Grave Danger Read online

  Grave Danger

  By: K.E. Rodgers

  ****

  A Smashwords Edition

  Published By:

  K.E. Rodgers on Smashwords

  Copyright © 2010

  Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author, K.E. Rodgers. Thank you for your support.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased is coincidental.

  Author Note: I’ve always had a thing for a good ghost story. They’re creatures engrained in almost every culture, past and present. Despite the vast amounts of literature using ghosts as characters or elemental themes, I believe there is always room for more. I came up with the idea for this story with the city of St. Augustine in mind first. It too is an interesting character. I’ve visited this oldest city many times, amassing numerous pictures, along with historical books and fictional books from local writers. This is a rather unorthodox story of love between two very unlikely persons. But in the end they seem to complete each other very well. Of course I can’t forget my infatuation with the other dead people. The flesh-eaters in my story or what you might know as zombies. An unappreciated, misunderstood species. They’re not likely what you would expect. I hope you enjoy.

  Chapter 1

  Clarissa Schofield woke on the eve of her twenty-ninth birthday to find herself dead. It was an unsettling and quite new experience to be dead. She had never died before and therefore had no idea what to expect.

  Looking at herself in the mirror, she frowned at the face staring back at her. It looked very real - very human, but at the same time it was not. Even as inexperienced as she was by the logistics of death, she knew with no uncertainty that she was a ghost.

  To be honest, death wasn’t how she had envisioned her birthday celebration to play out. Clarissa should be eating guilt free birthday cake and laughing with her friends, opening gifts and drinking enough cosmos to get her to that point where she was tipsy but not overly drunk. Birthdays were a celebration of life and the fact that you made it one more year. However, being dead took the helium out of that would be happy moment, turning her balloons of life to lead and her dreams to dust.

  Turning away from her spectral visage in the mirror she transported herself from the Orlando hospital to the open streets of an entirely different city.

  She didn’t know why she was here or what had drawn her to this city. Something inside her had compelled her to this exact spot like a deathly honing beacon. Somehow, Clarissa knew this was where she belonged.

  The old city gates stood at the entrance of the oldest part of St. Augustine; a lasting monument to the history of this ancient city. St. Augustine boasted the fact that it was the oldest city. More accurate, it was the land where oldest colonized settlement existed; predating the settlements of Jamestown and Plymouth by forty some odd years. That first settlement no longer exists, but the structures that stand in their place give visitors a personal look at American and Florida history. Preservation and tourism are keys to keeping this ancient city alive and thriving.

  St. Augustine was a cultural and historic icon, but even more famous than the Spanish charm of its buildings, the colossal structures built by Flagler and his ilk or simply the tropical beauty of the land, were the legends of its paranormal inhabitants. Long before New Orleans claimed itself a Mecca for the unnatural world, St. Augustine laid the grounds for ancient magick. Within this city of old there existed the deathly inhabitants of two communities.

  They co-exist with a frayed and thin strand of mutual understanding. As long as the two abide by the rules laid down long ago, their acceptance of the other remained intact. Their bitter and apathetic attitude of the other likely stemmed from the simple truth that each possessed what the other could never have again. For the flesh-eaters, that was a soul and for the ghosts the feeling and look of human flesh.

  And in this land of ancient magick, Clarissa found herself a new member of the Eidolon, (ghost) community. She knew nothing of the legendary flesh-eaters and even less about being a ghost. To her, the entire paranormal world was the warped imaginings of oddball people. Clarissa prided herself on living in the real world, not fantasy land. But she no longer lived anymore.

  Evening darkness was just now descending on the city, heralding the tourists who were beginning to emerge from their hotel rooms, ready to prowl the streets for drinks, shopping and excitement.

  A family of out-of-towner’s walked casually past Clarissa on their way to a sightseeing tour of the city. It was a ghost tour, one of many which the city provided for visitors to the area. Too bad they didn’t know they had just walked right past a very real ghost. The living creatures didn’t as much as turn their heads in her direction. It could certainly be seen as a waste of their time and money to go on these tours if they didn’t even have the capacity to see one right in front of their fleshy faces.

  Clarissa folded her arms around herself, a tight hug to hold herself together as she stood at the entrance to St. George Street which led to the Spanish quarter of St. Augustine. She felt ridiculous simply standing alone in a crowd of living creatures, not knowing what to do next. There should have been a handbook to go along with being dead like in the Beetlejuice movie. Yet, despite her discomfort, Clarissa felt a strong compulsion to remain here, like the essence of the city was calling to her. In her deathly form she seemed more attuned to the magick of this land.

  “Good, you didn’t get lost. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to go looking for you.”

  Clarissa whipped her head around, focusing her eyes on a man as he came strolling up the sidewalk. She watched him as he maneuvered through a group of tourists who didn’t bother to glance in his direction as he came ever closer to where she was standing.

