Paranormal Anthology With a TWIST Part 7

Truth or Dare.

Jon Messenger.

Author Dedication.

This story, like everything else I do, is dedicated to my loving wife, Jacki, and son, Alistair. They motivate me to be a better man and, by extension, a better writer.

Chapter One.

"Cranberry and vodka for you," Whitney said, handing Jill the gla.s.s. Jill took the drink and placed it on the end table beside where she sat. Leaning back, she snuggled into the side of the cushioned ottoman. Across from her, Brent and Jake sipped their beers as they sat on the floor, leaning against the couch. With the drinks refilled, Whitney took her spot on the floor in front of the television, just to the right of Jill.

"Where were we?" Whitney asked.

"Like you don't remember," Brent chided. "You're up."

Whitney sighed and turned toward Jill. "What is this? The third, fourth time around?

"Fifth," Jake corrected.

"This game was a stupid idea," Whitney moaned. "I'm running out of good ideas."

"I've still got an ace up my sleeve," Brent chuckled. "It's a game-ender."

Whitney shook her head. "Okay, Jill-ask away."

Jill took a drink of her cranberry and vodka before setting the drink aside again. "Truth or dare?"

Whitney stared at her, scrutinizing her facial features. Frowning, she answered.

"Truth."

Jill smiled mischievously. "Fine. How many fraternity boys have you had s.e.x with since freshman year?"

"You b.i.t.c.h!" Whitney hissed. Her gaze fell across the living room to Brent, who offered no respite.

"Looks like we're out for blood this round," Brent said. "Answer the lady-unless you want to forfeit."

Whitney huffed and turned scarlet. "Fine. Twelve. Are you happy now, you hussy?"

Jill laughed. "You're such a sorost.i.tute!"

Whitney grabbed the television remote and playfully threw it at her friend. "Laugh now. It'll be your turn again soon enough. Now that I know that the gloves are off-nothing's sacred."

Jake pulled his knees up to his chest and laid his head back onto the couch. "Great," he said flatly. "Come on. It's my turn, so let's get this over with."

Whitney turned her attention to the latest victim. "Alright, Jake. Truth or dare?"

Jake stared up at the ceiling and turned the empty beer bottle absently in his hand. "I'm going with dare."

"Oh," Brent said, suddenly interested in the game again. He sat upright and looked at his fraternity brother. "This should be good."

Whitney rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "I dare you to ride the elevator in Wade Hall for one hour-b.u.t.t naked."

Jake raised his head off the couch and looked at her disapprovingly. "An hour? Are you serious?"

"Kid gloves are off, remember? Everything about this game is serious now."

"And remind me what I get if I win?"

"The losers have to write the winner's philosophy final paper," Brent replied.

Jake thought for a brief moment before shaking his head. "It's not worth getting arrested for indecent exposure just to get one of you to write a fifteen-page paper. You guys suck at writing anyway. I'm out."

Brent clapped slowly. "Well played, Whitney. One down!"

"It's okay, baby," Jill laughed. "I still love you, even if you are a quitter."

Jake grabbed his chest in mock indignation. Pushing off the floor, he walked into the kitchen to retrieve another beer.

"My turn," Brent said, "and it looks like you get to ask another one, Whitney."

"Truth or dare."

"Truth," Brent replied.

"This is something I've wanted to know for a while. How the h.e.l.l did you get an 'A' in Econ 201? You suck at math."

"I cheated my a.s.s off," Brent replied without hesitation. "There was an Asian kid who took the cla.s.s last year and was selling the answers to the exams."

"Jerk! I knew you couldn't do that on your own."

"That was your tough question?" Jill asked surprised. "You are such a sissy with him!"

"It's too late to ask another one now," Brent said. "It's time to pull the ace out of my sleeve and end this game. Truth or dare, Jill?"

Jill looked at Jake as he took a seat on the couch. Her boyfriend merely shrugged noncommittally.

"Dare, I guess."

Brent smiled. "Okay, I dare you to spend the night in Creepy Cemetery."

"All night?" Whitney asked.

"Whoa," Jake said concerned. "Timeout. That escalated a little fast from streaking through the freshman dorm and cheating on a test to spending the night in a graveyard."

Brent shrugged. "We all agreed that the gloves were off. Anything goes in this game. So it's time to put up or shut up."

"Still," Whitney said. She looked at Jill, who hadn't said anything.

"Fine," Brent said, throwing up his arms. "Then let's make it all or nothing. You do this-you win. You chicken out-I win. What do you say, Jill?"

"I say you're an a.s.s, Brent."

"You know I'm still playing too, right?" Whitney asked.

"You never stood a chance of winning. We know too many of your dirty secrets," Brent explained. He turned his attention back to Jill. "Does that mean you're not going to do it?"

Jill knew the cemetery well, having driven past it every day on her way to work after cla.s.s. All the students called it "Creepy Cemetery" because it was in horrible disrepair. Large weeds grew between and around the faded headstones. Crawling vines wound their way up the rusted metal spokes of the wrought-iron fence.

