Raising the Dead Read online

  Dad turned off the saw. “That should do it.” He reached a gloved hand into the hole he had made. His eyes widened as he grabbed onto something and began to pull it out. “Just as I thought!” He withdrew his hand, but it was empty. “This is more than a coffin. It’s a treasure chest.”

  Mom pointed a small flashlight into the crevice. “There’s something in there.”

  “It’s stuck,” Dad said. “We’ll insert a camera, see if we can get an idea of what we’re dealing with.” He turned to me and Noah. “There’s a hidden drawer. That’s why it was so light—most of it was hollow.”

  There was nothing particularly interesting about the coffin. It was a gray box. The only thing difference between it and a regular coffin was the fact that it was smaller.

  “A hidden drawer? Why would someone do that?” Noah asked.

  Dad grinned. “That’s what we’re hoping to find out.”

  The double doors of the morgue swung open. A man wearing a lab coat walked in. I could tell immediately that he wasn’t happy.

  “Bad news, Patrick.”

  “Don’t tell me.”

  “They’re already on their way. The team should arrive in a few hours.”

  Dad’s shoulders sank. Shane pulled me and Noah aside to explain what was happening. “Some museum heard about this. They say we don’t have any authority to be here, and they have clearance from the state to conduct the investigation because of the historical interest.”

  “Well, they’re right, aren’t they?” I said. “We don’t really belong here.”

  Shane shrugged. “We offered to work with them, but they want us out completely. It’s not exactly fair. We’ve done so much work already, but they’ll get all the credit for it.”

  Mom came over to us. “Charlotte, I need you to go back to Mr. Kitsman’s house. See if anyone from the museum is there, and ask him if he’ll request to keep us involved. Will you do that?”

  “Sure.” While the project wasn’t something I was thrilled about, it was important to my parents, and the fact that they were trusting me to help in this way was a high compliment.

  “Can I help?” Noah asked.

  “Yes, you can go with Charlotte.” Mom looked toward the tables. “The rest of us need to stay here. We don’t have much time.”

  “Um, Mom? I need keys to your car.”

  “Take the van. Shane has the keys.”

  She walked away before I could protest. I hated the van. It was a huge, bulky black box with the word Doubt painted in silver across the side. I didn’t like to be seen near it, much less behind the wheel.

  “Wonderful,” I muttered to Noah. We escaped the confines of the morgue and walked to the parking lot. It didn’t take long to spot the van.

  “You remember how to get there?” Noah asked as he buckled up.

  “Yeah. Help me back this thing out,” I said.

  He checked his mirror. “Looks good.”

  I was always anxious when I had to drive backward in the van. I had no visibility. And forget parallel parking. If I couldn’t drive directly into a space, then I kept looking. Fortunately, I had limited experience driving the thing, and it was usually over short distances, like one end of a parking lot to the other.

  As I drove back to William’s house, I told Noah what we had to do. “We need to emphasize how much this means to my parents and how their work shouldn’t be tossed aside.”

  “Agreed. But does William have any say over it?”

  I checked my blind spot and merged onto the back roads that would take us to William’s. “He should. It’s his property and his family.”

  Driving in the van with Noah as my passenger, it almost felt like we were a couple. An old, married couple. It wasn’t even remotely romantic, and I couldn’t help sighing.

  When we arrived at the house I realized it was almost two in the afternoon and the only thing I’d had to eat all day was a slice of coffee cake. “Think he’ll feed us again?” I asked Noah.

  “I hope so. That was good coffee cake.”

  I climbed the porch and rang the doorbell. Noah and I waited, then rang again.

  “Maybe he’s not home,” Noah said.

  “Maybe. We’ll try the back door.”

  We walked around to the back of the house. I peered into the window of the kitchen door. The half-eaten coffee cake still sat on the table. William’s thermos was next to it. “Let’s go up to the cemetery,” I said. Something bothered me about seeing the cake and thermos on the table, but I didn’t know what, exactly.

