Harlan County Horrors Read online

  Pris had been hiding in a corner of the living room, in view of the buffet. She had no interest in food. The dining room was crammed with hungry, black-clad mourners who would murmur the usual platitudes whenever they bumped into a member of Bobby Lee's family.

  Apparently, Kara didn't feel like eating either. She approached Priscilla timidly, as if she was afraid Pris might bolt out of her chair and run away.

  "What do you want, Kara?"

  Bobby Lee's ex-girlfriend let out a tiny sigh. She looked even prettier when she was sad. "I hate funerals. I usually don't know what to say."

  "It would be better if people said nothing at all."

  "Oh. Right." Kara started to walk away, and then paused. When she turned around again, Pris could see tears glistening on her long eyelashes.

  "I was so stupid to break up with Bobby Lee. I only hope you realize how much he truly loved you, Pris."

  Priscilla gave her a frigid stare. "I don't think you'll ever understand how we felt about each other."

  "I didn't, but I do now." Kara dabbed her eyes with a tissue. "Look, I'm not telling you this to be mean, but the truth is I thought Bobby Lee got engaged just to make me jealous. He came to see me at The Blossom Shop that morning before he died, and I wanted to believe he was having second thoughts. I...I tried to kiss him, but he stopped me. He was there to place a special order for your wedding night---dozens of daisies for your hotel room down in Bristol."

  Pris swallowed hard, suddenly feeling light-headed. Stop it, Kara. Stop talking and let me go home.

  "People used to think Bobby Lee was crazy about me, but he loved you more, Pris. I could see it in his eyes when he was talking about you, and I just thought you'd want to know."

  On Saturday, the sixteenth of April, Priscilla dragged herself out of bed and opened the windows in her room. She inhaled the fresh warm air, her vision blurred by tears instead of sunlight.

  "It's so beautiful, Bobby Lee. No rain on our wedding day."

  She wished there was a terrible storm raging outside. She wished it would destroy Kara's big brick house and her family's businesses and all of Russell Fork.

  Pris backed away from the window and eyed the prescription bottle on her nightstand. Just a few of those pills would knock her out for several hours, and when she finally woke up again, this painful day would be over.

  But will tomorrow be any better?

  Priscilla had been sleeping in Bobby Lee's favorite Wildcats T-shirt. It smelled faintly of his spicy aftershave and she didn't want to change out of it. She had no appetite anyway, so there was no reason to go downstairs. Her mother would be working at the restaurant most of the day.

  If only she could talk to Granny Maeve.

  Pris swallowed a couple of the little white pills and then walked across the hall into her grandmother's cool, dark bedroom. She crawled over into the middle of the feather mattress and buried herself under the heavy quilt. When she drifted off, she dreamed about the past.

  Priscilla was thirteen again, sitting in the rocker in her granny's bedroom, turning the crinkly, delicate pages of a brown leather journal and trying to read the faded passages. The enthralling book of spells and rituals had first belonged to Millicent---Granny Maeve's own grandmother.

  Near the middle of the journal, Pris came across a section called The Waking of The Dead. It was a ritual for calling back the spirits of those who had passed on to the other side. Just as she began reading the steps necessary to carry out the ceremony, Granny Maeve walked into the room.

  "No, child." The old woman rushed over and snatched the journal out of Priscilla's hands. "You ain't old enough yet to learn these spells." Her expression softened when she saw the hurt look on Pris' face. "But don't you worry none---it won't be too long before this book is yours."

  Priscilla woke up from the dream. It's mine now.

  She shook off her grogginess and hurried downstairs to make a pot of coffee. Late afternoon sunshine poured into the kitchen.

  What had happened to the journal? Granny Maeve had kept it in her nightstand until she'd caught Pris reading it, and then it had been moved.

  Priscilla started her search in the cellar, looking through a cedar chest filled with musty-smelling clothes and a bunch of old storage bins that overflowed with greeting cards, letters and photographs. No sign of the diary.

