The Gravest Girl of All
Copyright 2015 Amy Cross
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.
Kindle edition
Dark Season Books
First published: July 2018
The final reckoning is at hand. Ancient prophecies are about to be unleashed. And Sam Marker hasn't even had her first cup of tea this morning.
Having tried several times to acquire the Devil's body by other means, the evil Abberoth finally decides to do the job himself. Heading to Rippon, he immediately unleashes pain and torture upon the local population. Soon Rippon is cut off from the rest of the world, and it's a world that might not last much longer if Abberoth doesn't get what it wants.
Soon, Sam is thrust into a fight to save not only Rippon, but also the entire planet. All she has by her side is a ghost, a stone angel, a pile of books... and maybe, if she's particularly unlucky, the Devil himself.
The Gravest Girl of All is the third book in the Grave Girl series.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Gravest Girl of All
(Grave Girl book 3)
Prologue
“I'm really sorry you had to wait so long for this. I've got no excuses, but I hope you'll like it now it's finally here.”
“I'm sure it'll be great in the end,” Joe replies, struggling as his right foot squelches into a patch of wet mud, “but couldn't we have taken a taxi to the quiz? A late-night hike to some remote pub isn't exactly my idea of fun, especially when we've been at work all day.”
“If you'd been quicker at the lockers, we'd've made that bus.”
“I didn't know it was a matter of life and death.”
“What's wrong? Scared?”
“I grew out of being scared of the dark a long time ago.”
As he says those words, however, Dan turns and looks around at the dark forest. Moonlight is streaming down, silhouetting twisted and bare branches against an ethereal blue glow, and for a moment Dan's transfixed by the sheer stillness of the scene. After a few seconds, however, that stillness seems to change and become something else, something more menacing: an invitation for hidden things to emerge.
“I'm not talking about being scared of the dark,” he says finally, as a shiver passes up his spine. “I'm talking about being scared of what's in the dark.”
“Oh yeah? And what's that?”
“I'm not kidding,” Dan continues. “All round these parts, like a few hundred years ago, you had a bunch of highwaymen robbing people blind. They'd just hold up a carriage, wave a musket in the air, and get the rich assholes to give them all their jewelry.”
“Sounds pretty sweet,” Joe replies with a smile. “Couldn't do it now.”
They walk on in silence for a moment, each man lost in his thoughts. The only sounds are their feet squelching in the mud, and the occasional rustle of dead leaves whipped up by the breeze.
“Well,” Dan says finally, “you could. If you went about it the right way.”
“Could what?”
“Hold people up. Rob them. Like highwaymen.”
“And how do you reckon that?”
“One of those spiked road traps for a start. Put one out, wait for some guy in a Ferrari to drive past, and bang! You've got him right where you want him.”
“You're out of your mind.”
“No, I'm thinking outside the box.” As they struggle up the embankment and finally reach the foggy, moonlit road, they stop for a moment and look both ways. “You see 'em round this neck of the woods, especially when there's something going on at one of the estates. Rich pricks come speeding along, probably with six-figure wrist-watches and plenty of cash in their pockets. Most of 'em are cowards anyway, you could just wave a shotgun in their faces and they'd spill their valuables. They wouldn't even care, either. They'd just go out and buy another Rolex with their pocket change.”
“So you want to be a highwayman?” Joe asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
“I want to not be poor,” Dan replies, a little breathless, before turning and starting to make his way along the road. “I want to not work 'til all hours in a goddamn turkey processing factory and then have to walk five miles to the nearest pub in shoes that are coming away at the soles. I want -”
Stopping suddenly, he frowns as he spots something up ahead. There's a dark shape at the side of the road, about fifty meters further along, but as he squints and tries to get a better look, he can tell that it's definitely not a regular car. He takes a few steps forward, but although the shape is just about possible to make out now, he can't quite believe that he's actually seeing what he thinks he's seeing. He tilts his head slightly, his mouth hanging wide open with confusion.
“What the hell's that?” Joe asks, stopping next to him. “It looks like...”
Slowly, the two men turn to one another.
“This is a set-up,” Joe continues. “You're having a laugh.”
“I'm not, mate.”
“You're winding me up!”
“I'm not! I swear!”
“You suddenly start going on about people in horse-drawn carriages, out of nowhere, and then...” Turning to look along the road, Joe stares for a moment at the dark carriage that's parked next to the trees, with two horses breathing calmly in the cold night air. At the front of the carriage, a figure sits holding the horses' reins, while the carriage's windows are too dark for anything to be seen inside. The entire vehicle is tilted slightly, parked on the edge of the grass verge.
“It can't be,” Dan whispers, taking a few more cautious steps forward. “What kind of nutter still goes about in something like that?”
“We're not highwaymen,” Joe replies, grabbing his arm. “Not really. You know that, right?”