  When we reached the top of the hill, two things grabbed my attention. William was lying facedown in the middle of the cemetery. And squatting by his side was a man wearing a long black trench coat.

  “Hey!” Noah yelled. He ran forward. The man in the trench coat immediately sprinted away, towards the woods. I saw William’s hand twitch, so I hurried over to him as Noah raced after the guy.

  “It’s okay,” I said to William. I wasn’t sure if I should try to roll him over, but I didn’t know how well he could breathe with his face squashed to the ground, so I carefully pulled him toward me. He was heavy, and I wasn’t having much luck. When I heard him moan softly, I yelled to Noah.

  “I need help!”

  Noah was almost to the woods, but he looked at me, probably decided the trench coat guy was too far ahead to catch, and ran back. “Help me roll him over,” I said. After we had William on his back, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911, my hands shaking.

  Noah pressed two fingers against William’s neck. “There’s a pulse.”

  I felt mild relief but wondered what had happened and how long it would take the ambulance to reach us. “Did you see him?” I asked. “Did you get a good look at the guy?”

  “I got a good look at the back of him, but not his face. You?”

  “Only a glance.” I cradled William’s head in my lap. “Mr. Kitsman? Can you hear me?”

  His eyelids fluttered. I held his hand and squeezed. He tried to squeeze back, but I barely felt it.

  Noah stood and paced, his eyes scanning the woods. “Who was that guy?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that, but I knew he was the same figure I’d seen on our first visit to the cemetery, the same guy I’d spotted in the news segment. William began to mumble. I leaned in closer, tucking my hair behind my ear so it didn’t fall into his face. He whispered something, but I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right.

  “Say that again.”

  An ambulance wailed in the distance. William whispered again. It was a single word, one I’d heard a thousand times while helping Dad with his presentations, but it made no sense coming from the injured man on the ground. He was confused, I thought. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He said it again, slightly louder this time, and I knew I’d heard right. The sound of the ambulance siren was getting closer. I looked toward the woods, William’s single word sparking fear inside me. If the word was real, we needed more help than the paramedics could give us.

  Chapter Nine

  “Tell me about ghouls,” I said to Dad.

  He didn’t look up from his computer. “You know about ghouls. You’ve been to my lectures.”

  I sat down in a chair across from him. “Pretend that I haven’t been hanging on your every word. Pretend I need a refresher course.”

  Dad sighed and swiveled his chair to face me. “Are you saying that you haven’t listened to a word I’ve said all these years?”

  “I’ve listened! I just can’t remember every single detail about every single lecture.”

  “Right.” Dad shook his head. “Why do you need to know about ghouls?”

  “Because of what happened yesterday.”

  After William was loaded onto a stretcher, Noah and I had followed the ambulance. While doctors were examining William, Noah and I went to the hospital cafeteria for a quick lunch of lukewarm hamburgers and green gelatin. Shane and Trisha met us there. We tried to get updates from the nurses, but we weren’
t family, and all they would tell us was that William was stable. A few hours later, we went back to my house. I felt defeated and confused. What had happened in the cemetery? And why had William repeatedly whispered the word ghoul?

  Dad folded his hands. “I know that what happened yesterday was difficult for you. I’m proud of the way you handled it.”

  I told the police about the guy and how I thought I’d seen him in a news segment. They were going to the TV station to review the footage.

  “Have you heard from Mom yet?” She had gone to the hospital earlier that morning to check on William. The museum team had arrived at the morgue the day before, and for the moment, they weren’t allowing access to my parents.

  “Not yet, but she’ll call as soon as there’s news.” He turned back to the computer. “I can pull up a lecture here,” he murmured. “Do you want the entire history of the term, or more recent stories?”

  “I’ll take anything you’ve got.”

