Free Garden of Darkness by Anne Frasier Page A

thing was that he wanted another drink. Vodka with a beer chaser. He could almost taste it. . . .
    He paused and braced his hands on his knees, catching his breath but also struggling with the sense of dread that had been living in his heart ever since he’d come back to Tuonela. He wanted to pack up his son and grandson and take them away from here. Take them far away to a town so different they would soon forget about this dark, rotten place.
    But Evan would never leave. Alastair knew that. He could dream about a different kind of life for his son, but in his heart he knew it wasn’t going to happen.
    Alastair crested the final hill and stopped.
    Before him was a small, timber-filled valley dotted with the crumbling carcasses of structures that had once been buildings. Buildings where people had once worked and lived. Now the homes were nothing more than misshapen objects covered with moss and tangled vines, encased, protected, yet also devoured.
    Holes.
    Everywhere.
    Some as large as small buildings. Others smaller, more the size of a grave. How many? A hundred? More?
    Jesus.
    How had one man possibly moved so much earth?
    And his next thought, the thought that had been lurking for a long time: His son had lost his mind.
    Back at the house, Alastair entered without knocking. The eggs from yesterday had been cleaned up—a good sign.
    This time he didn’t call Evan’s name. Instead, he moved quietly through the silent structure and up the stairs.
    Graham’s room was empty, his bed made.
    It seemed strange that a kid would leave so early in the morning. Kids liked to sleep. But maybe he was meeting friends at Peaches before school.
    A stench hit him. He pivoted. He put his hand to his face to cover his nose. Death. That’s what he smelled.
    And heard.
    Because he knew that sound. The low buzz of flies.
    With his hammering heart sick with dread, he forced himself to move forward, in the direction of Evan’s room.
    There was his son.
    In bed.
    Quiet and still.
    The thing he’d spent years fearing had finally happened. Evan was dead. But just as the agonizing thought filled his head, Evan made a small sound and rolled to his side, asleep, one bare white arm above the covers.
    The flies . . . Alastair could still hear the flies. . . .
    The room was black, slivers of light cutting through cracks in the walls and separations between warped boards.
    Alastair stepped closer, the floor creaking beneath him. He tracked the buzzing to the opposite side of the bed. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he was finally able to make out bloat flies circling a pile of clothing.
    Alastair stepped closer.
    He pressed a fist to his mouth.
    Not clothes.
    On the floor in front of him was a skin. A rancid, rotten human skin.

 
    Chapter Eleven
     
     
    Dr. Ted Jacobs ran the ultrasound transducer across Rachel’s stomach while they both watched the monitor.
    “Looks fine,” he said.
    Rachel relaxed.
    “There’s the heart.” He pointed. “See all four chambers? Here’s the brain and spine. See the eye? It’s open.”
    “Oh, my God. And there’s a hand.”
    “Can’t make out the sex. Legs are crossed.” Dr. Jacobs turned off the ultrasound machine.
    “I’ve had strange cravings and strange dreams.”
    “Not unusual. Maggie was the same way.” He wiped the gel from her stomach, hit the foot pedal on the metal trash can, and tossed the paper towel. “I thought you were leaving town.”
    She pulled down her top and pushed herself higher on her elbows. “I tried. You know how it is.”
    “All roads lead back to Tuonela?” He laughed. “Tell me about it.” He’d tried to leave too. He’d spent a couple of years at a practice in Milwaukee before coming back. “We need new blood; otherwise we’ll soon have people running around with two heads and webbed feet.”
    “Nobody wants to move here.”
    “I’m hoping the increase in tourism will bring some new residents and new life into the town.”
    A nurse peeked into the