I pulled into the cemetery parking lot around five o’clock. It was a Tuesday, so the place was empty. I would have rather stayed home as well, but today would have been my parent’s thirtieth anniversary, so I felt it was my duty to pay them a visit. It had been three years since they both died in a car accident while driving up to Colombia to visit my sister Melanie at USC. I still came here regularly, but not as frequently as I used to. I grabbed the bouquet of fall flowers from the passenger seat, then locked my car and headed towards the entrance.
It was a dreary day with lead-gray clouds hovering above the treetops, and a foggy mist settling in for the evening across the well-maintained graveyard grounds. Headstones of various styles and ages were spread out under old oaks – some with fresh flowers, many more with dead and wilted ones. The setting was serene, but creepy at the same time.
I followed a path to the rear of the cemetery where the newer gravesites were located. I reached my parents’ headstone, a beautiful knee-high white marble piece that displayed their names, birthdates, and date of death, along with a QR code in the lower corner. Even though I was the one who had designed the website memorial for my parents, I still scanned the code with my phone. It felt good to see their smiling faces while I was at the site, and it seemed more natural to talk to them that way.
I knelt down on the moist ground and placed the flowers in a plastic holder next to the headstone. Sadness began to creep inside of me, so I focused on their picture on my phone instead. My dad had his arm around my mom, and their heads were close together, both smiling widely. The picture was from their last vacation in Aruba.
As I was sitting there contemplating what to say, it started to sprinkle. Not much, but enough to put a tiny damper on the moment. I decided to keep a positive tone; it was their anniversary, after all.
“Melanie couldn’t make it today. She’s studying for her exams. You would be so proud of her. She’s doing really well,” I said. The lies slipped out with practiced ease.
With a forced smile, I adjusted the flowers. Just then, the light sprinkle turned into a light drizzle. Suddenly, I felt angry. Why was I here at a graveyard right before dusk on a chilly fall day, telling lies to my parents who were long gone and had no idea I was even here?
”Actually, that’s not true,” I said. “ I’m tired of covering for her. She didn’t want to come. Said she was going out with some friends tonight.” I stopped there. Not wanting to tell them the whole truth, even though I knew they couldn’t hear me. I looked up at the sky, then stood up.
“It’s getting dark. I better go, but I’ll be back in four weeks, on Mom’s birthday. Love you guys.” I dabbed at my moist eyes, then started back on the path.
By the time I was nearing the gate, the fog was almost gone thanks to the rain. An earthy musk of wet soil and leaves filled the air—an aroma reminiscent of nature’s gentle decay in preparation for winter. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement to my left. I turned and saw the cemetery cat, Morty. An orange cat who lived nearby but liked to hang out here.
Morty trotted under one of the oaks and sat down in a dry spot, gazing at me. I couldn’t help but smile and follow him under the tree. As I bent down to pet him, I noticed an old, plain, overgrown grave marker next to where he was sitting. Curious, I brushed away the weeds and dirt from the plaque. “Curt Owen. Born 1902. Died 1937.” There was nothing else, except one tiny detail in the lower corner.
I squinted, trying to make out what it was, but it was too small. I activated my phone’s camera and zoomed in on the barely visible mark. The camera focused, and I saw it was a QR code. I followed the prompt on the screen, and after just a few seconds, my phone took me to what I assumed was some kind of website.
Bewildered, I stared at my phone as a man’s face appeared. His face was bruised and swollen, with numerous cuts. His eyes were wild and desperate. He was in a dark, tight space, surrounded by walls that looked like they were made of dirt.
“Ya gotta help me, ma’am. I didn’t do nothin’ to them women. I’m swearin’ on my life. I’m innocent, I’m tellin’ ya,” he pleaded, looking me straight in the eyes.
Confused, I looked around me through the rain across the now near-dark graveyard. Surely this was some kind of prank. It was less than a month left until Halloween, after all.
“Please. You look like a nice gal. I’m beggin’ ya to help me out of here. Please,” he implored. His pleas sounded genuine, but he was probably an actor playing a part in some elaborate joke.