  Then she remembered the bookcase in the attic.

  She found it on the bottom shelf, behind a locked panel. Pris was too impatient to search for the key. She broke the thin pane of glass with a cast-iron doorstop.

  Her mother was waiting for her in the second floor hallway at the top of the main staircase. Dorie stared for a long moment at the leather journal Pris had clutched to her chest, and then she looked up at her daughter with tired, sad eyes.

  "My little girl," she whispered. "My poor baby girl."

  "Stop it." Pris' voice shook with a sudden anger. "You don't understand because you never believed."

  "I told your granny not to fill your head with that nonsense," her mother said, gesturing at the book. "Only time can take your pain away, Prissy. Don't you think I missed your daddy after he died? Don't you think I'd have done anything to bring him back if such a thing was possible?"

  "You don't have the gift. Granny Maeve told me so."

  Dorie moved closer and took Pris' face in her hands. "Honey, Bobby Lee is gone and he ain't ever coming back. One day you'll have to accept that."

  Pris had eleven days to prepare for the ritual. According to her great-great-grandmother, the Waking Moon of April could bring the dead and dormant back to life and was at its most powerful when full.

  She wished the ceremony could be performed sooner. Her heartache was constant. Guilt and grief warred within her, wracking her body, her mind, her soul. All those years ago, Bobby Lee had left her and she'd suffered and cried for him. But she'd brought him home again.

  Priscilla had confidence in her abilities. She knew she had the power to summon Bobby Lee's spirit. He wouldn't be able to stay with her long, but she could look into his eyes and tell him she was sorry and that she'd always love him.

  Then she would say goodbye.

  And time? Time would never heal this festering wound. Not even if she lived forever.

  On the morning of April twenty-seventh, Priscilla stayed home from the diner and made a list of the items needed for the ritual. The forecast called for clear skies that night. Over the last week, she had read Millicent's instructions over and over again to memorize the steps involved. Pris paid particular attention to the narrative parts that described the precautions to be taken and what to expect from the deceased who were called back to the land of the living.

  Heed my warning: This greatest of all spells cannot be cast if the Caller does not love the person who has died. Love is the most powerful ingredient in this ritual and it must be true. The best results will be obtained if the spell is worked on the night of the full moon. The spirit will more easily materialize and will be tied to the earthly plane until the Waking Moon begins its descent in the western sky.

  Be aware that the spirit of the deceased will have no memory of its death. When they are first called back, the man, woman, or child may seem confused or disoriented. Have patience and explain to them how they died, then state your purpose for the Summoning. Say your peace and be sincere, for this ritual can only be used once to call your loved one home.

  Priscilla found a wicker picnic basket in the pantry and placed one of her mother's sharp paring knives inside, along with a container of table salt, a vial of eucalyptus oil, a bandage, a small garden spade, a flashlight, a matchbook, and one white candle. She also put in a photograph of Bobby Lee, taken the previous Christmas, and a lock of his dark hair, which she had stolen when they were twelve.

  When the moon began to rise, she donned her tea-length ivory lace wedding gown. She had planned to wear her hair in an old-fashioned upsweep to match the Victorian style of the dress, but then decided to leave it unbound t
he way Bobby Lee had always preferred to see it.

  Since she had to climb a mountain trail, she put on a pair of beaded flat slippers instead of the expensive high heels she had bought for the wedding.

  Her mother was working late at the diner. There was no one to question her plans. And there was no one to help her carry them out. Granny Maeve had been dead a year.

  Pris left the house, remembering the night her grandmother had first shown her the power of moonlight.

  "Guide me, Granny, if you're able. Help me bring him home again."

  The moon shined so brightly over the mountain trail that Priscilla didn't need to use the flashlight to find her way. A whippoorwill seemed to follow her for most of the climb, its mournful song sounding loud in the reverent silence. The sweet-smelling wind played with her hair, making her heart ache for the feel of Bobby Lee's gentle fingers.

