1
A loud noise jolted Steven upright and he looked into the dark beyond the trees.
“Nothing like a succulent Richmond, ay?” Alan said, just about to bite into some food. “Ay, what’s the matter Steve? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong pal?”
“You didn’t hear that? That bang?”
“Oh that? That’s probably nothing, mate. The others are just checking what it was. Martin thinks it’s a log that broke off a tree. Exciting stuff I s’pose. Bored to death, mate.”
Steve tried getting up, but his strength had gone. He must have been sleeping funny. He tried again and succeeded. It was cold. Too cold. He stepped to the fire and warmed his hands while Alan was cooking sausages for the others.
“One for me?” Steve asked.
“Sure, I’d wait for the others though.”
“Guys!” yelled a voice. It sounded like Frankie’s.
Steve and Alan got up and headed toward the yell, looking at each other suspiciously before doing so.
”My dinner better not go cold,” Alan said.
They walked and joined the others, all looking at the creepy site.
“The fuck is it meant to mean?” Asked Frankie in his moody gruff voice.
“I don’t know. You called us over,” Alan replied.
Steve looked at what was presented in front of them. Graves, lined up together. Each one had a cross nailed into the dirt behind them. Shadows swayed in the torchlight, like creeping figures watching behind the grave markers; reminders of the Reaper.
“Whatever this is, it’s not a good sign. We should leave as soon as possible,” Martin chipped in.
“Hold up a sec, four eyes. I’m not going back yet, we’ve only got a few hours left to go,” Alan threw back. “It’s probably some farmer or sommet. Sheep died, he buried ’em. End of story.’
“No, not end of story. We’re in a bloody forest, not a farm,” Martin argued. “Five graves, for five of us.”
“Woah, woah, woah. Don’t get all doom and gloom on us wormy,” said Susan. She was a fierce woman who said it like it was. She could also be a cold bitch, ready to kill someone for a small slight.
“Come on sis, it is a bit weird,” Alan said to his younger sister.
“Still, I don’t like this. It’s creepy.’
“Ohhh, creeped out ay? Scared of a few ominous graves, are ya? Bad omens and heebie jeebies and all your crystal fuckin’ rocks, yeah? You ever heard of graveyards?” Alan said.
“Let’s just go back to camp before we all get done in, shall we,” she said.
“Christ almighty, fine. Paranoid and a pain in my arse it seems.” Alan laughed.
2
The camp fire roared, but Steve still felt chilly, like he wasn’t getting any warmer. Everyone was asleep, all laying in their sleeping bags. The night had only just begun, with hours before daylight.
Steve tried to get up quietly but didn't succeed with crunching leaves underfoot. That’s when he heard it. A second bang, this time sounding closer. Everyone’s heads shot up, groggy yet suddenly alert, sobered by the sound.
One, two, three. . . Steve thought.
“Where’s Frankie?” Steve asked, worried.
They all ventured through the forest together, trying to be stealthy. Their electronic flashlights were bulky and didn't provide much light, but that’s all they had. They kept traveling farther and farther, wanting to call out, but being too paranoid to do so. Steve knew that Frankie could hold his own in a fight, but this could be bad. Eventually, after a lot of tiresome walking, they found their friend. Frankie lay dead, cold and lifeless.
“Oh god . . .” Susan said, hugging her brother for support. Alan remained speechless; no quips saved up.
Martin looked at everyone with wide eyes, almost welling up and tearing. “Well, time to go.”
“Um, yeah, think I agree,” Steve said.
They all stared for a few minutes.
“Right, lead the way.” Martin sniffled.
“Not without him.” Steve nodded down to Frankie’s corpse.
“Well good luck carrying him, good luck to you. I mean look at him, I can’t carry him!’
“Good, go back to the car then! Wherever the fuck it is now. Go on then, go off walking into the woods. See ya!”
“Alright, alright! Shut up a minute and let me think.” Martin stopped talking and thought for a while, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Look, just drag him by the feet, we can scout ahead,” Susan added.
“Too dangerous, we ne—” Martin stopped talking and froze. “The-the-the . . .”
Steve looked in the direction that Martin was looking and spotted what had frightened him so much. A figure was crouched in the leaves near a tree, all in black.
3
They left then, trying not to make too much noise in case the figure didn’t spot them.
“Alan, we—” the loud noise was deafening this time. The gunshot cracked through the tension fiercely. Susan had been shot in the chest. Her eyes lit up and she toppled backward. Alan lost his grip on her as this happened, yelling in horror as his sister thumped to the earth, a drier patch of leaves blowing up like confetti to celebrate her death.
“Told you I’d miss that pretty face, Alan. Told you I’d make you watch too,” a dark voice said from behind the group.
4
Steve sprinted away, not wasting any time in his escape. He turned around and looked. Another black figure stood there, pistol exposed. Alan fell to his knees, looking at his sister, distraught.
“No, just let us go. Let us fucking go. Not like this. Not a hole in the ground,” Alan said, his voice getting quieter the more Steve ran.
“Say hi for me, would ya,” the shadow said as it raised the gun and fired. Alan fell to the floor, blood flowing from a large hole in his chest.
5
Steve continued to run. After another twenty steps, he turned back and stopped an inch away from a protruding branch. Its veiny twigs reached out like a zombie’s hand, trying to poke his eyes out. Steve dropped to the floor and watched from the cover of a log. He’d lost track of Martin, so preoccupied with Alan’s demise. Now though, Martin was being dragged by his arms, limp and weak and sobbing.
“Please don’t do this . . . You don’t have to do this. We—I can leave town, you’ll never see my face again.’
“Wish I could trust you Martin. But, you and your little group of mates have fucked us over. So, y’know . . . nothing personal.”
The gun was raised again and jammed. Martin cried in relief. He breathed out, thanking god for being spared. Then a flash and blood erupted outward. His glasses flung from his face as the rest of his features were destroyed in a gory explosion. He toppled back from the close-range shot, his arms flailing like bones wrapped in jelly and wire, a slow gasp escaping from what remained of his mouth.
Finally, the perpetrator turned around and looked toward Steve. He approached like a wolf hunting a deer, stalking closer. Steve jumped up and ran. No matter how far he ran though, he made no progress. Eventually the cold got so bad that his legs felt numb. He wasn’t making any progress because he wasn’t running at all. His legs were like two wooden planks attached instead.
Turning around, the shadow was in front of him. He’d caught up in no time, and now it was time for the same fate. The shadow brought the gun barrel up, pointing at Steve right between the eyes. Steve felt the ground sink underneath him, until he was laying down. No shot was fired, but that’s when he finally understood that the gun had been fired one minute ago. Steve lay there, still alive, but just barely. His mind finally returned to reality.
Five graves lay side by side with people in them. Frankie, Susan, Alan, Martin, Steve.
“Get the shovels, you can dig,” Jonny said, the revolver still gripped in his right hand. He removed his balaclava and looked over at the bodies. “Everyone! It’s time we put these cocksuckers to rest. Get moving.”
Additional shadows moved from the trees, hungry eyes watching. They strolled slowly, prepared to dig with shovels in hand; ready to pile dirt on the deceased.
Before they did, Jonny looked up to the sky and watched the full moon emerge. Then he slid the cylinder of the revolver to the side and ejected the five silver bullets into his palm. He then tossed a spent casing into each grave for each kill.