The Hidden Graveyard: The Whisper Investigations Trilogy (Book 2) Read online

  THE HIDDEN GRAVEYARD

  THE WHISPER INVESTIGATIONS TRILOGY BOOK 2

  MARC LAYTON

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Next In The Series

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  Also by Marc Layton

  About the Author

  1

  The sound of sprinting footsteps echoed through the empty mess hall. The small girl’s breathing was labored, she had pains in her sides from running, but she couldn’t stop. She was crying as she limped towards the door, throwing her weight into the heavy wooden joint and forcing herself forward. She stumbled, fell hard upon the graveled path, but could not afford to linger for long. Scrambling back to her feet, the small girl lurched forward, launching herself into the wooded trail, ducking beneath trees and dodging branches. She screamed for help, but there was no point. No one could help her.

  As she escaped the trees and found herself at the edge of the water, she tripped a second time, hitting the earth bodily. Her fingers grasped at dry leaves and wet soil, trying to find the strength to pull herself up again, but exhaustion overwhelmed her. She tried to crawl, to keep going, but a cold, clammy hand had grasped her ankle. She screamed and dug her nails into the earth to anchor herself, but it was futile. Her bloodcurdling scream echoed across the quiet lake as she was dragged violently down beneath its depths. Then, as the cold water covered her face and filled her lungs, I screamed myself awake.

  2

  I yelped as I took notice of my surroundings, slowly realizing that I was in a warm car with my brother, who was looking at me with worry and confusion.

  “What? What!?” Damian asked, looking at me and then back to the road. "Do I need to pull over?"

  “No," I said quietly. "No, it's nothing. Just a bad dream."

  I eased back into my seat, though still feeling uneasy. I thought back to my nightmare, dwelling on how vivid it all seemed. The woods, the lake, the girl…the girl. Everything about her seemed so lifelike and familiar. Everything that had happened to her in the dream, I had felt too. I lent an uneasy hand down to my ankle, almost expecting to find moisture there from the wet, clammy hand of whatever had dragged the girl beneath the surface of the water.

  My fingers brushed gingerly against the skin, finding no mysterious marks there. I breathed out a sigh of relief, something that Damian noticed.

  “I saw a sign advertising a motel up ahead. Let's stop there for the night. Rest up before we get to Camp Hollyfalls. You good with that?”

  I nodded, not really in the mood to argue. I didn't know what I would have rather done; all I knew was that I wanted to shake this feeling of dread. Yet, every time I blinked, I saw her. I saw her body suspended in that dark water, hair in dark clouds hovering around her face. Her mouth open, screaming in vain as no sound came up to the surface, only angry bubbles escaping her mouth.

  As the car came to a stop at the motel, the expression on my face was blank. The yellow neon was flickering in places as the lighting died out. The sign had once shone brightly as ‘The Roachell Motel,' but as different letters had gone out, the sign simply read—

  “Roach Mol,” I read aloud, looking over at Damian with a smirk.

  "Hey, it's a place to sleep. Better than nothing," Damian said before he lifted himself out of his seat and walked over to the main office. I got out of the car as well, but not to join him. Instead, I inhaled deeply as I pressed my back against the car, staring up at the midday sky. All of my days seemed to blend together as of late. Since Damian decided that we should go into business together and begin Whisper Investigations, the two of us had spent countless hours getting everything in order. Damian took care of most legal and technical aspects; licenses, permits, securing gigs. This little expedition was his doing, after all. He was the one who had decided to investigate the deaths at Camp Hollyfalls, not me. If I'm honest, I'm still not even entirely sure I want to do paranormal investigations, but if it helps people? Damian seems to think it will, so, I mean, what else have I got?

  Damian came out of the office at that moment, the screen door banging behind him as he walked towards me, dangling the room key out in front of him before dropping it into my hand.

  “That’s your key, so don’t lose it. Guy said it’s a $75 replacement fee, and I am not paying for that – so don’t lose it!”

  "I got it. I got it…jeez,” I said as Damian pointed us in the direction of our room. I grabbed our duffels from the car and followed him to room eighteen, which looked just about what I expected from "Roach Mol." The two double beds that took up most of the room had the same mustard yellow bedspreads with ugly green embroidery. There was only one window in the room, and the view was blocked by an AC unit that looked like it belonged in a museum; large, clunky, and barely chilled the air.

  “Claimed!” Damian exclaimed as he leaped onto one of the beds, kicking off his shoes. I couldn’t help but give a small smile at his antics. Despite everything we had gone through, he was still my brother.

  “Let’s get a quick nap in before we do any work," Damian said. Then he laid out on his bed and immediately flipped onto his stomach, and buried his face in his pillow.

  I was apprehensive, as I was still a bit shaken from my earlier nightmare. However, as I sat upon my bed and found it deceptively comfortable, I gave in. I peeled off my shoes and slid under the covers, hoping for some well-deserved rest.