  He looked to be in his early forties with silver wings on the sides of his otherwise dark brown hair. Clarissa always thought that on men peppered gray hair gave them a distinguished and worldly look, a sexy unconventional look. He smiled at her as he drew closer, showing a little dimple in his handsomely scruffy cheek.

  “Are you talking to me?” Clarissa asked hesitantly.

  She gave herself a mental reprimand. It was obvious that he was addressing her, as his sharp focus was undeniably right on her otherworldly form and not on anyone else. It was the first time in days that anyone had actually looked at her and not through or around her. To others, it was as if she no longer existed. But she did exist, even if it was in a strange and unnatural form. More than anything she wanted to be acknowledged; for someone to speak to her, even just a glance at her in passing. It wasn’t much to ask for.

  Clarissa had spent the first days of her death walking the halls of the Orlando Regional Medical Center, not knowing why she was there or even who she was. Her death was a blur of mixed up feelings and thoughts. In death, even her own name was beyond her grasp. All she knew was that she had died and was now relegated to this deathly animated state for an undisclosed amount of time.

  No one would speak to her. And as she screamed and ranted at them to take notice of her right in front of their oblivious faces the truth of her new existence became clear. She was a freak of nature now, an abomination of the natural world. So the doctors, nurses, hospital staff and patients ignored the hysterical ghost and never took notice of her effervescent presence.

  After six days of haunting the halls of the hospital, she gave in. A trip to the nursery where they kept some of the newly
born living had solidified the truth in her mind. Normally she wouldn’t have been allowed to see the tiny living creatures, but because the nursing staff ignored her deathly presence, she could slip into the room undetected.

  They were beautiful little things and they were so lucky to possess the one thing Clarissa would never have again. She wasn’t flesh and blood anymore. Therefore she couldn’t belong with them. Clarissa would never touch the world with the flesh of a mortal. She was nothing but a spectral of her living self.

  Running a finger along one of the living creature’s cheeks a ghostly moan resonated in her throat. The babies’ warm skin tingled along her cooler skin. If skin was what one would call the strange coating over her form. It wasn’t like the living’s skin. Instead it was something composed of electrical currents and an ancient magick long forgotten by time.

  It wasn’t fair. She shouldn’t have to give any of this up. She shouldn’t have to end her life. Not yet, at least. Was it so much to ask that she be allowed another thirty, forty years before she bit the dust? Twenty-nine was too young to die, but then some died much younger than that.

  Clarissa departed the Orlando hospital, leaving behind any hope of living again. Finally, she had come to grips with her death and so felt the pull to her new home in the old city.

  Looking up at the kind face of the first person to see her in her spectral state, she was momentarily comforted. He, in turn, held out his hand in welcome as he stood in front of her.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, as she lightly placed her hand within his grasp.

  Clarissa hesitated for a few seconds, trying to draw information from her ghostly brain. It was difficult at times to remember much about her living self. Death had seemed to strip most of the living memories along with the flesh. The identity of the living was lost to the recently dead, for a time at least. Death was such an all consuming experience. It would take awhile to remember who she had been before it.

  “Clarissa,” she answered, finally remembering that fragment of information. “My name is Clarissa Schofield,” she continued, speaking as if she were in one of the support groups for living creatures seeking help for some personal issue. But the dead had no issues. Death should have meant the end of such living concerns. “I just arrived, but I’m not sure why I’m here. You’re dead too I guess.” He nodded. “I’m dead. I know that.”

  “Hello, Clarissa,” he said, giving her hand a friendly and comforting squeeze. “I’m Henry Portier. I guess you didn’t have too much trouble finding the place.” She shook her head in the negative as he continued. “I’m here on behalf of the Eidolon community of St. Augustine to welcome you to our city. I know this is a difficult time for you. I’m a kind of a polestar for the community; a guide for our newest citizens.” He let go of her hand.

  Henry was a ghost, just like Clarissa. That was why he could see her. Clarissa had no idea there was such a concept as a ghost community; citizens of the dead organized into a united congregation. She just assumed ghosts wandered the earth alone. That was why they moaned and ranted so much.

  “How did you know I would be here?”

  Henry pointed up to the ancient gates of the old city. Clarissa turned her head to look behind her and up at them as well. Two large blocks of stone, aged by time and human influence, they remained standing even in this modern time.

  “The old city gates are like a honing beacon to the newly deceased. You felt the pull of the magick of the land. It is strongest here. Likely because so many of the living pass these gates, it leaves a mark which calls us in.”

  Clarissa could feel it too. Now that she was dead, her other senses were stronger. The ability to detect the magick of the land was just one of them.

  Henry outstretched his arm in front of him, touching the old stone. Looking over his shoulder at Clarissa he gestured for her to do the same.

  “When one of us is made, you can feel it in the stone,” he continued as he watched her hesitantly put her hand to the gate. “It makes a quivering movement. It’s almost as if it were alive inside.”