“Who are you, and why the hell are you on my phone?” I said.
“The name’s Curt Owen. I was put here, left to rot in this grave. Them women I supposedly killed, I didn’t do it.”
I couldn’t help but smirk and glanced around the area again, but I still couldn’t see anyone lurking about.
“If you’re Curt Owen, you’ve been dead for almost a century. Pretty good trick to show up on my phone like this. Whoever put that QR code on your marker has a sick sense of humor,” I said, refusing to be made a fool of. “But, I have to admit, it’s pretty cool. In a morbid kind of way.”
Anger flushed over Curt. He got close to his camera and glared at me with intense eyes. “This ain’t no fuckin’ joke, miss! I’m down here, breathin’ and sufferin’. You gotta help me.”
An icy gust swept across the cemetery, giving me goosebumps. I pulled up the collar of my jacket. “I gotta go, but I give you a thumbs-up for your effort.”
“No, no, no, no! Don’t ya dare walk away. Listen to me, I’m inno –“ I ignored his plea, turned off my phone, and dropped it into my jacket pocket, then hurried off towards the parking lot.
I jumped into my car just as heavy raindrops began to pelt it. I gazed at the cemetery, marveling at the effort someone had gone through to set up this elaborate prank. Whoever it was sure went through a lot of trouble for a small chance of anyone ever seeing it. I definitely admired the work that went into it.
I went home and ate my two-day-old Greek salad in front of the TV. I had picked a sci-fi movie I’d been eager to see, but I couldn’t shake the unsettling experience from the cemetery. How had he done it? He couldn’t be sitting by a computer just hoping someone would scan that code. It was so improbable anyone would even find it – unless that code existed on multiple markers and headstones.
Deciding to make it an early night, I cleaned up, took a shower, and brushed my teeth. As I turned off the bathroom light, my reflection in the mirror spooked me for a second. I looked distorted and demon-like. Quickly flipping the light back on, I chuckled at my own silliness. That experience with Curt had made me jumpy. I plugged my phone into the bedside charger and climbed into bed.
I woke with a start when my phone rang at 3:14 a.m. Panicking, I thought it must be Melanie. Something must’ve happened. Seeing an unfamiliar number, dread filled me, memories of the phone call about my parents’ accident rushing back. Bracing for the worst, I answered the call.
To my shock, it was Curt, looking even more desperate and urgent. “Amara, you’ve got to get me out of here,” he pleaded.
Furious, I snapped, “How the hell did you get my number? This is not cool.”
“I’m begging you. Just set me free,” he continued.
“If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll call the police,” I warned him, my stern look emphasizing my frustration with this prank.
“I ain’t trying to be funny. This ain’t no joke. You’re the first person I’ve been able to reach. Please, help me out,” he begged.
This was too absurd to be true. I began suspecting that some guys from the AR/VR development department at NeuraSphere Technologies, where I work, were behind this. “So you want me to go dig up a grave?” I asked.
Curt seemed hopeful. “Would you?”
“No! I’d be arrested,” I chuckled, now convinced this was a set-up. “Let me guess, you want me to get filmed digging up a grave so it will go viral on TikTok?”
“I don’t know what that is,” he replied earnestly. “I’ve been trapped here for so long. Please, just give me a chance to clear my name.”
“I’m not going to the cemetery at night with a shovel,” I asserted.
He took a deep breath. “No one will be here if you come now. Please.”
I sighed. Persistent little fuckers, I thought, but decided to play along. “Okay,” I said. “But you’re going to owe me a few drinks for this.”
He looked puzzled but hopeful. “If drinks are what you’re after, Miss, I’ll set you up with as many as you can handle.”
Back at the cemetery, I parked my car under the lone light. The moisture in the air left by the rain gave the light a ghostly halo. I got out of my car. The night was eerily silent. I opened the trunk and grabbed a rusty old shovel my dad had used in their garden, along with an LED camping lantern. Then I headed to the entrance.