  I soon regretted my words. What Dad had was extensive notes on the history of ghouls, beginning with the first mention of them in Arabic texts. He discussed translations and stories and stuff I could barely follow. My head was spinning.

  “So, we’re basically talking about a monster that hangs out in cemeteries and eats flesh, right?”

  Dad looked disappointed. “That’s a simplistic way of looking at it.”

  But that’s the way I liked things: simple. I didn’t really believe that the guy who attacked William was a real, mythological ghoul, but William had used the term and I needed to know why.

  I read through more of Dad’s notes while he made lunch. There were stories going back hundreds of years, all claiming that a ghoul had been spotted in graveyards where bodies had been disturbed. Witnesses claimed that these zombielike monsters were fast and ugly and could be scared off with a crucifix. Dad’s notes also mentioned a logical explanation for the discovery of ripped flesh: wild animals dug up bodies that had not been properly buried.

  Dad came back into the room munching on a sandwich. “These things sound like a combination of zombie, werewolf and vampire,” I said. “People thought they could turn into huge hyenas, that they drank blood and that they were undead. It’s like a crazy combination of horror movies.”

  “Not quite as romantic, though.” Dad sat back down in front of the computer. “The one common thread with most monster lore is the desecration of cemeteries. It’s an occurrence throughout history, and people needed to find a nonhuman cause for it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because no one wanted to believe that a fellow human could do such a thing.”

  The kitchen phone rang and I got up to answer it. It was Mom.

  “They’re keeping William for one more day, just for observation,” she said. I could hear the noise of the hospital in the background, people talking and machines beeping.

  “Is he conscious?” I asked. “Has he said what happened?”

  “Yes and no. He’s awake, but he can’t remember what happened. He has a concussion and they’re still running tests. Right now, the doctors think he suffered a mild stroke and fell.”

  “So the doctors are talking to you?”

  Mom chuckled and lowered her voice. “They think they’re talking to his niece.” She cleared her throat. “I’m trying to locate his family members, but I don’t think he has any. None that he can remember at the moment. Tell Dad I’ll be home in a couple hours.”

  “Sure. Give William my best, okay?”

  I updated Dad, then called Noah to fill him in. He sounded relieved.

  “Are you going over to William’s house tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Mom thinks he’ll need help, you know, with dinner and stuff.”

  “Right. Well, count me in.” He paused. “Tomorrow’s Halloween.”

  I had forgotten. And with our street still covered with several inches of water, I felt relieved—no curious fans would be stopping by. We usually went out on Halloween night and kept the house dark.

  “Halloween brings out the crazies, doesn’t it?” Noah continued.

  “Sure.” I wasn’t sure where he was heading with this.

  “What if this guy comes back tomorrow night? To William’s, I mean.”

  “I’m sure the police will check it out.”

  “Not all night. They have other problems to deal with.”

  He was right. And if this guy was hiding out in the woods—which the police had checked but hadn’t been able to cover completely—and knew William had returned home, then what? Would he break in? “I’ll talk to my dad,” I said. “He’ll probably stay the night.”

  “Good. That makes me feel better.”

  I was touched by Noah’s concern for a man he barely knew. “Can I ask why this matters so much to you?”

  “I don’t know.” Noah cleared his throat. “He reminds me of my grandpa, I guess. And he’s alone, and I can’t stand the idea that someone preyed on a nice old guy like that.”

  “Yeah.” I hated seeing William on the stretcher. He had looked so frail.

  After I hung up with Noah, I called Avery. She knew about the attack and was happy to get the update. She was also happy about something else.

  “Jared and I won our movie trivia game and it’s thanks to you.”

  “Me?”

  “Guess what movie was our final question? The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. And I nailed it.”

  I laughed. “Congratulations. What’d you win?”

  “Bragging rights. And a certificate that I printed out. And, you know, time with Jared.”

  “So things are getting intense with you two?”

  I could practically feel her blush through the phone line. “Not exactly. I’m not looking for a romantic relationship, but Jared and I have a bond. I want us to be close.”

