Free Excerpt of Horror Short Story “Tombstone Teeth”

Free sample of the titular short story from the collection “Tombstone Teeth and Other Horrors”. Click here to buy your copy on Amazon!

TOMBSTONE TEETH

By E.G. Rand

Scarborough was like many old New England towns. Scarborough had history, it had families, it had secrets. One of those secrets was the haunted cemetery. That patch of earth had a curse that predated the town settlers. The local tribes had warned the colonizers not to build there. That it was a hunting place, stalked by a spiritual predator. But the settlers figured any place was safe for a house of God, so they built it anyway. Before the church was finished a worker was decapitated by a falling beam and his blood mixed into the foundation of the building. When it rained, blood would seep down the steps of the church. It happened for a decade after the workman’s death. 

Two years after the church was built there was more blood spilled, this time during an autumn Sunday mass. The priest was just beginning the fire and brimstone when it suddenly became dark as night. The building groaned like a ship on turbulent seas. As if crushed by pressure, one of the prized glass windows shattered inward. It peppered a pew of townsfolk with glass and it killed four year old Sarah Stevenson. A shard pierced her throat. Witnesses claimed thunderous laughter resounded in the church as the child bled to death. 

That was when some people named the presence in the churchyard. The children began to call it Tombstone Teeth. They sang its song during recess and whenever they had to walk by the churchyard’s iron gate. The song was an incantation to keep the monster at bay. None of them wanted to be locked up forever with Tombstone Teeth like poor little Sarah Steveson. Some said that on a full moon, Sarah could be seen crying for her mother from the gate of the cemetery. 

The town began to fear their church. The bells rang at night for no reason at all. People heard giggling, saw moving shadows. Even the priest, who viewed himself as a direct representative of God, felt uncomfortable in that dark narthex. Some townsfolk said when they passed the churchyard they heard laughter, others heard sobs. Always emanating from the cemetery, something moving among the tombstones. Tombstone Teeth, looking for its next victim. 

The church mysteriously burned down during a snowy winter in 1776.  They knew that one of their own had done it, but they were more relieved than upset. The mill was being built and the town was growing by the day. They built a new church in the heart of town, and abandoned the wreckage of the old chapel to the woods. 

There was still the problem of the cemetery. The villagers didn’t know what to do with the old churchyard as they respected the dead as much as they feared that horrible place. So they put up a great stone wall around the cemetery and they topped the wall with shards of shattered glass. Then they locked the wrought iron gate, and considered the matter done. But the dark sexton of the cemetery did not abide by gates and locks, and it was still hungry. 

In 1886 Scarborough was booming. A new mill turned a high profit and provided plenty of work. Its owner, a prominent industrialist named William Christensen Eglinton, was a generous man. He bought a new roof for the church in town and always made sure his workers were cared for. While in Scarborough he married nineteen year old socialite, Lily Farming. 

William decided to build a country mansion for his young bride. He bought land near the  cursed cemetery, now a great wilderness the locals called “Church Park.” Everyone tried to dissuade him, but William would not turn down a good deal based on rumor, suspicions, and a few old boxes of bones. Besides, Lily was an avid spiritualist. William was sure nothing would make her happier than ghosts to commune with. 

The mansion he built was lavish. They employed many servants from town, and imported wall paper and furniture from all over the world. The mansion was just as beautiful as Lily, and just as susceptible. The Elingtons quickly became the height of the town's social elite. They hosted elaborate dinner parties with flowing champagne and fine china. Anyone who was anyone was invited. Lily continued to dabble in spiritualism, and hosted her spiritualism group in a special seance room designed by her. 

But she did not have to look far to find things to speak with. 

She reached out, and the darkness of the cemetery found her. The night began to whisper to Lily. It called her out of the house, told her horrible things, showed her horrible things. She grew wan, spent more and more time in the woods. Once the servant girl, Molly, followed Lily during one of these woodland walks. Molly claimed that Lily walked a well worn path through the forest to the old cemetery. There Lily stood before the rusted gate, eyes wide and blank, whispering into the weeds and tombstones and giggling at whatever spoke back. 

Then came the evening of October fifth. 

Lily had planned a midnight seance. She added allure by making it exclusive, inviting only two of the wealthiest couples in town, The Fitzpatricks and the Joneses.  She persuaded her husband to join. Lily was excited-- she told them she had found a spiritual teacher who would lead them to something amazing.  

At a quarter to midnight, Molly brought in a tray of tea. The room was lit with candles, illuminating the polished circular table. Lily looked paler than usual in a green velvet gown. The night was cold and fire crackled in the fireplace behind her. To her left was her husband, smiling indulgently. The guests were laughing and joking, ready for an evening of fun. A chair had been left intentionally empty for Lily’s spiritual guide. Molly put down the tray and left. 

