The Lies we Steal (The Hollow Boys Book 1)

Briar

“How did you find this place?” I whisper naively, shaking my head at my ignorance.  

I mean it’s not like the dead can hear me, not that I’m aware of anyway. 

When Lyra asked if I wanted to see something cool, I thought she meant a secret passageway in the university halls. Which wouldn’t surprise me, I’m actually determined to find one. This place is too ancient not to have one. 

I was not foreseeing hiking at least two miles into the woods behind the Rothchild buildings. We’d walked behind the buildings, sinking into the imminent trees that swayed and keened. 

The fog was right above our heads, settling lower and lower as the sun had begun to set. Melting into an obscure sunset of dusky purples and bitter oranges. We were walking near the coast, I could hear the crashing of waves against rocks nearby and smell the saltiness that coated the air. It was so powerful, I could almost smell it above the rich scent of wet earth and sharp pine. 

It wasn’t until I saw the tombstones sprouting from the mossy ground did I really start to worry. There were ten, maybe twelve graves marked with chipped and damaged markers, that were so covered in foliage and dirt you could barely make them out. 

But that wasn’t even the most unsettling part. 

“My favorite part about Oregon is the bug population. When I was young, my mom would let me play in her garden and it never failed that I would return with a ladybug or some type of insect. So, when I was out looking for Scolopocryptops sexspinosus in the summer before school started.” 

Even though it was somewhat unusual, I found it so fascinating how much she knew about bugs. Lyra was so intelligent that it sometimes made me jealous. The way her brain absorbed facts and spit them out from memory. It was remarkably impressive, yet she was so unaware of it that she didn’t come off as a know it all. Just a girl who enjoyed talking about creepy crawly things. 

I furrow my eyebrows, following her through the spongy marsh, “English, please.” 

She giggles, “Bark Centipedes. I needed one to finish my centipede specimen box and they are usually found in or around rotting wood. There had been a huge thunderstorm, so I went looking for fallen trees and I discovered this place.” She holds the straps of her book bag staring up at the towering building in front of us. 

It was gray, gloomy, and looked like it might try to swallow me up if I wasn’t careful. The thin alloy gate that acted as a door hung sideways off the hinges, and I saw a path of spiders slither along the top and it made my spine do a very odd shivering motion. 

“Is it a church or…?” I asked, gazing up at it with her, a look of uncertainty on my face the complete opposite for her. She was beaming, exhilarated as she tugged on the metal gate, prying it open with impatient fingers.  

“It’s a mausoleum.” 

Oh, fuck that. Absolutely fucking not. 

I could see nothing but pitch-black darkness inside, it didn’t even look large enough to hold bodies, let alone a bunch of them. The structure couldn’t have been any bigger than a small shed or work building. 

Lyra shifts to me, waving her flashlight teasingly, “Come on, don’t be a wuss. It’s cool inside.” 

Then she’s off disappearing inside the dark, with a tiny glow to guide her way. My feet stay grounded outside. My brain trying to assure me that this was a disastrous idea, but my curiosity was greedy. 

I looked up at the ominous clouds, the sky melting to black and I started to feel a few chilly raindrops on my skin. 

“I’m going to regret this,” I mutter to myself, tossing my hood up onto my head and following after my strange friend in search of whatever it was we were coming here for. 

I pull my own flashlight out, brightening a set of concrete steps that went narrowly down. I took a breath, my first step was taken cautiously trying to make sure I didn’t fall. 

Midway through, my Converse caught something, making me jerk forward. I hastily grabbed at the wall beside me, wincing as my hand encountered the damp surface. Steadying myself for a moment and wiping my hand on my jeans, I continued down the steps until I reached the bottom. 

Lyra had already begun turning on oil lamps, I’m assuming she’d left them here from her earlier visits, illuminating the room in a dim, warm glow. The smell was awful. It was moldy, dank, and rotting wood clung to the air like death. 

The ceiling was much taller than I expected, the walls on either side of me layered with crypts, some of which were smashed open and I was not about to check if the body was still in there. An unnecessarily large cross laid against the wall in front of me and in the center was a rectangular fashioned, granite table where Lyra laid all of her things down on. 