  “How close?”

  “That’s what I’m not sure about yet. I need more time.”

  We talked about our Halloween plans. Or lack of them. Avery wasn’t planning on doing anything. The storm had pretty much ruined any potential parties.

  When I hung up, Dad was still at his computer, staring intently at a digital photo of a sword.

  “Research?” I asked.

  “Not quite.”

  I sat down and looked more closely at the image. It had a long, silver blade and a brass handle. “Looks like something from the Civil War.”

  “I agree. I think this is a cavalry sword from 1864.”

  “Cool. Why are you looking at it, though?”

  “Because this is what they pulled out of the first coffin.”

  Chapter Ten

  I spent Halloween morning planning a funeral with Avery.

  “What do you think about white lilies?” she asked me.

  “Reminds me of Easter,” I decided. “Let’s get something seasonal.”

  She frowned at the florist’s website. “Our options are limited. Unless you want to go with carnations.”

  I sighed. “No. You’re right. Lilies would be appropriate.”

  Although really, how was I supposed to know what was appropriate for this kind of thing? We were arranging a funeral ceremony for people who had been dead for over a century.

  While Avery perused the flower selections, I pushed back the living room curtain to look outside. It was gray and windy, which somehow made sense. Halloween weather should be slightly creepy. Mom had already left for the hospital to pick up William and Dad was at the funeral home to collect the cremated ashes of William’s ancestors so we could bury them.

  It had been Trisha’s idea to hold a small ceremony at the cemetery, so I wasn’t sure how most of the planning had been thrown at me. But William had liked the idea, so we were doing it.

  “What day do we need these by?” Avery asked.

  “The ceremony is next Saturday morning. So maybe they should be delivered Friday?”

  Mom didn’t think William would be well enough before then. He was still weak and couldn’t remember what had happened to hi
m. I was surprised that he was being released from the hospital so soon, but Mom said it was an insurance thing. She wasn’t happy about it, and had decided to hire a nurse to check in on William for a few hours every day.

  “Okay.” Avery typed at the computer. “I think this should do it. Do you have the credit card?”

  I looked at the arrangements Avery had selected. Simple white lilies and a few cream-colored roses would adorn the gravestones. “Looks good. Thanks for your help.”

  “No problem. What else needs to get done?”

  I plugged in Dad’s credit card info and completed the order. “We’re supposed to order some food.”

  Avery nodded. “This might sound bad, but this reminds me of planning a dance. The food, the flowers. We don’t need to find a DJ, do we?”

  “Sort of.”

  She looked surprised. “Seriously?”

  “My dad wants to track down a Civil War group, see if they can send some people to play music.”

  “This could get expensive.”

  I shrugged. “Mom says they have a special account for stuff like this.”

  “A funeral account?” Avery wrinkled her nose.

  “Not exactly. They keep their book money separate from their DVD money. We use the book money for travel expenses, but since we’re not planning a big trip this year, my parents are using those funds for William.”

  “But they hardly know him,” she pointed out.

  “True. But we can use the footage from his property for a future DVD, so we owe him, really.”

  The items being retrieved from the lead coffins were all from the Civil War, a fact Dad wasn’t really supposed to know. The museum group was carefully guarding their newfound treasures, but Dad’s friend at the morgue was sneaking in after everyone left to take pictures. So far, half a dozen swords, a few guns and a bugle had been discovered. There were still three remaining coffins to examine, including a tiny one. I guessed it belonged to the gravestone Noah had pointed out to me, the one that simply read Daughter.

  I didn’t understand why the rare items had been hidden inside the coffins to begin with. Neither did my parents. Shane and Trisha were investigating the names on the gravestones at the local historical society. Now that we had been kicked out of the morgue and off the project, we had a new plan: uncover vital information before the museum team did. They might have the artifacts, but we could at least understand what they meant.