t said a word. It was perfect. We had pulled up to the front of the building at about eleven-thirty.

“Come on, Fatty.” I crossed the carpet, opened the inner office door, flicked on the desk lamp and dropped into my chair. I flipped the envelope over, ran a thumbnail under the flap, and tore it open. Inside was a message hastily written in pencil on foolscap. It read:

“Mr. Wildclown. Please come. Arizona Hotel. Have something you want. Under Nancy Smith.”

Well, I wanted a lot of things. I wanted my own body. I wanted more money, and I wanted a drink—a lot of things. I wanted a cabin with a stream nearby, where I could take my nephew fishing. We could catch a big one, shellac it, and nail it to the wall. I wanted a nephew. I wanted to be under Nancy Smith. I especially wanted to find the person who had written the message. I also wanted to know how she knew me. A strong female hand had written Jan Van Reydner between the blue lines at the bottom of the page.

“What time is it, Fatso?” I asked, peeking through the blinds.

“Just past eleven-thirty.” His voice was matter-of-fact.

“Not too late to call on a lady.”

“Best time to,” Elmo said and brought his face to life with a grin.

“You better pack a heater,” I said, as I checked the action of my gun. “I’m not sure what kind of reception we’re going to get.”

Elmo smiled. He liked packing a heater. Dead people weren’t supposed to.

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