  3

  As soon as I closed my eyes, I drifted off to sleep, and my dreams began to weave before me. I found myself sitting on a sandy beach. The sun was shining, and there were children in swimsuits laughing and splashing while a few adults sunbathed on the shore. I looked curiously at them all, noting how odd their clothing was; everyone was wearing a swimsuit that looked like old pajamas. I had seen people dress like this for the beach before, but only in antique photographs. I tried to listen in on some of the conversations, but the words sounded garbled. It was as though I were hearing them talk through a barrier.

  Suddenly, there was screaming and frantic calls for help, and I looked over to the water's edge and saw a little boy trying to keep his head above water. I sprang to my feet to help, but as soon as I stood, everyone disappeared. I glanced around, but now I was the only one on the beach. I scratched my head in confusion and took a few steps closer to the water, trying to make heads or tails of what happened, when a garbled voice came from behind me.

  I spun around in time to see a teenage girl in a bikini looking up at me through massive bug-eyed sunglasses. I could not make out what she said, as her words were as distorted as everyone else had been, but by her demeanor, I guessed she wanted me out of her sun. I took a few steps back and watched as she returned to reading her magazine, which featured a blonde model with short hair and thick mascara. The scene was relatively peaceful, but that did not last long. Two teenage guys ran up to the lounging girl, their voices sounding distressed as they pulled the girl to her feet, and they all ran into the woods.

  I was more confused now. Then, just as I started to wonder what was going on, a voice clearly said,

  "Liam."

  I froze, feeling a chill go down my spine. Then, as I turned to see who had called, I realized the sun was no longer shining. Instead, the moonlight reflected upon the still lake water, and crickets sang from the trees. I looked all around me but saw no one, and yet I heard a voice call my name again, this time closer.

  “Who’s there?” I asked, eyes searching for any signs of movement. I could hear my heart thundering away in my chest. No answer, just an eerie stillness. I shifted my feet in the sand, debating on making a run for it, when a hand grasped me around my ankle and dragged me down. I scraped my fingers against the sand, trying to claw my way out of the grasp of whoever or whatever had me, but I wasn’t strong enough. My body slipped into the lake, deep under the surface. I spun around to see that my attacker was the girl I had dreamed of before. Her pale hands gripped at my chin, and her ghostly face came in close to mine as she screamed a stream of bubbles.

  4

  I screamed myself awake again, falling off of the motel bed and onto the shaggy brown carpet. I quickly got up and dusted myself off, sitting back down on the edge of my bed. Damian was already up, sitting at the small table, all sorts of photocopied documents and papers laid out in organized piles in front of him. He looked over at me, raising his eyebrows with concern.

  “You OK?" he asked.

  “Just another bad dream,” I said, going over to the table. Damian pushed a coffee cup towards me, and I picked it up with no hesitation.

  The smell of slightly burnt coffee stung at my nostrils, but I was still thankful for the caffeine. I pressed the styrofoam to my lips, drinking as much as I could before placing the cup upon the table, scrunching my nose, and smacking my lips with distaste.

  “Where did you even get this?” I aske
d Damian, looking from the cup to him. "It tastes like mud."

  My brother looked up from the papers he was poring over, struggling with his words as he found his thoughts.

  "The uh, the…it's in the uh, the hall…the vending machine. I got it from the motel vending machine. You owe me seventy-five cents, by the way,” he added, sitting more upright in his chair as he grabbed a pen from the table.

  "What?" I asked, watching as Damian leaned over, circling words. The pen cap was still between his teeth as he spoke, his gaze still fixed on the paper.

  "Look at this," Damian said as he rotated the page towards me, tapping his fingers against the fresh ink. "A girl was reported missing from Camp Hollyfalls in 1942. And then here—" he trailed off, flicking through other pages and slapping another photocopied article next to the one he had already indicated. He tapped the headline, "a boy in ‘54 drowned in the camp lake, and then here—" Damian pulled out a handful of other pages, all with the faces of children next to the byline. "‘69, ‘73, ‘78, ‘82, ‘85, ‘94; Liam, it goes on like this! It’s honestly insane that they kept this place open for so long.”

  “So, what are you thinking?” I asked slowly.

  "I think there's a lot more that's going on here. Do you think you can help me out? I did a lot of research, but this is a two-person job."

  “Yeah, sure. What do you want me to do?”

  “Can you look up some of these names? There’s like fifteen of ‘em here, so if we split them up, it won’t take as long.”

  "OK, yeah. Anything in particular I should be looking for?"

  "Well, if any of them were ever found, for one. If any of these kids turned out happy and healthy, that's great - but if these kids all just vanished? I want to know why. If there were any connections, or what? Like, we went to Camp Hollyfalls, Liam. How come we were safe?”

  "Our parents got eaten by ghosts or whatever, so we didn't exactly make it unscathed..."

  “Dude, would you just focus on this? Here, go look up what you can on these kids,” Damian said as he scrawled down a list of names. I took a moment, hovering over each name.