At one a.m. Molly and the cook, Bailey, were in the kitchen and heard an odd noise. An unmistakable laugh, deep and nasty, resonating in the house. A tinkling of shattered glass, then a long moment of silence, followed by a cacophony of screams. Bailey and Molly rushed to the top of the steps but the door was locked. Bailey ran back down to get the master key in the kitchen while Molly attempted to kick down the door. 

Bailey got the key, fitted it, but when the door swung open the screaming stopped. They were all floating… Mr Elglinton, the Joneses, and FitzPatricks. They floated in slow circles, hanging above the table as if strung up by invisible rope. Their eyes bulged, their mouths gaped like hooked fish. 

Then, before Bailey and Molly’s eyes, they dropped. Mr Eglington and his guests died on the seance table, bulging sightless eyes looking at Molly in the doorway. All of the windows in the room were shattered inward. Lily was nowhere to be found. 

Pete Furn, the grounds keeper, was the last person to see Lily Eglinton alive. He lived in a cabin at the edge of the forest, so when he heard the commotion he came out with a torch. He saw Lily in a blood soaked green gown. He called out to her but she didn’t respond. She was too far away. Pete Furn claimed she was floating. He tried to chase her, but she disappeared into the thick forest. The last thing he heard was her fading voice in the wind, some old nursery rhyme-- “Tombstone Teeth, Tombstone Teeth, buried under six feet deep--”

***

Patrick Smith got out of the office early on Friday and arrived at his country farmhouse just as the snow began to fall. He settled in to get some peace and quiet. It was Jeanine’s night to take Stella to gymnastics. Three nights a week was a lot, but Stella showed an aptitude for it and was making friends. However, sitting through a two hour practice after the office was a long day and Patrick was looking forward to some time to himself. He lit a cheery fire in the farmhouse grate and poured himself a beer. He was watching the snow fall when a car pulled up and shattered his reverie. 

It was an ancient Toyota, held together by duct tape and will. It limped into the driveway, spewing exhaust into the cold air. Patrick’s good mood curdled as his sister-in-law got out of the car. She was completely covered in a ridiculous neon pink coat, but he didn’t have to see her face to know it was Terri. Patrick wrenched open the front door before she could knock. 

She looked worse. The decline had been steady the past couple years, and now she was skeletal. Terri was a ghost of the beautiful girl she used to be.  Her face was a shriveled apple, covered in lurid sores. Her expression was surprised. She had likely hoped to get her sister home alone. The disappointment was obvious.  

“I need to talk to Janine,” Terri grumbled. No greeting, no hello to the family member that she hadn’t seen in weeks. 

“Not here,” Patrick sneered. The beater Toyota steamed in the driveway. Patrick hoped that meant Terri would leave. It was snowing harder now, and behind Patrick the fire crackled. 

“I really need to talk to her--”

“Yeah, well, she’s really not here,” Patrick interrupted. Terri didn’t even ask about her own daughter. Not that he was surprised, Terri rarely showed up for her scheduled visits with Stella, and Stella had stopped asking about her mom. After an awkward silence Terri cut to the chase.

“Jeanine said I could stay here for a couple nights.”

Patrick let out a humorless laugh. There it was, the real reason Terri was here. Patrick went to shut the door in her face

“You can’t leave me out here Patrick! It's snowing! I don’t have anywhere else to go!”

There was always a disaster with Terri, always some big problem. When was everyone going to learn that the “big problem” was just her? Patrick continued closing the door, almost locked--

“You can’t do this Patrick, I am family! You-YOU STOLE MY DAUGHTER! YOU BASTARD!” 

Patrick was generally a patient man, but this he could not abide by. Again he wrenched the door open, startling his sister-in-law back across the porch. 

“STOLE YOUR DAUGHTER?” Patrick screamed, red-faced, “STOLE?!”

Terri fumbled back, but missed the step and fell hard in the snow. Patrick strode to the end of the deck and stood over her, hissing through clenched teeth. 

“I did not steal your kid. You dumped her on us, just like you dump shit on anyone who has ever known you. You are no family of mine, you are not staying in my house, and you are not getting another dime from me unless it's to get your tubes tied.” 

Terri had never been spoken to like that before. She was dumbfounded, sprawled on the lawn. Patrick’s breath was ragged. His outburst surprised himself. He turned away from Terri, now strangely deflated. He said over his shoulder,

“Go on, Terri. Get the fuck off my lawn.”  

Patrick shut the door to his warm little farmhouse and locked it.