A Dirty Shame

A Dirty Shame

Two people walk through a graveyard at night.

Annoyed by chirping crickets, he scooped them up and popped some between bloodstained lips, munching a few times to silence them.  After a few moments he picked at his teeth with a hooked talon, then sniffed the air that left a pall of death, so familiar.  The talon went into his mouth again and dislodged a tooth that looked more like a fang.  Without concern, he tossed it aside.  A new one would just grow back. 

His recent meal had been in the dimness of an alley along the river. Shaking his silken black head of hair didn’t help clear the beer buzz, sipped with generous eagerness, from the drunken drifter, now carrion in a ravine.  The drifter deserved it for killing the barkeeper.

The stranger’s black jeans fit the predator low on the hips.  The only thing that truly belonged to him wasn’t the hemp cord knotted around his neck – but a sapphire in filigree dangled at the hollow of his throat. A family heirloom covered by an indigo blue bandana. 

In sure calm, he reclined against cool rough stone of the only weeping angel.  Giddy laughter was coming his way.  He wasn’t hungry anymore, but he was curious – after all, fresh blood is fresh blood.  It had been a long time since easy pickings wandered into cadaver park at night.  A very long time.  The possibility of a snack for later made him smack his lips. “Dirty,” named by the corpse inhabitants, because of his penchant to sleep beneath loamy soil, felt a new fang regenerating.


He caught sight of a young couple.  It pained him when the young took it upon themselves to grace the happy and deceased with a walk through the boneyard.  Nothing affected his hearing, he knew what they were saying and even their thoughts riddled his liquored up mind.  He already knew three things about them.  It was prom night, they had been drinking, and they were in love.  He angled his head for the best view and became a bored listener, because loneliness does that.  It was barely midnight – some of the ghosts were still spooking familiar places from long ago.  They would be back eventually and share gossip.  Even, Edgar the resident cat was out on the town.  Emptiness haunted the inner sanctum for the unwelcome. 

“Let the taunting begin.” Dirty scrambled behind the slab of Harlan Adams and watched them spread out a red tartan blanket on thin grass under a triangle of moonlight.  The girl lit three shallow candles, and they commenced to drink burgundy wine from a tall bottle.  The boy’s black tie hung loose around his neck.  He untucked his crisp white shirttails and pulled a skinny joint from his matched vest pocket.  “Let’s smoke some of this, first.”  The boy puffed and choked, before passing it to his companion.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Max and Amanda?” 

“I’m guessing they got lost like we did.  They’ll catch up.” 

The predator watched.  His wanton hatred for being undead was followed by, and to a lesser degree, of biting into anyone who had just smoked weed.  It always made him hungry for more.  So much work – the hunting and gathering.  He didn’t mind the beer drinkers, and a wino was always good; but he stopped, if possible, at hard liquor.  It made him reckless.  Several times he almost forgot to get himself tucked in before dawn’s first light. People with diseases were out of the question.  His highly developed senses and their putrid odor were like swallowing a flaming torch followed by an acid wash.

The young lovers commiserated for a while about too much homework, their parents divorces, bullies, and hating their new stepmother, or father.  They thought up crazy schemes and enlightened each other with practical jokes to rid themselves of angst, forgetting about their missing friends.  When they exhausted boozy chitchat they became more aware of their ancient surroundings.

“This is such an old graveyard.  I wonder who the hell these people are.  Look at this headstone…says 1844.”  The boy slurred and stumbled around reading some of the names on the memorials.  “Henry Matthews died in 1830, Violet Stark in 1801.”

The girl joined him using a penlight and pushing away wild ivy covering a pitted headstone.  “Aw…look at this one.  Infant Emily Grayson 1843.  That’s just sad.”

She chugged back some more wine and sighed, “I wouldn’t want to be buried here…so many of the stones are overturned.”

“It’s overgrown and nearly forgotten…that’s why we came here, right?  So nobody would bother us.”  The boy dug his hands deep into the pockets of his pants.

The girl giggled, “Yeah, but its weird quiet – like something is watching us.”  They tripped over tree roots and their footsteps snapped dead twigs before they found their way back to the shared blanket. “I’m hungry.  Did you bring any food?” The boy spread out a copious amount of what he referred to as “skittles.”  They both laughed a laugh that echoed into the night, and proceeded to sort the rainbow colors of pills. 

“What’s this one for?”  The girl selected a blue tablet.

The boy shrugged.  “I took these from my dad’s stash of ‘scripts.  Since the accident…he takes pain pills, relaxants, antidepressants.”  He held up a small pill and said, “This one makes you ten feet tall,” he chuckled.  He placed two on his tongue and washed it down with a swig of wine.