  Eleanor Stodge, Jack Warner, Beth Deerling, Warren Fogerty, Kate Nelson, Sam Peters, and Greg Howell...

  “Hey, didn’t we go to camp with Greg Howell?”

  I thought back to my days at camp, trying to put a name to a face. If I remembered correctly, Greg had been a tiny kid, shorter than all the other boys by about a head, and he always wore a pair of glasses with thick red frames. He was a nice enough kid, but I didn't remember him hanging out with anyone.

  Damian went to work on investigating his list, and I did the same, going through what seemed like endless databases. I soon gathered a rough amount of information on most of the names I had been given, save for Eleanor Stodge. All I knew about her was that she was the first person reported missing from the camp. I searched for her on every database, and nothing came up, not even the Hollyfalls story.

  “Hey, you got this name right, right? Cuz it seems like Eleanor Stodge doesn’t exist.” I said as I looked over at Damian, who nodded without even looking up.

  “Yeah, her name is mentioned in a few of the articles.”

  “So, why can’t I find her anywhere? Every search comes up with nothing. I get that she’s from the forties, so I’m not expecting tons of info, but she has no trace, not even the news of her disappearance! It’s like she never even existed.”

  Damian frowned and mouthed the name 'Eleanor Stodge' as he typed the name into the search field on his laptop, and after a few minutes, I heard a "huh" come from him.

  “I definitely saw her name, though? Here lemme…”

  “What are you doing?” I asked curiously.

  “I’m gonna pull up the other articles and see if I can dredge up the name that way,” Damian said as he hit ctrl+f and typed the name again.

  “What?! That’s so weird,” Damian said, scratching his head. “She’s really not coming up…but I know I saw the name.”

  “Maybe you imagined it."

  “Yeah….yeah maybe. Anyway, I went through these other names to see if I could find a link anywhere, besides them all being campers, and guess what?”

  "Go on."

  “You’re supposed to ask me ‘what?’”

  “Oh my god…”

  "OK, whatever, the point is I found two things. One, all of the campers that were found dead or went missing were all staying in the same cabin, and two, the last place anyone saw these kids alive was by the lake.”

  I didn't know why, but I felt my skin crawl when Damian mentioned a lake.

  “You think there’s a connection?” I asked.

  "I mean, probably. I don't know what yet, since the cabin they all stayed at was actually the farthest one from the lake, but I think it's a solid lead. Anyway, it's too late to go exploring a haunted camp with a high body count right now, so why don’t we settle in for the night and head over first thing in the morning?”

  "Yeah, OK. That sounds fine.”

  5

  We spent the rest of our night unwinding. I ordered pizza from a local restaurant, and Damian ran down to a convenience store for sodas and chips. For those few hours that we sat on our beds, watching tv from our laptops and eating snacks, I felt normal.

  I dreamed of her again that night, the girl in the lake. Her fear was my fear, and her scream was my scream. When I finally awoke, I was tired and cranky. I said nothing to my brother as we dressed and left the room, nor did I say anything as we drove towards the camp. I felt uneasy, like when you’re nervous before a big test. My stomach was in knots, and there was this unseen weight pressing upon my chest and shoulders, and it only seemed to get heavier as we drew closer to the camp.

  I unconsciously held my breath as the car turned off the paved road and onto a thin trail that led through the woods. I clenched my hands, my nails digging into the cushion of my seat with every bump of the road until finally, we crossed the threshold of Camp Hollyfalls. We were back.

  The camp had, very obviously, not been well looked after. Weeds were growing all over the property in thick patches. The once canary yellow paint on the signs and roofs had become sun-bleached and chipped. The wooden structures themselves looked rotted and weak, as though they could collapse at any moment. And as we sat there in the car, looking at the camp, I realized that I could not hear birds chirping or crickets. It was dead silent.

  We got out of the car, and Damian let out a low whistle as he came up upon one of the cabin sides, reaching out a hand to brush moss away, revealing the words “cabin five.”

  “The victims all stayed in cabin four, so that might be a good place to start, right?” he asked.

  I nodded, craning my neck around to find the next building. “Over there,” I said when I spotted a small dilapidated building. It was farther back, closer to the front entrance, and in a greater state of disrepair than the other structures. I stepped toward it, walking through the unkempt grass, and after a few paces, I heard the slight creak of rotted wood beneath my feet. Swiping my foot to the left, the words "cabin four" were just barely visible under caked-on grime.

  “This is it," I said as Damian followed me towards the cabin. As we walked across the front porch, feeling the wooden planks sag beneath our weight, I felt my hesitation mount. Though it seemed silly and illogical, I felt like the cabin itself was alive and that we were disturbing it. I stopped short of the entryway, watching the splintered door swing slightly on its broken hinge to the rhythm of Damian's steps.

  6

  “Do you really think this is such a good idea?” I asked aloud, already knowing his answer.