Ghoul by Brian Keene Page A

shouldn't he be able to turn it into money at the pawnshops? Even so, he had to be careful.
    Something like this ring, he couldn't sell it locally. He'd have to drive to Harrisburg or Baltimore to unload it.
    Beneath the small pile of jewelry and coins was a note, scrawled on a scrap of white cloth--cloth ripped from someone's burial clothes. The note was brief, only seventeen words, but Clark had to struggle to read the handwriting.
    Continue to tell noone of my existence. Bring me more women. You will continue to be rewarded.
    He put the items in his pockets and his pants sagged from the weight of the coins and jewelry. Clark pulled them up, readjusted his belt, and walked away.
    He tried very hard to ignore the faint female screams he heard coming from beneath the ground.
    By noon he was drunk again, and nothing else mattered.
    Chapter Five
    Two weeks had passed since Dane Graco's death, and life went on for everyone else.
    Timmy's grief subsided, Barry's bruises healed, and Doug's guilt faded. The boy's fears seemed to dry up, if only temporarily, in the warmth of the summer sun. They were twelve, after all, and resilient, still able to employ the defense mechanisms of childhood. Timmy still thought about his grandfather every day, especially if he passed by his grave, and he still experienced moments of deep heartache and bouts of crying. But the two weeks of summer vacation's start were like a new lease on life; afternoons spent fishing at the pond (Barry and Timmy caught sunfish and blue gills, while Doug usually caught sticks, and once, a turtle), hanging out together inside the Dugout, reading comics and girlie magazines, playing with Timmy's Star Wars Death Star play set, complete with foam garbage for the trash compactor.
    They'd walk the railroad tracks and finding iron spikes, which they carried back to the Dugout. They spent time shooting rats at the town dump with their BB guns, and retaliating to the opening volley of a new war with their archrivals. Ronny and Jason had stumbled across Doug on the far side of Bowman's Woods and had tried to beat him up, chasing him all the way to Barry 's house; the boys had retaliated by stealing Ronny's bike and hiding it on the railroad tracks behind the paper mill. They waited and watched with a giddy mixture of excitement and dread as the coal train ran it over.
    During the mornings, Barry helped his father, mowing the grass in the cemetery and cleaning the inside of the church. Timmy helped out at home, doing his daily chores without complaint. His father had been nicer and more patient during the past two weeks, telling Timmy that he loved him more often, and actually taking the time to talk to him about things. He was working more hours at the paper mill again, but when he got home, he made an effort to spend time with his son. Timmy wondered if maybe all the overtime his father was working stemmed from a desire to not think about his own father's death. But he didn't ask. Instead, he weeded the garden and mowed their yard. He was glad that his father had taken an interest in him again.
    With no chores to perform or a father to please, Doug spent his mornings by himself, or helped Timmy with his own duties. As in previous summers, when they'd finished, they'd ride their bikes over to the cemetery and give Barry a hand (if his father wasn't around) so that the three of them could hang out sooner. It was during one of these moments when the three boys were clearing the dead floral displays from the graves that they discovered the first hole.
    Clark Smeltzer was working in the lower section of the graveyard, at the bottom of the hill where the older tombstones were located, fixing the sunken grave markers.
    He was out of sight and out of earshot when it happened.
    Barry had hooked a small wagon up to the back of the riding tractor. He drove it between the rows, humming a Billy Idol tune and thinking of maybe asking his mother if he could cut his hair short and spiky to