I walked down the path toward Curt Owen’s grave marker. Even though I knew I was all alone, I still glanced over my shoulder every so often. When I reached his grave, I took out my phone. Without clicking anything, Curt’s face appeared. Impressed by that technical trick, I made a mental note to ask those guys how they pulled that off.
“Okay, I’m here,” I said, holding up the shovel for emphasis. “But if this is a set-up, I swear I’ll beat y’all to death with this shovel. Got that?
Staying in character, Curt looked genuinely hurt. “This ain’t no set-up, miss. You’ll see.”
I pocketed the phone and then looked around the cemetery. Seeing no one lurking, I stabbed the wet ground with the shovel. It seemed so loud in this quiet place I had to stop and take another look around, but I was still alone. I continued to dig and before long there was a big pile of dirt next to the hole. Then, my shovel hit something hard.
I checked my surroundings again, then I peered down into the hole, where I saw what appeared to be a rotted plywood box. After clearing away the dirt, I took out my phone. Curt appeared on the screen, his face hopeful.
I tapped the casket with the shovel. “Can you hear this?”
Thrilled, he answered. “Yes! Yes!”
I only heard him on the phone. There was no sound coming from that rotten casket. “You’re putting me on. You can’t possibly be in there.”
I scanned the cemetery for movements, but again there was nothing. Annoyed and feeling foolish, I shouted into the darkness, “Alright, you can come out now. I admit, you got me.” Only silence answered until Curt spoke.
“Just let me out, Amara. You’ll see this ain’t no prank,” he insisted.
Rolling my eyes in exaggeration, I pocketed my phone and wedged the shovel in under the casket’s lid. The rotten wood creaked in protest. Taking a deep breath, I pried the lid open, releasing a fetid smell that made me wince and turn away.
Inside lay a skeleton, its twisted brittle bones twisted and tangled, cobwebs clinging to the eye sockets, its jaw was open as if frozen in a tormented scream. I stared at the corpse in horror. Suddenly I was hit by reality. I had just dug open a grave at a cemetery. I could actually go to prison for this. I glanced around the cemetery. It was all quiet. I stared back into the casket and the hole it was in. I was going to have to cover my tracks well before leaving. Pissed off, I took my phone out of my pocket. Curt’s confused face was right there.
“Asshole.” I snarled. “I knew you were just putting me on. Now I have to cover this up.”
“I don’t understand”. He replied. “I can hear you loud and clear, but I’m still trapped down here.”
Pointing the phone at the corpse, I snapped, “See that? Does that look like you?”
A wave of sadness washed over him, followed by confusion. He looked at me, whispering, “Am I a ghost?”
“I don’t believe in ghosts” I shot back, regretting my words almost instantly. It’s true that I don’t believe in ghosts. I’m a software engineer with an interest in quantum mechanics and theories of consciousness. Yet, even I had to admit, I was pretty confused by now. I had absolutely no idea what was going on.
Curt looked devastated. I was livid. “I’m covering this up, then I’m going home, and you’re never contacting me again,” I declared, about to turn off the phone when I noticed his face. It was a portrait of sadness. I didn’t know who this man was, but I felt a sting in my heart. Whoever he was, he deserved an Oscar. His performance was stellar.
“Now, I’ll never get another chance to prove it was Martin Renquist who took those women’s lives. My name won’t ever be cleared.” He lamented, turning away from me.
My thumb hesitated, hovering over the off button. “What did you just say?” I asked, a brow raised.
He repeated. “I said, no one will ever know it was Martin Renquist who killed those women.”
This piqued my curiosity. I recognized that name. “Martin Renquist?” I asked.
He turned back to me. “Yeah, he’s the real killer.”
“I think I’ve seen that name somewhere.” In fact, I was sure of it. I stalked off into the sea of gravestones searching for that one in particular. I finally found it in the nicer area of the cemetery. It was a big impressive piece in granite. ‘Martin Renquist. Born 1905. Died 1978.’ I aimed my phone at the grave, and Curt’s eyes widened. “Is that him?” I asked.