“This is where I do my taxidermy. It’s a lot more spacious and I don’t have to worry about anyone barging in on me.” She swirls in a small circle, arms outstretched as she looks up at the roof, like this place is some grand dining hall and I suppose to Lyra, it is. 

“So, why bugs?” I ask, grabbing a wooden crate and turning it on its top so I can sit down on it. 

“Why not bugs?” 

“Touché.” 

“My mom was a biologist, she worked with snakes in her medical research, so weird animals were common around my house. Probably why I take so well to your pet rat,” She winks, using her flashlight to look around corners and underneath old boxes.

“Is your mom still…?” I ask, dragging it out hoping I haven’t brought up a sensitive topic. Every time she talks about her, it’s always in the past tense and I assumed that she had passed. 

“Nope. Dead as a doornail,” My eyes widen slightly at her crude words, but I know probably better than anyone that people cope with loss very differently, “She died when I was seven. I was put into foster care and when I turned eighteen I had full access to my inheritance and the insurance money. So I enrolled, figured I’d already spent my entire youth here, might as well get my education here.”  

I nod, taking in all this new information, liking the fact that I was getting to know her. I’d never had a real friend before and this was starting to feel a lot like a friendship that would last all through college. 

She leaps towards a scattering bug on the floor, her small hands skillfully pick it up, holding it in her palm as it crawls around on its six legs. Her flashlight shines on the exoskeleton, the insect’s colors almost iridescent with its rich greens and shiny blues. 

“Jewel Beetle, people used to use their carapace for jewelry in religious ceremonies. Now they’re just a collector’s item due to their color.” She stares at the pretty bug, her eyes light up with wonder and curiosity. She picks up a clear jar and slips it inside before shutting the lid tight. 

“What about you? Is your mom dead? Your father? Siblings? You don’t talk about yourself much, I’ve noticed. You’re not a secret resident advisor, are you?” She jokes, her airy voice making me smile. 

I’d never had anyone ask me that. My entire life no one had taken the liberty to ask me about who I was, about my life. I was struggling, trying to decide if I wanted to be honest about my parents, about what my father did, and who he made me into. Or if I wanted to lie because it’s not like Lyra would ever know. 

She would only know what I tell her. 

I could make myself into anyone I wanted. 

“My mom still lives in Texas and my dad is in state lockup, has been since I was thirteen.” I breathe, “Grew up in the same broken-down trailer since I was born and I’m an only child. Not much to say about me, honestly.” 

“Is your dad in for something bad? Like killing someone?” 

I shake my head, “Nope. He was a career thief. Pickpocketing, looting, that kinda stuff. One day he thought he could take on a bank. He was wrong.” 

“You miss him?” 

“Yeah, every day. I know being a criminal is bad, stealing is wrong, but everything he ever did he did for me and my mom. He was just working with what he had. I did learn a few tricks from him though.” I say with a smirk. 

Choosing to be honest with Lyra wasn’t that troublesome. I didn’t want the foundation of our friendship to be built on lies. That’s never healthy or good for anyone in the long run. Plus, I knew I could trust her not to judge me for anything I told her. 

“Am I going to have to lock up my Cherry Coke and dark chocolate to prevent you from jacking it at night?” She says with a matching grin. 

I laugh, “Your stash is safe, scouts honor.” Raising three fingers and placing my hand on my heart. Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

The minutes pass, me watching her snoop around for interesting creatures that most would smash underneath a flip flop. I even held a beetle that she swore would not bite me and it was kinda cool. The longer I’m down here the less creepy it becomes, once you get over the fact dead bodies are surrounding you it’s not that bad. 

It’s kinda like a secluded hideaway and because of that, we’ve decided to make it our gathering place for the Loner Society. A secret order of two people and two people only. Well, I guess until we make more friends if that ever happens.

Everything was going fine until the sharp sound of someone screaming penetrated the air. It ricocheted off the walls, vibrating my feet and the chambers of my heart constricted with panic. I jumped involuntarily, peering up at the steps from where the sound came. It was a cry for help and the scariest part was it wasn’t far away. 

It was close. 

Right outside the doors of the mausoleum. 