  Clarissa moved closer as she put her hand on the old city gates. As her fingers brushed the cold stone, she felt the movement of energy under her finger tips. It really was alive. Or at least, it felt that way.

  “Are there a lot of us here?” Clarissa whispered. He was the first of her kind she had met.

  He took his hand from the stone pillar. “A few,” he answered, “But not as many as in other places around the world. We are a quiet community and don’t like to be as showy as some of the dead in other haunted locals. I think you’ll find us to be normal enough for our kind.”

  Henry looked around at his city. The beauty of this land trumped any of the more haunted ghostly communities in the surrounding area. He had traveled to New Orleans on a short vacation trip some years back. It was exciting, but the paranormal inhabitants were entirely too chaotic for his tastes. In his opinion, they didn’t co-exist as amicably as he was used to and he was more than happy to come home to his own haunted town, leaving the craziness of the ‘Big Easy’ to the more adventurous soul.

  “Have you gotten a chance to see much of the city yet?” he asked as he started walking around her onto St. George Street.

  Clarissa shook her head, falling in step beside him. Henry was her ghostly tour guide as they made their way through town, pointing out stores and historic land marks. He was rather knowledgeable about the area. They meandered down the popular street, full of tourists and locals, shops and restaurants on either side. It was a long stretch of road where no cars were allowed to venture, taking pedestrians through several blocks until they reached the open square of the Plaza de la Constitucion.

  No one bumped into them, nor did any of the living walk through them on accident. Though no one took notice of their presence, subconsciously the livings were able to step around their forms even without realizing they were doing so.

  “How long have you been like this?” Clarissa asked as they paused at a cross road that intersected Hypolita with St. George. Not that a car could do much damage to their non-corporeal form.

  Henry laughed at her expected question. “I assume you mean, how long have I been dead?” he spoke frankly.

  Clarissa made a shamed face at her indelicate question. It wasn’t polite to ask such a personal question of someone you had just met. And death was very personal. “I’m sorry,” she interrupted before he could continue. “That was rude of me. I was just curious to know because I want to know what to expect in this existence and you seem to be so knowledgeable. But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  “No, I don’t mind,” he assured her, a quick and friendly smile in her direction. They crossed the intersection and continued forward. “I’ve been residing in St. Augustine for several decades now since my death in 1924. Before that I resided in Maryland, both during my life and for a brief time after my death. But I’ve come to prefer this city above others. This is my home and I can’t think of a better place I’d rather spend this existence than right here in the Sun Shine State.”

  Clarissa agreed with a silent nod as she watched the tourists. It was a nice place and she could get used to calling this city home. “I’ve been here a few times on vacation. There’s a favorite restaurant of mine, my friends and I used to go to it every time we came to visit. But I don’t remember what it was called.” As Clarissa spoke those words, an image of herself and two blurred shaped people sitting in a local restaurant flashed in her brain.

  It was a memory of her living self, but still fuzzy from death. For the death of her, she couldn’t remember the names of those two people, but she knew somehow that they were friends of hers. Those same friends were likely now aware of her untimely demise.

  Henry became aware of her sudden sadness and confusion. Clarissa was only recently dead and it would take time to acclimate herself with her living past and her deathly future. It was something they all had to go through. Death was nothing new
to this world and yet it still mystified much of the living.

  “It will take some time to adjust to this existence,” Henry spoke, looking at a couple as they held hands in the streets, walking quickly by them. “Who you were and who you are now, it’s a struggle for supremacy. In your head your mind knows that life no longer exists for you, but in your heart you still feel the need to be connected. The significant memories of life are imprinted on the soul and we can retain some of what we were in this form. But it takes time to remember the rest and even then we are not the same.”

  “That’s speaking mildly.” She answered with a sarcastic bite. “I know I’m not the same. I’m dead.” She shook her head as another image of her herself and a man popped into her brain. They were arguing over some issue. She knew it was not unusual for her and this man to fight as they fought viciously and often. Suddenly the picture was gone from her brain, disappearing back into the shadows.

  Clarissa looked earnestly up at Henry’s sympathetic face. “I don’t know who I am,” she spoke the terrible truth. “I’m not sure I even exist anymore. I know it’s somehow wrong that I should still be attached to this world. But at the same time I know that I should.” Still looking up at her ghostly companion she searched his face for answers. “Am I making any sense to you? I know I must be the worst ghost ever to exist. I don’t think I believe in the paranormal world or ghosts.” She turned away from him, wiping at her cheek to make certain that she wasn’t crying. That would make him feel uncomfortable, she was sure. Clarissa continued.

  “I have to be honest and confess that being dead really sucks right now. It was my birthday a few days ago. That’s when I died, on my birthday.” She wiped at a stray glowing, shimmering tear. “How convenient,” she said. “At least I’ll never forget the day of my death. I don’t think I’ll ever forget.” However that wasn’t entirely true. She knew she had died on her birthday, but not how she had died or even why. That was something her brain would not – could not think about yet.