I could see his excitement grow as he read. “Yes! That’s him! I remember he was three years younger than myself,” He blurted out. Then his face hardened. “I reckon that bastard got to live thirty-eight more years after they buried me. That ain’t right.”
I quickly googled Martin Renquist. Confused, I read the results. “Are you sure it’s him? Says here that he was a prominent politician and loving father to four kids and a husband for forty years.”
“It’s always the ones you least expect.” He spat with contempt.
While I was contemplating my next move, I noticed something on the headstone. Another tiny QR code. I immediately became suspicious. Who the hell was putting these miniature codes on old gravestones?
My phone focused on the code and I clicked the photo button. On the phone’s screen, an old man appeared. Aghast, I stared at my phone. Doing the math in my head, he was seventy-three when he died and this man looked it. Unlike Curt who seemed scared and desperate, Martin Renquist looked like a predator as slick as a silver-skinned shark with black eyes and a sinister grin to match. To my surprise, he also looked to be in a dark tight space.
“Who… are you?” I asked.
Amused, Martin eyed me closely. “Well, well, well, pray tell, what brings such a delicious young lady to my humble – “ He looked around his tight space. “ – grave?”
I switched the window on my phone back to Curt and in a hushed voice asked, “What do I say to him? Hurry.”.
I could tell the wheels were spinning in his head and then he said, “Ya gotta get him to confess his crimes.”
I switched back to Martin. Thought of what to say and decided to be assertive. “Did you kill five women between 1932 and 1936?” It was a bit blunt, but that was all I could think of.
Surprised, Martin scoffed, then an amused grin spread across his thin dry lips. “My dear girl, if I happen to furnish you with the accurate answer, might there be a chance I secure a token of victory? Some sort of prize?”
What the hell? Was this ghoul trying to bargain with me? “An award?” I spat. “Why would you need one, you’re already dead?”
Martin looked around his tight space. “I’ve been holed up in this gloomy, stifling cavity for ages. If you could find it in your heart to release me, I promise you, I’ll spill every secret you’re chasing.”
I was skeptical, to say the least. Was I really standing at a cemetery in the wee hours of the morning talking to two long ago dead people? I was very confused but extremely intrigued at the same time. If this was some elaborate prank, I was truly impressed. If it wasn’t, then what the hell was going on? “Release you?” I asked. “As in opening up your grave?”
There was a hopeful flicker in Martin’s eyes. “Ah, yes. Would you be so kind?”
I hurried back to Curt’s grave. While doing so I switched over to him on the phone.
“What’s happenin’? What did he say?” He asked.
I picked up the shovel by the pile of dirt and aimed my phone at it. “He wants me to dig up his grave.”
Curt’s eyes popped wide open. “Are you plannin’ on doin’ it?”
“I’m kind of curious myself now,” I said. I couldn’t believe what was happening and what I was about to do, but I knew I couldn’t just pack up and go home either. I really needed to find out what was going on here. I headed back to Martin’s grave, then switched back to him on the phone, and showed him the shovel.
“Alright, but first, tell me about the murders,” I said.
Darkness spread across Martin’s face. “I shall unfold each bloodstained chapter, every grim and gruesome detail, only after you’ve bestowed upon me the sweet freedom from this cold tomb.”
I told myself he was not real and therefore no real threat to me. I stood firm. “No. I don’t trust you. You tell me about the first murder and I’ll dig two feet, then you tell me about the second one and I’ll dig again.”
Martin weighed it then gave in. He stared coldly, but amused at me. “Vanessa Barden, barely nineteen, a naive beauty unaware of her potent allure. I performed the act myself, her breath ceasing under the pressure of my own hands. The rush, the exquisite thrill of her life energy flowing into mine, was a sensation unlike any I had ever known.”
I stared at my phone and shivered as an icy chill shot through my spine. I wasn’t sure if this man was real or not, but either way, pure evil oozed out of him. I couldn’t give up now though, so I propped the phone up by his gravestone, raised the shovel and stabbed it into the dirt. When I reached the target depth, I turned to the phone where Martin kept an eye on my progress. I spoke with a firm voice. “Who was the second?”