They say you never know how your fight or flight instinct will work until it’s triggered. It’s easy enough to sit behind a movie screen and shout at the girl, “Don’t go in the closet!” 

But it’s not simple when you’re the girl trapped in a creepy underground cemetery and the only way out of it is to face whatever it is that’s outside making a helpless human scream bloody murder. 

“Did you—” I start. 

“Yeah.” Lyra finishes, nodding her head quickly. Her face is just as pale as mine. 

We silently start to turn off the oil lamps, pulling our bags onto our shoulders without mumbling a word. Still not sure how we are going to get ourselves out of this situation when we don’t even know what’s outside waiting for us. 

I look over at her, my hands sweating as I clutch my flashlight. 

“We need to go see what’s up there, then we can figure out a way to get away, okay?” I say, her face shining from my white light. 

She nods, clicking hers off making the room much darker. 

I take a shaky breath, recoiling as I hear another agonizing cry. Like someone who’s being shredded apart by an animal. Visions of the worst possible scenarios enter my head. 

Someone being eaten alive by a blood-soaked bear or wolf. Even worse if they are being tortured by another human. Dragged out into the woods where no one could hear them scream because of the crashing waves and constant wind that howled. 

I swallow the bile in my throat, clicking my flashlight off. I can’t even see my hand in front of my face it’s so dark. I feel Lyra reach out and grab the back of my book bag, clutching to me tightly as I start to feel my way to the steps. 

My hands feel the filthy wall, my foot finding the first step. My teeth are clenched so tightly they are pulsating, trying so urgently to be quiet, terrified even the faintest of breaths will tell the thing outside we are down here. 

I take each step gradually, seeing the metal gate still open and the cast of the moon gives us light to the outside. I can see the trees violently rocking, once again I can smell the ocean and I know we are about to see what is making that noise. 

The farther up the steps we travel, the more I can hear. Like the low yelps and muffled groans. When we reach the top, both of us peering out to bear witness, the breath in my lungs ceases to exist. 

The cords of dread inside me quiver. 

Four tall men surround a body a few yards away. Their presence is an ominous one. That of evil and torment. 

I lick my lips, their dryness coming on suddenly as cottonmouth sets up in my tongue. 

“What are they—” I place a tender, yet firm hand over Lyra’s mouth, silencing her beside me. My eyes wide as I shake my head, placing my free hand over my lips and making the shh face. 

They are all dressed in black, head to toe. Their bodies blending into the night, one of them stands behind the man kneeling on the ground. From this distance, I can see how enlarged and beaten his face is. His eyes so bruised they are hardly open, dirt and blood coats his cheekbones. 

The acid swishes around in my stomach and I want nothing more than to throw up right now. We are witnessing a crime. One that I’m not sure I or Lyra can stop. 

I can only hear mumbling, nothing more. Just the hushed whispers and the sounds of one of their fists connecting to his bones. It’s maddening, how powerful the impact is. I can particularly hear his jaw break from over here. 

It felt like a waiting game. 

Do we run for it? Do we wait until they are done? 

Lyra and I sit here. Huddled down inside the mausoleum, straining our eyes to watch the horror in front of us. They beat him. Over and over again. No mercy, no sympathy. Just unadulterated rage and vigor. 

This man, who would have to be identified by his teeth because his face was so unrecognizable, groaned. But he didn’t beg for his life, he simply took it. When they would pause, possibly to ask a question, and when he didn’t answer with what they wanted it was another stroke to the face. 

The pause this time was a little longer, their focus completely on him. A second later, I could hear the hiss of creatures most associated with the devil. One of them, the shorter of the group, drops a bag of colorful, slimy snakes on top of the guy. They wither and curl around his body, and I’d never heard terror like I did right then. 

It wasn’t just a scream of fear. He was horrified. This would traumatize this man for life. The memory of the snakes moving around his skin, hissing and snapping at him. The sound ripped from his lungs and tore through the forest.  

I grabbed Lyra’s hand, guiding the way past the open gate noiselessly and to the left of the mausoleum. Keeping our distance from them, but still headed towards the direction of the school. 

We needed to get help. We needed to get out of there before we were caught. 

