Read Online Horror Business by Ryan Craig Bradford - Free Book Online Page A

mine. She opens wider and her tongue touches mine. I try to impress her with kissing styles I’ve learned from movies. I reach up and cradle her face in my hand, but then slide my fingers up in her hair, messing it passionately.
    We’re both breathing hard, and I taste her whiskey mouth. Letting gravity hold us, we fall to the hard ground. Cold seeps up into my back. Ally’s whimpering seems very far away. I open my eyes, and the grave looms over us while I crave her mouth. The whimpering still seems very far away, but more urgent. I realize that it’s not coming from Ally anymore but a child. A child screaming.
    My brain persists to break through the thickness that’s attacking all my senses. It tries to tell me that it’s not a child screaming. It’s one my friends. A girl screaming. Ally hears it too. She lifts her head out of our embrace. Then a frightened look and a struggle to get free from me. It’s a zombie , is the only thing that would destroy this moment: A zombie with eyes rotted out and one arm. It must’ve eaten Megan. That bitch. The speed of time returning to normal is jarring, causing me to stumble as I try to catch up with Ally.
    There are no zombies. Just Megan, screaming.
    “What’s going on—” I start, but stop when I get close enough for a better view.
    There is a small finger on the ground.
    “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.” Megan speaks in quick gasps.
    “Fuck, man,” says Steve. “Shit.”
    It’s hard to tell if the finger is a small child’s, or if it’s just a pinky finger. I bend down to get a closer view. Megan puts her hand over her mouth and turns away. The finger is old. It’s been decomposing for weeks. The skin at the base is jagged, ripped off. A piece of sharp bone sticks out, also broken. Someone behind me holds up the flashlight and we see flies jumping all around it. It’s probably so cold and stiff that it only serves as delightful-smelling platform for them to play on. The knuckle is worn down, exposing more bone, but I think the most dreadful thing is the dirt under the fingernails. I can’t help but think of the poor kid who showed off his filthy fingers like he would a merit badge in the last days of summer. I kick the digit over so I don’t have to look at the dirt, and the bottom of the finger is skinless, just black from where creatures have come up from the dirt for a nibble.
    “Let’s get out of here.” No one objects.
    Our faces redden when we run down the hill toward our bikes. I hold Ally’s hand as we jump headstones and slip on dewy grass. When I look over at her, I see lines of wetness reflected in the moonlight run down her cheeks. My shoe comes undone, and I almost trip. I stop to fix it, and Ally’s hand slips out of mine.
    “Hang on,” I mumble to myself, watching everyone pick up their bikes and ride into the night, outside the cemetery gate.
    My laces are muddy. It takes me three tries to tie them. Ages later, I finish. I’m about to make the final lunge toward my bike when I hear something behind me.
    A rustle of leaves. Against all instincts, I turn around to look.
    Two eyes stare back at me, red and reflecting. A terrible roar comes from the darkness and then a horrible sound that could be cackling.
    The laughter fades behind me. I’m on my bike and flying.
     
     
    ***
     
     
    I pedal blindly down the dirt road, every moment expecting the graveyard monster to throw itself on my back and rip me from my bike. From every dark nook and brush, more eyes watch me escape. They wait for any vulnerability. I don’t give them any.
    I speed around a bend and there’s a body in the middle of the road.
    I almost don’t stop. Just got to make it home where there are no more dead things. I see the bike on the ground next to it.
    Oh no.
    I skid to a stop and run over to find Ally curled, hugging her knees with her arms. She’s sobbing, and for the first time in my life I feel that I have the right, the duty, to comfort a girlfriend.
    “What