He answered cooly as if I had asked how his day went. “LouMarie Jones. Merely twenty, still playing coy with her youthful charm. Attempting to echo the allure of my maiden kill, I found her lacking. The taste had dulled, the thrill, faded. It was a razor that offered the novel titillation I craved. With a swift, deliberate cut across her throat, the warm, life-affirming surge against my hands restored the sensation I’d hungered for.”
Astounded and with utter disgust and growing hatred, I stared back at him. “I looked you up online. It said you were a prominent politician with four kids and a wife of almost forty years. Why? Why did you feel the need to kill?”
The fog had returned. It swirled around the headstone like an ominous spirit.
“When a man finds himself perched upon the pinnacle of all his desires, he inevitably gazes toward the unreachable, yearning for that which remains tantalizingly beyond his grasp.” His voice was calm and in control. His eyes fixed on mine.
I jammed the shovel back into the ground and dug another two feet down, then I glared at him. “The third one?”
He brushed the question off as insignificant. “She was an unfortunate miscalculation. A sly attempt at career advancement by flirting her way into my grace. I strangled her with my belt. No pleasure or thrill, I assure you, just a simple necessity.”
His way of speaking about these horrible acts of murders as if they meant nothing made me tremble with anger. “What was her name?” I demanded.
“Irrelevant. Barely a footnote in the grand narrative, not worth the effort to recall.” He said with a smile. He was so slippery and slimy he made my skin crawl. “Now, kindly continue. I can hear you getting closer.” He continued.
As I started to dig again, the fog seemed to come alive. It moved across the graveyard in deliberate swirls. Restless with a breathy hissing in its wake.
I dug for several minutes until there was a clunk when the shovel hit the lid of a casket. I looked at Martin on my phone. His expression was that of delight and eagerness. “So enticingly near.” He said. “Go on, my dear. Don’t stop now.’
I glared at him. If he had been here in person, I would have whacked him with the shovel, but I wanted answers, so I forced myself to play along. “Who was the forth?” I asked.
Martin closed his eyes, drew in a breath of pleasure. “Ah, Julia McKenzie. A soul enthralled by darkness, she yearned to bare her inner self… through my blade.”
It took me a couple of seconds before I realized what he had just said. Repulsed, I almost gagged as I said the words. “You cut her open?”
He shrugged. “She desired it. I simply obliged.”
Appalled and unable to speak, I gaped at him. He glowered back, then yelled. “Now open the fucking casket!”
I stood my ground. If this monster had really done what he said he’d done, I was determined to let the world know. “No. Not until you tell me who the fifth one was.” I yelled back.
“Curt fucking Owen! That’s who. A mere trifle, an impertinent little mouse nosing around my political bastion. Dared to threaten the veil of secrecy around my… diversions. His audacity was his downfall. His fate was sealed by the merciless blows of my crowbar.” It was clear this had hit a nerve. He had lost his cool and let anger take over.
I stared aghast at my phone. “You framed him for the murders?”
Martin’s face changed. He went from angry and smug to surprised. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but then I noticed that his gaze was not directly on me. It seemed he was looking over my shoulder behind me. I felt the tiny hairs on my neck stand out. Was someone behind me? For the first time since this bizarre encounter had started, I was scared. I spun around and to my amazement I watched the translucent shape of Curt walk towards me.
“You did it.” He said. The desperation from earlier was gone and he seemed relaxed and content.
“Curt?” I asked.
He smiled for the first time. “You got him to confess. You cleared my tarnished name.” He looked around the graveyard. “I am finally free.”
In absolute bewilderment, I asked, “What happens now?”
He gazed out into the distance with a hint of hope. “There’s a light. It’s pulling me towards it. I reckon, that’s where I ought to be headin’. He turned towards me. “I knew one day, an angel would appear. From the depths of my heart, I thank you.“ He staggered forward, then faded until he was completely gone.
The fog floated towards me. Swirled around my feet, then smoke-like tendrils felt their way up my legs. Mesmerized, I couldn’t help but watch until Martin’s voice jolted me back to reality.