  His gravesite was an inviting place to visit now. The mayor had donated a wrought-iron bench and the Blackburn family had erected a marker made of marble. Pris had planted red tulips and yellow daffodils around the base of the memorial.

  Bobby Lee would always be loved and missed, and Priscilla wished she could go back in time and change what had happened. But she could only go forward.

  Pris set the picnic basket down on the bench and took out the container of table salt. She walked over to the mountain break, being careful not to step too close to the edge, and began pouring the salt out in a thin line away from it. This would keep Bobby Lee's spirit from wandering away---he would not be able to venture over the line of salt for any reason. Pris didn't want him to see his name on the front of the marble marker, so she was careful to stay behind both it and the bench as she circled back to the other side of the grave.

  She took out the garden spade next and knelt beside the deep, dark chasm. She began shoveling crumbly soil from the edge of the break onto the ground in front of her, making a thick circle. If Bobby Lee had been buried in a normal grave, the circle would have been made in its center, but hopefully this would do. Inside the ring of dirt she placed Bobby Lee's picture and the lock of his hair. She poured the eucalyptus oil onto the items, making the shape of a pentagram. Then she lit the candle, letting the wax drip down onto the photograph before touching the flame to the oil.

  While the circle of fire burned, she stood with the paring knife and pushed up the lacy sleeve on her left arm. Tears would not be enough to wake the dead. It would take her blood.

  She did the deed quickly, knowing that it would hurt worse if she hesitated. The razor-sharp blade cut lightly and cleanly across her upturned wrist. She winced only a little, letting the drops of blood fall into the fire.

  Pris dropped the knife and raised her face to the night sky. The wind made the grey smoke from the small fire spiral high into the air. It seemed to caress the glowing moon.

  As she stared at it, the bright orb appeared to move closer to the earth. It was time.

  She turned toward the grave and stretched out her right arm as if she were about to take her lover's hand.

  "Bobby Lee, come back to me. Come back to me now."

  The silence of the grave seeped out into the night and everything became still. The breeze died, the birds and insects made no noise, and the smoldering remains of the fire were snuffed out.

  Pris cleared her throat and took a deep breath.

  "Come to me, Bobby Lee. My love is true and I command you to return."

  Her voice had sounded overly loud in the stillness. She could hear her own nervous breathing as she waited for a sign.

  But nothing---nothing was happening. Bobby Lee's spirit did not appear.

  Why? She still loved him. She would always love him.

  Priscilla picked up the knife and walked closer to the rift, standing on the very edge. She slashed her wrist again and let the blood fall into the black hole.

  "Bobby Lee, come back to me. Come back to me, please."

  Pris felt a slight tremor run underneath her feet. She threw the knife over the line of salt and stepped back from the grave's edge, fearing that it might give way.

  A noise like a small avalanche reached her ears. She shivered as the temperature dropped to freezing.

  "Prisssssssssssss. Prissssscilla."

  That couldn't be Bobby Lee's voice. It sounded so deep and strange.

  Pris felt like the air was being sucked out of her lungs. She stood paralyzed, listening to the shifting movements of the earth and the guttural utterances that emanated from the rift.

  The full Waking Moon lit the scene before her and Pris wanted to look away from the grave, afraid of what she would see, afraid of what she had summoned. But she could only stand there, transfixed and trembling, as the thing she had once loved crawled out of the hole and collapsed on its back a few feet in front of her.

  What was left of Bobby Lee writhed on the ground, moaning in agony. His hands clawed the air as though he were still trying to dig his way out of the grave.

  Pris' eyes welled up with hot tears and she let out a strangled sob. The white T-shirt he'd been wearing the day he died was filthy and streaked with blood. His black jeans were torn and his sneakers were caked in dirt.

  And his face...

  "Oh, Bobby Lee. I'm so sorry."

  She'd thought she would only be summoning his spirit, and he would look as handsome as before. His body shouldn't have been raised. This wasn't supposed to happen.