After hugging and kissing, and more drinking the couple struggled to sit upright.  Dirty had since found a lofty vantage point in a nearby cedar tree.  His feelings alternating between being aggravated and wanting to stake his own heart.  He felt compelled to slap the dumb right off of them or, at the very least, scare the bejesus out of them to leave.  It was unusual for him to kill his victims.  He, until lately, took just enough, then wiped their minds.  Now he just didn’t care as much.  Death seemed bittersweet and he could be ruthless to the deserving.  He blamed it on his hunger, but justified it as ‘culling the herd’.  The young, so delectable and tasty, were a pain in the ass.  Too many people got involved.  Police, family, friends - all looking for a suspect.  It was always risky.  Sure, he could leave his quiet life in the graveyard, but it was a moot point.

Dirty shot down from a tree and sat on a rotting tree stump before them. “Fooling around in the middle of a graveyard at midnight is never a good idea,” he said in a gritty voice.

Covering her head with her manicured hands, the girl yelped.  The boy lurched to his feet, “What the…hell,” but lost his balance and fell over a crumbling headstone.

The girl raised her head and with an unsteady hand pointed the penlight at Dirty.  “Holy crap, you’re Johnny Depp.  Steve…look.  It’s Johnny Depp.

Steve rolled around in crabgrass holding his head, a result of the excruciating thud against the stone and then puked.  “What are you talking about, Holly?” he coughed, wiping at strings of drool and spittle.  Blood seeped from his ear.

Dirty smiled and leaned against the headstone of Fergus Langley and crossed his arms looking like a robust pirate Jack Sparrow to Holly and Steve, even though he was pale ivory.  The glamour would protect him in case things went south.  His menacing eyes seared hard at Steve.  Steve crawled backwards, his blue eyes wide with fright.  It was difficult for Dirty to tear his own eyes away from the trickle of blood.

“Stay away from me, weirdo, and who the hell are you?”  Steve shrieked and wobbled to his feet.  His eyes darted up the massive tree and then back at Dirty.  Dirty discerned the boy smelled of vomit and swill, and close to letting loose his bowels.

“I’m a dirt-napper looking for two tragic morsels like you to spend the rest of their lives here in Marble Town.  I think you’ll enjoy it.”  Dirty’s glamour was beginning to waiver since he hadn’t used it in a long while, maybe since men wore tights.

Holly grabbed for Steve.  “What’s happening?”  Holly’s concern made Dirty angry.

Steve squeezed her hand, “I don’t feel good.”

“Shut Up!”  Dirty said with angry gruffness making Holly shrink and lean into Steve.  His tongue flicked the air, tasting the fear radiating from her.  He regained control and confidence of the glamour.  “But, first things first,” he said as he hand waved toward the destruction of the fallen headstones.  “The problem with ‘leaving no stone unturned’ is dealing with what crawls out from under the rocks.”

He was greeted with confused stares, so Dirty stood in the darkness and with a brief measured pause gathered his words.  “Okay, numbskulls, I am undead – and quite old”.  He hadn’t known he was going to say that until to late.  Maybe it was the alcohol from the blood he just feasted on that let Dirty reveal himself, but he rejoiced watching their stunned faces and hearing their hearts pumping blood.  Euphoria. 

Steve’s face was sweating and suffering a massacre of mosquito bites.  Presently, Holly being the poster girl for blonde spoke.  “So how old are you, actually, because you look way younger than my dad, and he’s like 40.”

“I was turned as a young man…on the evening I was to propose to the love of my life.”  Dirty, feeling the anguish of his lost soul mate ran his hands through his hair.  “My former life had been mending fences and chopping wood.”  His thoughts ran like a fast movie.  He knew he sounded like a maudlin moron, but he continued.  “I could see her waiting for me in the field; she hadn’t yet seen me in the moon glow.  She wore a wreath of wildflowers.  Moments later she lay, forsaken.”  Dirty stopped.  The horrid experience replayed in his mind.

“What about you?” 

“I ran to her, but was taken down before I got there.  My body was hidden in a dry well.  I knew I was tarnished, and didn’t know why, but I had tasted blood.  I tried to find my slayer, but it was useless. My strength developed and became extraordinary, but, my loss was that I could never truly see her again.  Love is a hunger, and it is never forgotten.  I have loved her, forever.” 

He paused with melancholy sadness, unsure if he’d been right to expose his past, but he was certain they were to become worm food so he continued.  “But, I moved on and roamed the countryside and cities searching to avenge a death.  Like a gypsy, always traveling.  And then I found here.”  He raised his arms in the air and spread them wide.  “At least living here, with a few ghosts, is where I found peace as the gatekeeper.

“There are really ghosts, here?”

“Blondie…the woman in white behind you is looking for her baby, Emily.”  Dirty replied, grateful that a ghost appeared.  “What did you expect to find here?  Fuzzy bunnies and unicorns?”

Holly whirled around to witness the lady and gasped.  Steve cocked his head and said, “Hello.”  He tugged at Holly.  The lady vanished, but they could hear weeping. 