“Now it’s my turn. My liberation.” He mused with a demanding tinge.
I had absolutely no idea what was going on, but I was sure of one thing. “I’m not setting you free. You’re a murderer.” My words dripping with contempt.
Martin looked at me with wicked eyes. A true monster. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. “
“Of course I do. I’m up here, free. You’re trapped down in a hell hole somewhere. Where you belong.” I said defiantly, then quickly turned off my phone and pocketed it. I grabbed the shovel and began to move the dirt back into the hole.
The fog started to become more turbulent. Leaves rustled in the trees as a breeze whined its way through the cemetery.
I felt a buzzing vibration in my pocket. Someone was calling me. I stopped and took out my phone. On the screen was the face of my mother and the word MOM. My knees threatened to buckle under me as a surge of joy flooded through me, momentarily drowning the logic that screamed this was impossible. I stared at the phone while it continued to ring. I finally hit the answer button along with the speaker button “Hello?
To my horror, it was Martin’s chilling voice that filled the air. “Refuse to open my coffin and I will make you regret it. I may be confined, but my reach is far more extensive than this grave.”
In a panic I punches the end call button, but the phone stayed on. With a trembling hand I hit it again and again, but it refused to end the call.
“Perhaps I should pay a visit to your dear mother. Or even better, your sweet little sister. How old is she now?” His voice was smooth and slippery, like a predator’s well rehearsed lies.
I felt the color drain from my face. Horrified, I stared at my phone. “No! Go away!” I pushed the power off button, but the fucking thing refused to comply.
“Either liberate me from this suffocating tomb, or prepare yourself for relentless nocturnal visits and daytime specters. Consider it your lasting requiem, until your own curtain call.” He threatened with a velvet voice.
“Stop! Leave me alone.” I yelled.
“I assure you, once freed, I shall not linger in your existence. I only seek my own freedom.”
I stared at my phone, weighing it. I just wanted this insanity to stop.
“You have my word.” He said, reassuringly.
I thought about it for a few seconds. “Will you disappear just like Curt if I do?”
“I vow to vanish, leaving no trace in your life.”
I looked down into the grave, then I began to dig again. When his fancy coffin was exposed, I hit the hinges with the shovel and pried the lid ajar. This time, no foul air escaped. It was dead quiet. I popped the lid wide open. It was empty! Horrified and confused, I stared down into the empty casket, then I turned to my phone “It’s empty. Where are you?
I could feel movement behind me. Terrified, I spun around as the dark and translucent shape of Martin rose before me.
“In every shadow, in every whisper of the wind, I exist. Boundless, unchained to wander as I will, to play as I desire. But fear not. You shall remain untouched. The world offers ample distractions.” He chuckled. Low at first, but it soon grew into an evil laughter before he faded away along with the fog.
Almost paralyzed with fear, I willed myself to back off down the path. Slow at first then faster until I turned around and ran as fast as I could towards the entrance and out into the parking lot. I hurried to my car. Fumbled with the key fob before I could get the door open. I jumped inside and stabbed the door lock mechanism, then I started the car and drew a sigh of relief as I drove off.
Driving through the city, I started to relax. I thought back at what had transpired during the night and nothing made any sense at all. I noticed a dark pink hue in the sky and a sense of comfort settled in knowing it soon would be daylight. I knew I would be able to analyze and think critically when my nerves were not rattled by fear.
I turned on the radio. An early morning show wafted out of the speakers and everything started to almost feel normal again. My thoughts went back to those guys in AR and VR development. If they somehow were behind all this, I would have to admit that they were pure geniuses. I would praise them to high heaven. After I beat the shit out of them for scaring me to death of course. I smiled to myself at the thought.
The radio crackled static a few times until, “Just remember Amara, the shadows are my domain. Sleep tight… don’t let the nightmares bite.” Martin’s chilling laughter faded away before the morning show was back.
Terror hit me like a freight train. My hands clutched the steering wheel in a death grip, then I screamed!