  Priscilla hugged herself and stared down at Bobby Lee's mangled face. His sunken eyes were watching her, reflecting the moonlight and his pain and confusion. She wondered why she couldn't smell the stench of decay---like they were trapped in a cold, sterile vacuum.

  His mouth opened and closed, his blackened tongue darting sideways. "Prisssssssssss."

  The moonlight intensified, glowing bright around him, and Priscilla watched, amazed, as his appearance began to change.

  The wounds on his face healed first---new skin filling in the gaps and gashes, making him look normal. His dark eyes were perfect again. When his hands and arms were healed, the glowing light around him disappeared.

  Bobby Lee struggled to his feet, his eyes filled with fearful questions. He was shaking all over and Pris wanted to take him in her arms.

  "Baby, it's okay now. Please don't be scared."

  He took a faltering step toward her. "I'm so cold, Pris. What's wrong with me? I don't feel right."

  I can't tell him the truth. I can't do it. I just want to pretend he's alive again until it's time for him to leave.

  Pris forced back the tears and smiled. "You were chasing me up the trail, silly, and you had a bad fall and hit your head. That's why you're confused."

  Bobby Lee glanced down at his soiled clothing, and then gave her a familiar lopsided grin. "I look like I've been to hell and back. Why are you wearing that fancy dress?"

  "I wanted to surprise you. We had a date here in this new special place I made just for us." Priscilla held out her arms. "Come here and let me warm you up."

  "But I'll ruin your---"

  "I don't care. I just need to hold you."

  He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tight. His skin felt icy, but he didn't carry the scent of death. Priscilla thought he smelled of moonlight and wildflowers.

  "I can't wait for our weddin' day," Bobby Lee said, stroking her hair. "You're about to make me the proudest man in Russell Fork."

  His words tore at her heart. "I've always loved you, Bobby Lee."

  "Well, you're gonna find out how much I love you on our weddin' night."

  Priscilla let out a squeal as he lifted her off her feet and twirled her around. When he set her down again, she reached up and touched his face.

  "Babe, I've missed you so much."

  His grin faded. "Missed me? What do you mean? I ain't been gone."

  Priscilla couldn't hold back the tears any longer. She turned her head away, hoping he wouldn't notice.

  "Hey, look at me, princess. Tell me what's wrong."

>   She could barely speak. "I needed to see you. I thought it would make things right, but nothing will ever be okay again."

  "Now, that's just foolish talk." Bobby Lee bent over and began kissing her face, her mouth, her eyelashes.

  Remember, child---the truth is in your tears.

  Priscilla gasped and jerked away from Bobby Lee, but when she stared into his eyes, she knew it was too late.

  His face wore a puzzled frown, as though he were trying to resurrect an unpleasant memory. He grabbed hold of her arms.

  "Pris, tell me it isn't true---what I remember, it can't be true."

  She held her breath, unable to utter a sound.

  He shook her hard. "Priscilla, answer me."

  "Please, stop. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

  She tried to back away from him, but his hands gripped her wrists, causing her to cry out in pain.

  "You pushed me, Pris. You made me fall into that mountain break. You made my nightmare come true."

  His eyes burned with so much anger and betrayal that it made her flinch.

  "No, please understand---I didn't know what I was doing. I was so hurt, so mad...I wasn't thinking straight. I saw Kara kissing you that morning and then when we were here together later that day, you lied to me about where you'd been. I thought you were going to call off the wedding."

  Pris collapsed to her knees, sobs wracking her body. "I wish I could go back and change everything, but I can't. Please, please forgive me."

  He abruptly let go of her. "Why are you bleeding? What magic have you done?"

  She shook her head, not wanting to answer. "I had to do it. I had to say goodbye."

  Bobby Lee suddenly staggered backward and let out a pitiful wail. "What's happenin'? It hurts...I hurt all over."

  Pris looked up and saw that the moon had begun its descent in the western sky. Bobby Lee would soon return to his grave.