The Gravekeeper

Night hugged the graveyard like a winter blanket. Though it was nearing midnight, that didnt mean that the night brought total darkness. A couple miles away, neon lights shown dimly like a fading memory while casting small shadows over weathered headstones. The City always slept with its eyes open.

The graveyard was voided of life, save for a sliver of light that seemed molecular next to the City. It scanned across the surface of each gravesite, searching along every inch of grass. With the lights from the City, the flashlight was probably not even needed. There were no trees, bushes, or even a fence, so hiding would be difficult. The only place would be the shack that sat on the edge of the property like a sore thumb. But that would be a stupid place to use.

The lanky figure brandishing the light crept along a little further. Never pausing to look, but pivoted in all directions.
Finally as the light reached the other end of the graveyard, it stopped. And as it paused, we can see the features of the man holding the flashlight. He is the Gravekeeper. Long black hair hung down to his shoulders in dreadlocks. His face was haggard from many sleepless nights, and his clothes seemed a little loose on him. Bleak eyes rotated in their sockets as he gritted his teeth, revealing a pair of pearly yellows. After two minutes of looking around in a fixed position, he spoke. His voice was gravelly, and his words came out in the rhythm that almost matched the beating of wings from a raven that was passing above:

"A silent chill crawls up my spine,
I am told that this is a supposed sign.
Maybe I can feel you, a ghost of vengeance,
Here searching for blood and penitence.

Maybe you are stalking me like the prey
You stalked so well in the old days.
Oh, the old days were your love was still alive.
Horrible pain like that must be so hard to survive.

I cannot even imagine, nor do I want to.
Still silent? I have to be getting to you!"

The last word lingered in the surroundings as an echo until it faded away completely. He perked up his ears and looked side to side, as if to receive some kind of response to his taunts. But there was none. Of course.

"The dead are dead," he said at last, as if to reassure himself. "I of all people should know this." He paused again before rearing around.

"That bastard is gone!" The raven above head squawked loudly, as if offended by his sudden outburst. Gravekeeper looked up sharply with just enough time to see the raven heading for the abyssal horizon that faced the City.

"The fuck you know?!" He yelled after the bird.

The inside of the shack was actually very well kept. Of course that is always the case when you have as little belongings as the Gravekeeper. All that was in there was a stiff bed, rusty fridge, rickety dinner table, and an umbrella rack filled with shovels. And one umbrella.

The door slammed as the Gravekeeper entered but he could not sum up the effort to care. He went straight for the fridge door. Glasses clinked as he rummaged around inside.

"Got lunch meat, but no bread. That cup of yogurt has gone bad. Damn, no more string cheese." Suddenly he froze.

"WHO ATE MY STRING CHEESE!" He roared as he spun around. Directly in front of him now was the northwest corner of the shack. Every bit of the shack was well let. Every bit but that corner. A shadow covered the corner. A shadow so deep that the wall was not even visible.

A deep, rich voice flowed from the darkness:

"The enemy slumped into his cave,
Unaware that no one can save
Him from his long forgotten foe.
And yes, the years have been hard and slow.

Penitence is not what I have come for,
But I will take all blood you have to offer.
Now behold your soon coming death.
I will not blame you to use your last breath

To scream once the pain begins."

The Gravekeeper remained stupefied until, with the last word, the visitor came forth from the darkness. The man was dressed in a three piece suit that was a deep, dark color of purple. His hair was as black and long as the Gravekeeper, except his appeared clean and neatly flowed behind him.

The young man had a sinister beauty about him. Like looking at a demon brought forward to deceive and mislead you. A demon in a purple suit, and a pair of shades that hid his eyes from the world. A handsome devil of chaos.

Gravekeeper was flabbergasted. His mouth hung ajar while the rest of his face had a vacant expression.

"Y-you cant be alive... Angelo destroyed you!"

"No," the stranger interjected, "Angelo tore my soul apart, but didnt destroy me." Gravekeeper still seemed confused. Then he lifter an accusing finger to the man.

"It was Weaver! That treacherous bastard brought you back!" The visitor gave a condescending smile.

"The Weaver has nothing to do with my sudden return, Gravekeeper. As I said, what I want is blood. That "want" in itself is enough to defy the laws of the grave once in a while."

Now it was the Gravekeeper who smiled. He always had a trick or two. And know was not the time him to lose his cool.

"You always thought you were so great, didnt you? You sadistic bastard. Well Mr. Spook, You are gonna have to work for this piece of ass because I aint a cheap broad!"

As the Spook stepped forward, there was flurry of movement as Gravekeeper brought out his ace in hole. Inches from the face of the Spook was a shovel. Not just any shovel. The shovel was five feet of blessed steel, forged from Chinese Hell fire and had old scriptures in angelic script etched along the shaft. A weapon of sure death to any demon. And also cut through soil like butter.

The Spook winced as his skin started to sting where the tip of the shovel had barely nicked his cheek. This gave the Gravekeeper much pleasure indeed. He was going to enjoy the next part. But maybe it was not the killing he was looking forward to. Maybe it was that he would be able to say that he finally put on end to the Spook! Something the great Angelo Cherry Popper has had much trouble with for a long time.

"Not such a badass now, staring down the end of my spade!" Though the Spook seemingly remained calm, there was indeed anger and impatience beginning to boil and bubble beneath the still surface.

"Rest assured, I will finish what Angelo could not!"

(The Peacekeepers)

"Ok, so let me see if I got this straight. The Gravekeeper is dead?"
"Yep."
"And they found him with his specially made demon slaying shovel crammed up his butt like a lesbian sex toy?"
"Pretty much."
"What the hell? I thought he was on the Citys top deadliest list!"
"To be honest, that list is kind of bullshit. Only the cops and lower class criminals use it so they know who not to mess with."
"And you think that he was killed by Mr. Jack Skeleton?"
"I know he was, Johnny."