Holly quivered with sweat.  The thin straps to her evening dress slipped off her shoulders.  Her throbbing pulse invited temptation.  “Doesn’t she know the baby is buried right over there?”  Holly’s pointing was haphazard in the general direction of the slanted grave of Emily Grayson.

Dirty inhaled her human essence. Spice.  The only other smells here were mung, mold, and moss.  “Grave robbers looking for trophy skulls.  Hooligans like you came in and dug up graves and stole things, scattered bones all about.  No stone unturned.”  But, that wasn’t entirely true.  Before Dirty arrived there had been 100 graves – he was able to save the last twenty which remained untouched. Their damage caused by the scourge of time.

“Where do you sleep?”  Holly yawned.  Her pretty face was drawn and her eyes drooped.  The pink dress, that made her look grown up, was soiled with wine.

Dirty let out a wicked laugh. “With Habersham.  It’s actually empty.  Again, scattered about.  When I first came, I shared with Francine, over there, but she turned into a bag of bones,” Dirty attempted humor, but he could see the inebriated kids weren’t amused and he didn’t care.  He just wanted them gone.

Holly and Steve clutched at each other for support, their thoughts disjointed.  “That’s some crazy stuff.”  Steve sank to the ground and swallowed another pill he lifted from the pile.

“Here’s the thing, chumps, there are people out there who care about you…I certainly don’t know why.  So here is a one time offer.”  Dirty was no longer melancholy.  They would die and he would relish it. “I bite or you run.  I’ll even give you a head start.” 

“Okay, we’re going.”  Holly shook Steve.  “Come on, honey – we’re going, now.”  Any previous spunk in Holly was gone.  Overcome by wine, pills, and smoking, she pulled herself up and weaved her way toward the exit out of the cemetery.  It wasn’t long before she sprawled headlong on top of Rosalia Montgomery.  Dirty dropped his glamour.

A non-corporeal spirit rose up out of the soil by the fallen Holly and aimed a delicate finger at Steve. “What’s going on, Jeffrey?  Why is there a girl on my grave, and who is that?”    The ghost form was a beautiful young woman wearing a wreath of wildflowers.  She was a mere wisp of smoke to the human eye, but Dirty could see her as a transparent figure, and she was the only one to call him by his real name.

“Dopey and Sleepy.  A couple of lovers celebrating life.”  He moved beside Rosalia and sniffed at the faintest hint of lavender.  He wanted to wrap her in his arms, but that would never happen.  “Probably obituaries by now, and they did it on their own.”

“Well, then you’re going to have to change that.”

“I thought you might say that, my love.”  Dirty touched the sapphire ring that lay at his throat.  “I’ll take care of it.”  He would do anything for her.

He went to the boy, first.  Steve’s breathing was not audible.  He had suffered a concussion, as well as the effects of drugs and drinking.  Except for the scarce hint of a pulse, life for Steve wouldn’t last long in the city of the silent.  Dirty slit a vein with a razor sharp talon on his own wrist and pressed it to Steve’s lips.  At first, the blood pooled and formed rivulets down Steve’s chin.  His eyes flashed open.  He gagged and finally gulped and swallowed the vampire’s blood.    When Steve sent out a ragged breath, Dirty waited a moment before pulling away.  He tended to Holly and repeated the procedure again.  Her head lulled back and forth seeming to resist until a few drops fell upon her tongue.  Only then did she drink in the nectar.  When her breathing was stable, Dirty carried Holly and laid her limp body next to Steve.  He could hear two hearts pumping.  Lungs swishing with air.  They looked like sleeping babies.

Rosalia floated to the blanket of breathing bodies.  “It’s a shame - our dreaded passing,” she sighed.  “We were so in love.”

Dirty nodded.  He could feel the trace of a cold touch from Rosalia’s hand on his shoulder and the icy kiss on his cheek.  “I love you, Rosalia,” he whispered.  “My shame is I couldn’t save us.”

“You’re a good man, Jeffrey.  They have a second chance.  Be proud of yourself.”  Rosalia disappeared.  Dirty sat and wiped his eyes, yearning for the love he couldn’t embrace.

He rolled the bodies in the tartan blanket, after wiping demons from their minds and an evening of foolishness.  Carrying the bundle out on the hardened footpath of the cemetery, he walked under a ripe full moon through sagging wrought iron gates smothered with twisted vines of grape ivy.  The rusted hinges screeched with agony.  When he came to an open field, he laid Holly and Steve down among the wildflowers bursting with life.


Holly and Steve awoke with an exhausted Max and Amanda looking down at them in the field.  “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.  God, you guys look like crap.  Did you find Everrest Cemetery? 

“Nope.  But Holly and I spoke to a homeless guy.”

“Big deal," replied Max.  "Let’s go before our parents kill us.”

Dirty stayed out of sight.  There would be others more deserving of his services.