"I'm going to do it," Jill replied angrily, "just to make sure you lose."

"To the jeep!" Brent demanded as he stood unsteadily. He set his empty beer bottle beside the others and led the group out of the apartment.

Whitney hurried to catch up to her boyfriend. From over her shoulder, she called out to Jake and Jill.

"Shotgun!"

Jake slipped his hand in Jill's and felt her sweaty palms. "You don't have to do this, you know?"

"Yes, I do," she replied. "I'm going to make sure that a.s.shole loses."

The pair climbed into the back of the open-topped jeep as Brent started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

Chapter Two.

Jill stood in the middle of the cemetery and rubbed her arms-despite the warm night air. She stepped between a pair of weathered headstones; the names on their faces no longer legible. Nearby, the cemetery was cast into inky darkness as the light from the few streetlamps disappeared behind one of the taller monuments. Despite the broken stonework, Jill could make out the once-delicate features of a carved angel atop a pedestal.

There were a few of the taller statues scattered throughout the cemetery, though they were in little better condition than the angel against which Jill now stood. Their tall visages blocked the light in long stretches, adding a sense of surrealism to the eerie graveyard.

Looking around, she sought a place to sit. The choking weeds covered most of the exposed ground, leaving little s.p.a.ce for her to rest. Reaching down near a thick stone grave marker, Jill pulled back some of the weeds in a wide enough area for her to sit.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Jill muttered to the empty cemetery.

Bringing her knees to her chest, Jill wrapped her arms around her legs and looked around Creepy Cemetery. It had only been an hour at most since she arrived and she was already starting to doubt her own fort.i.tude. Only her desire to prove Brent wrong kept her seated.

Rifling through her purse, Jill pulled out her cell phone. A single phone call to Jake could end this stupid bet but she felt a strong twinge of pride. Calling Jake might end this-but it would also mean conceding defeat to Brent of all people. Brent personified everything Jill hated about fraternity guys. Angrily, she shoved her cell phone back into her purse.

"No problem," she tried to justify. "Only seven more hours to go."

Jill groaned at the thought. She leaned back against the headstone behind her but immediately sat back forward. Glancing over her shoulder, she tried to read the inscription on the stone. It was far too weatherworn, however, and the words were little more than faint indentations on the stone.

She looked around the cemetery and frowned. Sitting amidst the forgotten graves, Jill felt like a trespa.s.ser. In the most literal sense, she supposed she was. It was in the spiritual sense that bothered her most. Around her were the lost and forgotten graves of unnamed brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, husbands, and wives. She nearly expected at any moment that a hand would burst through the ground at her trespa.s.s.

The thought made her angry. "I never should have watched those stupid horror movies with Jake," she grumbled.

As she sat, a cool evening breeze supplanted the warm night air. She shivered and rubbed her arms furiously. The breeze grew progressively stronger, whipping her hair into her face. As she exhaled, Jill could see her breath escaping in puffs of white.

Furrowing her brow, she stood and jumped in place, trying to regain the circulation in her extremities. She hadn't dressed for the cold, nor had she expected such a frigid breeze.

"Screw this," she shivered. "This isn't worth it."

Jill reached into her purse and her hand closed over her cell phone.

I'm sorry, a whisper carried through the evening air.

Jill froze in place, her purse slipping from her fingers and falling to the ground at her feet. She glanced around the cemetery but, as far as she could tell, she was still alone.

"h.e.l.lo?" she replied nervously. "Is someone there?"

Her query was met with muted silence. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath in antic.i.p.ation.

Gingerly, Jill stepped over some of the nearby undergrowth and peered around the tall angel marker. The cemetery was still empty, despite the unnerving voice.

Her heart thundered in her chest but she saw no one else. Turning slowly, she returned to her previous spot. As she began to sit, the voice whispered once again.

I'm so sorry.

"No way," Jill said adamantly. "I'm done here."

Grabbing her purse, Jill turned toward the main gate to the cemetery. As she stepped over the fallen headstones nearby, the vines and gra.s.ses clung to her thin shoes, seemingly begging her to remain. Cursing, she pulled her feet free and hurried toward the gate. Rounding the last of the tall monuments, Jill froze. There, standing amongst the shorter headstones, stood a small girl with her back to Jill. The girl's face was buried in her hands and her shoulders heaved with silent sobs.

Gooseflesh ran along Jill's arms at the sight of the lonely girl. Stepping forward cautiously, she called out to her.

"Excuse me," Jill stuttered. Her heart pounded in her chest. "Little girl? Are you okay?"

The girl continued to sob in silence. From behind, the girl looked no older than eight or nine-far too young to be alone in a cemetery. Part of her wanted to rush to her aid, but that part of her was greatly overwhelmed by her skepticism. Looking at the crying child, she suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

Jill shook uncontrollably as she stepped forward.

"d.a.m.n those stupid horror movies," she bemoaned.

Clearing her voice politely, Jill took another step forward. "Little girl? I heard you whispering earlier. Are you okay?"