Page 17 of Insatiable Hunger

“Are you going to be okay out here, investigating all by yourself?” His hand gently grabbed my waist, pulling me close. His body was warm, causing my skin to prickle as he held me tightly.

“I won’t be alone. I have Alastair.” The wolf huffed.“Besides, it’s just a cemetery. There’s no one else here but us.” I smiled as Lazarus leaned forward, kissing me gently. I wanted to stay in that moment forever, but he broke away from my lips.

“If anything happens, you change your mind,” he grinned, “or you just want to see me—whistle.” I nodded, knowing what he meant. “Now, let’s see if this place is really as haunted as everyone says, or Cain’s just blowing smoke up our ass.”

Chapter

Sixteen

ALASKA

The New Bedeville Cemetery was substantially larger than I anticipated, despite seeing how far it branched out into the world. Alastair and I had been walking north, following the winding path, for what felt like forever as it steadily led us higher in altitude. I glanced around, admiring the timeless headstones and statues, each perfectly unique in their own way. The night had been quiet, peaceful, really. There was no negative shift in the energy surrounding us or shadows dancing in the moonlight to catch our eyes. Maybe this place wasn’t haunted after all.

Alaska.

The faint whisper of my name caused me to gasp, my flashlight whipping around, searching my surroundings for the owner of the eerie voice. Alastair’s ears reacted, as if hearing it too, turning with me.

Help us.

My body spun around, frantically searching the labyrinth of gravestones, the beam of my light strobing in all directions. Alastair’s head remained perched high, scanning the rolling hills for the source of the whispered words.

Help us.

Help us, Alaska.

The ghostly pleas were now repeating, echoing in the cold night air as multiple voices began to overlap one another. My heart raced in a panic, fearful of what phenomenon was happening. Alastair stood at my side on alert, oddly calm as my eyes searched for the root of this madness.

“Who’s there?” I called out into the darkness, reluctant to hear a reply.

You need not fear us, Alaska.

A wave of comfort draped over me, smothering my discomfort and anxiety. My shoulders relaxed, as the fear in my veins morphed into curiosity.

Help us.

Help us, Alaska.

We beg you.

Help us.

“Who are you?” I asked again. A strange eeriness formed behind me, forcing my eyes to wander over my shoulder. My body followed my gaze, as if an invisible thread was now pulling from deep within my soul. I allowed the foreign force to guide me, an ever-growing interest pulsing through my veins. That surge of intrigue attracted me, puppeting my feet as I followed my internal instincts and allowed it to lead me. The feeling carried me further into the cemetery in a new direction, steering me towards a small, overgrown path that branched from the main walkway. As I stepped onto the muddy earth, I could feel the magnetic energy pulling me tighter, tugging at my soul. I was nearing whatever this paranormal power wanted me to find.

Alastair trotted alongside me as we ventured deeper down the foreboding path, the trees of the nearby forest rustling from the cold breeze. The golden light of my flashlight revealed something oddly prominent in the distance, nestled betweentwo weeping willow trees. As I stepped closer, my mind clicked, registering what I was staring at. Roosting tall, just a few feet from me, was a single, discolored tombstone tucked between the trees, hidden by a patch of overgrown weeds. The overwhelming wave of electricity in the air told me that this was it—the source of everything.

The strange pull grew as I inched closer, the overlapping whispered voices increasing in volume with each step I took, drowning out the sounds of the nightlife. The world around me melted in a thick layer of chaos, buzzing with anticipation, burrowing into my bones as I stopped directly in front of the overgrown grave.

You found us.

I studied the tall slab. The weathered headstone wasn’t elaborate or detailed like the others; instead, it was far simpler. Older. Alastair walked around the stone, sniffing it with curiosity.

Yes. Help us.

Help us, Alaska.

Using my flashlight to guide me, my hands wiped away thick layers of dirt and vines, struggling to read the text along the rugged surface out loud to myself. “In memory of those innocents who died, victims of the Hemlock killings—” The color drained from my face as the unfinished words left my lips.The Hemlock killings.Not only were they real, but they took place here, in New Bedeville.Did Cain know?My eyes continued, picking up where I had left off as I read out loud. “May God bless their souls and damn the demon who stole them.”My fingers brushed down the carved slab, frightened by the amount of names engraved beneath the memorial text. I counted each one, whispering their individual names into the night, the number totaling well over thirty. It sickened me to know that Cain’s story was not only true, but that someone could commit suchhorrendous crimes. What kind of a person enjoyed inflicting such horror onto others?

Help us.

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