Johnny shifted in that long grey trench coat of his. The passenger seat squeaked underneath him as if to voice an opinion on the matter. And honestly, as fast as crap was hitting the fan, I think I would listen. He looked to me, his wide brimmed hat casting a concealing shadow over his face.

"Why the hell did we warn that putz if he was not going to leave the City or something? I mean we wasted a quarter tank of gas going up there!"

"We have bigger problems. I dont think Jack has come back to just kill the ones who double crossed him."
"You dont mean-"
"Yeah, I do. And if I am right, the body count is going to get MUCH higher."

Johnny remained silent for a few minutes. I could never read his expressions, maybe because I cant see them half the time. It is seriously hard being partners with a guy who almost has no visible face. Finally he reached into a hidden pocket from within his coat, and pulled out a pack of smokes. Then, he proceeded to light up a fag and fill my car with a ghastly smell of burning tobacco. He has no courtesy.

Finally he said, while cooling exhaling a puff of smoke, "Let us hope that bastard said nothing about where Angelo is, or we might be screwed right in the down under."

(Previous night back at the Gravekeeper shack)

"You are going to tell me what I want to know now, or I will cram this up your ass like a lesbian sex toy!" The shack now lay in ruins. Everything was turned over and smashed. Or maybe it was smashed and turned over. Shattered glass littered the floor like freshly fallen snow.

The Spook stood above a beaten and bloodied Gravekeeper. But Mr. Spook was not unscathed. His coat lay in shred in a corner, and a long gash ran along the side of his vest. His blood was already starting to stain. The cut that was put on his cheek earlier was now accompanied by four others that were a little deeper than the first..

In his right hand was the demon slaying shovel. Their was smoke and a sizzling nose coming from where his hand grasped the shaft. He must be allergic to holy scriptures.

The Gravekeeper sat on the floor with his back against the wall. A small crimson streak ran down his temple, some of it getting caught in his dreadlocks. That is going to be really hard to clean out later.

The Gravekeeper chuckled lightly at the threat, but winced as if it caused him pain.

"Dang big boy," he started. "Dont you believe in foreplay?"

With lighting speed, the Spook stomped with all his might onto the already broken ankle of the Gravekeeper. A loud crushing and crackling noise filled the room as the bones broke apart completely. The Gravekeeper could now never play soccer again.

"AARRGGHH! Learn to take a joke asshole!"

"Tell me what I want to know NOW!" he yelled without moving his foot from the crushed ankle.

"OK! Ok, here is what you do," a devious and sly smile crept across his mouth. "You go down to the local pharmacy, ask for something called Viagra and it will help you go FUCK YOURSELF!"

The Spook didnt react this time. He remained silent, and he did not apply any more pressure to the ankle of the Gravekeeper. His shades hid any emotion.

"Oh come on! It is only fun if you get mad!" No reaction.
"That suit makes you look like a queer." Still no reaction.
"I got blood on your custom shoes." Nope, still nothing.

"FINE! I will tell you, Jack. You know why?" He continued to be statue of self control looming over the Gravekeeper.

"I want to see him kill you again. You were lucky the first time around, but this time he will rip you apart like a paper tiger! For the rest week, Angelo is going to be holed up at the Suicide Bride."

Jack twitched slightly. It was small, but Gravekeeper knew he struck a nerve that time. That is what he was wanting the whole time.

"Well lover, it seems I finally got you to come. Dont feel bad, it takes all woman a long time!" Jack said nothing. He threw down the shovel and steeped of his ankle. There was another crack from the ankle and a small gasp from the Gravekeeper. Jack had what he wanted.

As he turned to leave, the Gravekeeper suddenly called out to him. He must have had some broken ribs, for he grimaced again.

"What do you want, Terrance?" He asked without turning.

"I have some food for thought before you leave, Jack." The smile returned as he continued.
"You are stronger now than before, right? And your planning to use this power to ice that bastard Angelo?"

"Correct on both accounts."

"Alright. Here is something to scratch your head to later. You could not beat him the first time. This time around you are stronger, but you could barely defeat little old me. And his power his FAR superior to mine! How the hell do you beat a guy who already has your number, but is still more powerful than you?"

Jack remained motionless for several minutes. The silence felt like triumph to the Gravekeeper. He may not have won, but he knew his had not truly either.

Finally Jack turned to face him, and what the Gravekeeper saw almost made him scream. A snarl spread across the mouth of Jack, revealing two rows of razor sharp teeth that slightly resembled a meat grinder.

But scariest of all, was the black mist that radiated from behind the lens of his shades. It looked as if darkness was leaking from his hidden eyes. Then with a booming and demonic voice that rattled the shack walls, cracked the one unbroken window, and made the heart of the Gravekeeper skip a beat, he said three words.

"BEND OVER, BITCH!"

"Serpents in the branches branch up to heaven's door.
Slithering at the windows, hellish intentions wish to explore.
Angels in the darkness hear that tapping on the glass.
They the ones sent down by their god into the abyssal mass

Crawl on their hands and knees while groveling at our feet.
They have heard of the sweet salvation and now crave the teat
That produces the milk of our blessed blessings.
Absolution through suckling is easier than confessing.

Hark! The beloved saints are a falling,
And the golden trumpets are a calling!

Sinners down in the deep
Stir from an endless sleep.
Clawing at the pit's torn and ragged walls,
They can now climb what was once too tall.

The trumpet's roar is growing louder,
But this only makes the demons prouder.
Hark! Your angels are burning.
Their screams keep the ideas a churning!