“Of course I know that,” Dan hisses, pulling away while keeping his eyes fixed on the carriage. “You don't think...”
“Don't think what?”
Dan pauses for a moment. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
“Pull the other one.”
“I'm serious. Either some weirdo's got his horse and carriage out for a spin at...” He checks his watch. “At almost ten at night. Or, we're seeing something that maybe isn't exactly there. Not really, anyway.”
“There's no such thing as ghosts,” Joe tells him. “I can tell you that for a fact.”
“Alright, then,” Dan replies. “Go knock on the window.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Go talk to them. There's a guy up front, go ask him what they're doing out here. If ghosts don't exist, there's no reason to be scared, is there?”
“It might sti
ll be a bunch of crazies,” Joe tells him. “Let's just get on our way and leave them alone.”
“You're just scared.”
“And you're not?”
Dan pauses again, watching as the carriage remains stationary. His mind is racing, trying to work out what he's really seeing, but none of the possibilities truly make sense. He and Joe have walked the same route several times over the past few years, but they've never spotted anything unusual before. On the other hand, he's read plenty of websites about the area, and he knows that highwaymen were common on these roads. He also knows that there were a number of incidents where the rich and powerful put up a fight, only to end up dead.
So although he doesn't believe in ghosts, he knows that if he did, this would be a prime place to find some.
“We'll go together,” Joe says finally. “How about that? Come on, we're not scared of some asshole in a carriage.”
Slowly, they start making their way forward, shuffling along the road as they get closer to the carriage and its horses. The man sitting up front, still holding the reins, is visible only as a hunched silhouette, and so far he hasn't reacted at all to the new arrivals. The horses, meanwhile, wait calmly for instructions, snorting occasionally but otherwise remaining under their master's control.
As Dan and Joe get to within twenty meters of the carriage, they both start watching the windows, hoping for some hint of movement inside. All they see, however, is moonlight reflected against the glass.
“Are you sure about this?” Joe asks.
“No,” Dan replies, “but if you wanna run, go ahead.”
Tempted, Joe nevertheless decides to stick with his friend, largely because he still thinks some kind of trick is being played, and the last thing he wants is to be ridiculed once he gets to the pub. He can't quite ignore the creeping sense of fear in his gut, however, or the feeling that the air seems to be getting colder with every step. By the time they're within a dozen meters of the carriage, he can actually feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. He tells himself that he and Dan just need to walk on past, keep themselves to themselves, and avoid attracting any attention.
“Alright, mate,” Dan suddenly calls out to the hunched figure. “Nice night for it.”
Joe nudges his friend's arm. “Quiet!”
“Why?” Pausing, Dan stops and waits for the man at the front of the carriage to answer. “Are you lost?” he asks. “Taken a wrong turn, yeah? Got nowhere to plug your satnav in?”
He waits.
No reply.
The horses are still waiting for their command.
“You're going into town, right?” Dan asks, keeping his eyes fixed on the guy high up at the front of the carriage. “It's not far from here. There's a decent Spoons on the way in, if you need somewhere to grab a pint. Not sure they allow horses in, but you can always leave 'em in the car park. They do a -”
Stopping suddenly, he realizes that something's wrong. Unlike Dan and Joe, unlike the horses even, the hunched man has no visible breath in the cold night air. And the more he looks at the man's silhouette, the more Dan realizes that the hunch is actually rather extreme, like a dome on the man's back.
Almost inhuman.
Terrible posture, at the very least.
“I don't think he's...” Dan whispers, taking a cautious step closer as he stares up at the silhouetted figure. “I think maybe -”
Suddenly the hunched man turns to look toward him, and his neck creaks in the process.
Dan and Joe instinctively take a step back.
“No harm done,” Dan stammers. “We just... Well, we just saw you sitting here and we thought you might need some help, that's all. We were being friendly.”
Swallowing hard, he stares up at the silhouette for a moment before turning to Joe.
“Maybe we shouldn't bother these fine gentlemen any longer,” he says, his voice filled with simmering fear. “We've got a long walk ahead of us, right? Don't want to miss the first round.”
“Right,” Joe replies, immediately turning and starting to walk away. Both he and Dan are desperate to get going, but neither of them wants to break into an open run so they simply walk as fast as they think looks natural. While they haven't discussed any kind of plan, they're each thinking that they can speed up a little when they get around the next bend, and that they can use the start time of the quiz as an excuse. For the first time since they left the factory, they walk in silence.
Suddenly there's a bump behind them, and they both stop dead in their tracks.
Silence falls.
And then, slowly, there's an ominous creaking sound that can only be one thing.
A door is slowly opening.
Dan turns to Joe, and Joe turns to Dan, but neither of them quite dares to look over their shoulder.
A moment later, there's the unmistakable sound of boots touching the ground.
Finally, summoning the last of their courage at more or less the same time, Dan and Joe turn and look back toward the carriage.