We crept leisurely, each leaf that cried beneath our shoes made us pause, hold our breath to make sure they hadn’t heard before we kept moving. It was almost painful. How tightly I was straining my body. How careful I was being not to make a sound. 

My jaw was sore from clenching and my head ached from all the blood pounding inside of it. 

“Briar, is that a knife?” Lyra whispers nervously. 

I turn to face the wicked group of people, even though I was trying to ignore them, hoping if I did the pressure in my chest would subside. 

One of them had grabbed the man by his hair, dangling him out in front of everyone like a sacrificial lamb. His neck was exposed to the light, his Adam’s apple that was coated in drops of blood protruded outward as they held his head back. Exposing him to the group. 

I held my breath. 

I watched in slow motion as the hooded figure lifted a blade that caught the glare of the moon, shimmering for a moment. My breath hung in the air, the seconds seeming to pass by in hours. 

The knife ran across the man’s windpipe, the thick crimson liquid began to leak out like a dam that had just released its floodgates. In an act of survival, he raised both hands to his neck, trying to hold pressure, attempting to prevent more blood loss but it was no use. 

He gurgled, frothing up even more blood from his mouth as he fought for his life. Withering and spurting. The last few moments of life leaving his body. 

The blood had drenched the front of his clothing, pouring out of him at an unnatural speed and there was simply no stopping it. 

My hand raised to my mouth, fingers trembling against my skin as scorching hot tears collected in my eyes. They fell on their own accord, and I had no intention of stopping them. Fear shrouded me. Unlike a shadow that just follows, fear infested my body. An infection that spread within milliseconds. It was consuming every fiber, every thought, every fleeting piece of hope until there was nothing left between me and the shroud. 

Only darkness. 

Something else inside of me switched on. When asked about this moment years from now, hours from now maybe, I wouldn’t know what to say. Because I was not in my own body. 

My humanity had cut all ties to my soul. I felt no remorse. No sorrow. No pain. Like my brain had commanded my body to stop feeling entirely. Its sole purpose now was to get me out of this alive. 

Seizing myself to move, I grabbed Lyra’s arm hauling her towards the campus, only to be met with her resistance. 

“H…e, he’s de…dead.” She mutters, “Really, dead. Like really, really—” Her eyes are glazed over. Possessed by something that is rooting her in place, something that’s making her watch. If I wasn’t there, I’d be afraid that she would stay here, watching them until they’d left. 

“Dead, Lyra. I know. Now come on we need to get out of here, please.” I beg jerking her arm.

The shaking in my voice must wake her up, finally turning her gaze from the scene and back to me. She nods once seeing my face and we both begin to pick up the pace in our exit. 

I let Lyra go in front of me because she knows the way better than I do, but without flashlights, it’s a guessing game. 

You only see flashes of the moon’s light between the trees, irregular and not enough to illuminate the ground in front of you. Which makes navigating through a forest a lot more difficult. 

I think we are making headway. I think we might get out of this unharmed but my shoelace gets caught on something, the abrupt tug at my leg makes me tumble to the ground with a heavy thud and light scream that I can’t control. 

My body hits the wet ground, my palms stinging with the impact and I knew I’d cut myself from the blistering pain I felt. But the pain felt trivial. An afterthought honestly. 

Because when my eyes look up at Lyra, she wasn’t looking down at me. She was staring beyond me towards the group of people who’d just murdered someone in cold blood. 

Her mouth was slightly open and her eyes lustrous with tears. She was afraid. 

And as my head shifted to look behind me, I understood why. 

Like a pack of famished wolves who’d just inhaled fresh meat, all four of their heads were turned in our direction. Each one was locked onto us. Their hoods were still up, and I couldn’t make out their faces in the dark, but I knew they were looking at us. At me. 

A rush of adrenaline flew through my veins, my chest tightened and a strong wave of dizziness hit me. I was sure this time I was having an out-of-body experience. 

Everything felt the necessity to work in overdrive and I knew, this was my body triggering my fight or flight. And when it came down to which one is selected, I thought it best not to argue. 

I swung around to my friend, who still wasn’t watching me, 

“Lyra,” I said calmly, “Run.”