Page 2 of Devil’s Snare

In the light of day, the crypts and headstones never seemed this ominous, even with the cloudy sky and rain. But now, with silvery white beams of moonlight poking through the dense cloud cover overhead, I felt more of a trespasser than a visitor. I could almost hear voices on the wind warning me to flee.

Many of the headstones were crumbling at the corners, weathered by the passage of time and constant exposure to the elements. I didn’t bother to read the names of those I passed, keeping my focus on the hill that led toward Becka. But I did notice the flaking and chipping on quite a few of the headstones marking their age.

Rainfall in Deathrock, California, reached a typical forty inches a year. Considering that it’s a mountainous area with plenty of thick forests in the upper portion of the state, Deathrock often experiences a wet spring and fall, snowy winters, and hot, humid summers. The weather played a big part in the structural integrity and breakdown of the monuments and headstones.

My gaze swept over the grave markers, noting the rustle of leaves in the trees that dotted the hill. Of the few that dug deep roots in the soil, their girthy trunks seemed to stand sentry on the crest, awaiting anyone who dared to move through such sacred grounds. The hoot of an owl almost spooked me as I picked up my pace, not wanting to linger anywhere but the spot where my sister would now rest for eternity.

“It’s not fair,” I whispered as the words were snatched from my lips by the eager wind. “You weren’t supposed to die first.”

My footsteps took me to Becka’s grave like I had already unconsciously memorized the location. The cold air chilled my fingertips, but I hardly noticed. As if I had used all my energy to walk to Becka’s grave, I nearly collapsed when I reached it, sinking to my knees beside the mound of freshly packed dirt.

My eyes closed, and images from the funeral service surfaced. The red rose clenched in my hand as I waited to toss it onto her casket. Watching the flag throughout the service as it covered the smooth varnished wood. The thick rows of mourners. Men and women in uniform saluting her memory, her fellow Marines struggling to contain their emotions. And the final moment when the flag was folded and presented to my family.

But none of them could offer us any comfort. Not when she died during leave. Becka was home for two weeks. She’d spent years in service to our country only to be killed on home soil. She didn’t even wear her uniform or carry her gun the day she was shot. She’d left them at my apartment while she went to lunch with a friend.

A long sigh escaped as I dug into my pocket and pulled out a penny. Blinking, I stared at the dimes, nickels, and a single quarter that already rested on top of the temporary metal marker erected until the headstone arrived. Sniffling, I placed the penny beside the other coins. I knew they had been positioned as a sign of respect and remembrance for my sister.

“You picked a shitty time to leave, Becka,” I informed her grave as I sat back, resting my palms on my thighs. “It really sucks. You promised me you’d come home and that we’d share an apartment. You said you weren’t enlisting a third time. I was so fucking excited to live together.”

Of course, nothing greeted me but the cooling tendrils of late-night wind. They lifted my hair and tangled the strands as I pushed them out of my face. Somewhere in the distance, I thought I heard a dog or wolf howl. It was too far away, and I dismissed it.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. That I didn’t go with you like you asked.” The regret and guilt were eating me alive. I knew I couldn’t stop what happened, but at least I would have been there with her. “I’m not ready for this, Becks.” My fist pressed against my sternum as the empty ache inside began to swell until I thought I wouldn’t be able to contain it. I struggled to breathe. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

My shoulders caved as I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around my middle, wishing this was a horrible nightmare I could wake up from and Becka would greet me in the morning with coffee and a bagel. Just like we always did when she was home.

“I wasn’t supposed to do this without you.” Tears stung the back of my eyelids until I blinked, sending them cascading over my cheeks and dripping from my chin. A sob shook loose, and I couldn’t hold the grief back any longer.

Hunched over, with one palm lying against the dirt, I let the tears flow and cried until my head ached as intently as my heart. Finally, with no tears left, swollen eyes, and a stuffy nose, I pulled my hand away from her grave. Maybe it was morbid to sit out here in the dark and rest beside her body, but I didn’t see it that way.

Lying back, I swiped the cooling tears from my cheeks and folded my arms across my stomach. Even though everything inside me felt like it had cracked and broken into a hundred pieces, I didn’t feel alone beside my sister. The clouds slowly moved across the moon’s surface as I stared upward, exposing the high contrast of dark and light areas.

Many years ago, on hot summer nights, I would lie back on a blanket on the grass while Becka taught me the constellations. I eagerly learned as many as I could to impress her. She had been my hero long before she ever went to boot camp. Her patience and wisdom cultivated my love of learning. With two busy parents who worked long hours, I had too much time on my hands and not enough supervision. Ethan was so little that he just followed us around.

Becka was more than a sister. She was my best friend. My confidant. One of the few people in this world that I loved, trusted, and counted on.

And now she was gone.

My eyes fluttered. I was mentally exhausted. This day had drained me in more ways than one.

A long, low, mournful howl interrupted the quiet night. The eerie wail started with a deep growl, then rose to a higher pitch and tapered off into a low bass that nearly rumbled the ground beneath me.

A-rooooooo!

I sat up, dragging my gaze over the headstones, grass, and the entire area within my view, all the way to the black iron fence that surrounded the perimeter of Deathrock Cemetery. There was no movement. No creatures that I could see.

Nothing to cause alarm. . . except for that haunting, animalistic keen.

And then I heard it again. Closer.

Rising to my knees in an effort to see above the headstones, I peered into the dark, noting that the fog appeared to have gotten thicker since I arrived. It rolled across the ground and enveloped the headstones one by one as if devouring each slab of stone—a strange, hungry entity prowling across the rows of graves.

Spooked by the noise and fog, I slowly began to rise. About halfway to my feet, something slammed into me. To be exact, right above my knees. The force of the hit sent me to the ground as I tumbled onto the mound of dirt above my sister’s casket. A giant oof exploded from my lips as the air was knocked from my lungs.

I rolled over onto my back, staring up at the sky. Blinking, I searched left and right, worried a wild dog or wolf might have tackled me. Nothing was there—no beast or monster.

Just the wind and fog.

I shoved up from the ground, trying to stand, when I felt pressure against my chest, and I went flying backward, landing on my back. When I tried to move, I couldn’t. An unseen force pinned me down and held my body in place. Right on top of my sister’s grave a second time.