Sure enough, the door on the side is open now, and a tall, bulky figure has stepped down to the road. Silhouetted against the moonlit forest, this figure – unlike the hunched man sitting at the front of the carriage – seems more aware of its surroundings as it takes a couple of steps forward. Tall and stocky, this figure walks with firm, confident steps.
“Alright there?” Dan says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “We really didn't mean to disturb you. Taking a nap in there, were you? We've all been there, mate. As long as you're okay, that's cool.”
He waits, but the figure keeps walking steadily toward them, and there's the sound of metal jangling with each step. A large set of keys, hanging from a ring attached to the figure's belt, briefly catches the moonlight.
“This is some kind of freak,” Joe whispers. “Like one of those historical recreation losers, something like that. I hope his musket isn't loaded.”
Finally the figure stops just a few meters away. His face is still hidden in darkness, but the silhouette of his head reveals the rough outline of some kind of hood. And then, slowly, the figure reaches up and lowers the hood to reveal a face covered in thick, irregular scares that criss-cross his features. It's almost as if he was carved out of a large chunk of granite.
“Where is Rippon?” the dark figure asks, his voice sounding as dark as the night itself. “How far along this road?”
“Rippon?” Dan pauses, before turning to Joe. “Rippon?”
“That's that weird town,” Joe replies cautiously. “The one on the hill. You know, the one no-one ever goes to? The bus just goes right past it.”
“Oh, that place.” Dan turns to the figure again. “You're on the right road, mate, but it's... Well, it's another nine or ten miles. There are signposts, though, so you shouldn't get too lost. Don't know why you'd want to go there, though. It's not exactly...”
His voice trails off as he realizes that the silhouetted figure is simply staring at him.
“Well,” he adds finally, “have fun, anyway. I'm sure it'll be right up your alley and -”
“Has the Devil shown his face yet?” the figure asks.
Dan pauses again. “Um...”
“Has the Devil shown his face,” the figure continues, his voice sounding like a cross between a growl and a snarl, “to the people of this wretched world?”
“Well... Not... Not that I'm aware of.” Dan turns to Joe. “Do you know anything about the Devil?”
Joe shakes his head.
“Anyway,” Dan continues, turning back to face the figure, “nice meeting you, and good luck with your trip to Rippon. I'm sure you'll find a lot to -”
He gasps as the figure reaches out with arms that seem to stretch beyond anything that's normal. Before either man can react, they feel a hand on their shoulders.
“Long arms you've got there, mate,” Joe says, before swallowing hard. “Some kind of magic trick, is it?”
“He's hiding from me,” the figure tells them. �
�He thinks he's safe, so long as I continue to send other men to do my work. First Fenroc failed me, then Raven, but now I tire of waiting. I shall go to Rippon myself and take what is rightfully mine. He will bow down before me.”
Dan and Joe stand in terrified silence, waiting for him to continue.
“Cool,” Dan says finally, swallowing hard. “That sounds lovely. Good luck.” He turns to look at the hand still resting on his shoulder, and somehow he feels deep in his gut that it would be a very, very bad idea to try pulling away. “Always nice to have a hobby,” he continues. “I haven't really heard that there's much to do in Rippon, but obviously you've, er...”
“Can we just go?” Joe whispers, his voice filled with fear. “Please?”
“He cannot hide,” the figure says darkly.
“I'm sure he can't,” Dan says, “whoever he is.”
“He is the dark light of evil,” the figure replies. “He is the crack in the soul of all men. He is the shadow cast by the brightest, most holy candle. He is the bringer of pain and misery, the harbinger of suffering, the consort of Death itself. Since time immemorial, since the night he fell from the highest place, he has been the most powerful force of evil that has ever existed. But he has fallen again, and I have taken his place, and now he must pay homage to me. He must bow down before me.”
Silence again.
“Right,” Dan says after a moment. “Well, sounds like he, um... Sounds like whoever he is, you wanna... You wanna stop him, then.”
“Stop him?” The figure pauses, before slowly tilting its head. “I have already stripped him of his lands, and forced his submission. This is known in all the worlds. I merely seek his surrender.”
“Sounds intense,” Joe says. “Good luck and -”
“The student must always overthrow the master,” the figure continues, leaning closer until the moonlight picks out his scars more clearly, showing that many of them are carved not into his skin but directly into his exposed skull. “Only then is the lesson complete.”
Dan's eyes widen with horror, before he lets out a gasp as his shoulder starts to burn. He quickly drops to his knees, but flames are rippling across his chest now and he seems unable to cry out as fire engulfs his body, burning briefly and bright until he slumps forward, landing in a burning heap on the ground. Another faint gasp rises up from his remains, although it's not clear whether that sound is one final call for help or, more likely, some kind of fizzling sound as his bones crumble to nothing.