I spotted the grave marker, barely showing through the leaves and pine straw that covered the ground. At first I thought it was a rock, but clearing away the leaves revealed that it was definitely a headstone, protruding about eight inches above the ground.
        Jeff, my older brother, got down on his hands and knees.  The smell of fresh earth filled the air as he began digging with gloved hands in the soft dirt around the marker.  He dug until the marking on the stone was visible.  “James Carver,” he read.  “1802-1870.”   He stood up and gazed around.  “This has got to be a cemetery, and the foundation of that building we found nearby must be a church.”
        “Then Grandpa was right,” I said.  “This is probably the cemetery for the old settlement he told us about.”  Grandpa Sanderson had regaled us with stories about a settlement in the woods called Jackson’s Corner, and how it had burned to the ground about one hundred years ago.
   
He also told us a tale about buried treasure.  A local man had been accused of robbing a bank in Willow Springs and was thought to have buried the loot somewhere in Jackson’s Corner before he was captured by the sheriff.  When he was caught, he had some of the money on him, but he never told them where the rest was hidden.  He died in prison.  That happened around 1900, a few years before the town burned down.
        “If this was a church and graveyard,” said Jeff, “it was probably right on the edge of Jackson’s Corner. We should find the settlement close by.”  He checked his watch.  “It’s only 1:15, so we have plenty of time to look around and dig for artifacts before dark.”
  
Jeff was to start college next year, and he had his heart set on becoming an archeologist.  He was more interested in finding artifacts in the old settlement than in searching for buried treasure.
        “You look for artifacts,” I said, “and I’ll look for the treasure Grandpa told us about.”
        Jeff laughed.  “Yeah.  In all this time, nobody has ever found the treasure, but you’re going to find it.  You’re wasting your time, Matt.  You’d best help me look for things like tools, bottles, cook pots and stuff.  Probably be worth much more than the mythical treasure.  And besides, we only got a couple more months to come out here and poke around.”
        These woods would soon be sold to a logging company.  Although the land has belonged to our family for about fifty years, Grandpa and Dad had decided to sell.
  
We continued looking around and found ten more headstones.  As Jeff was digging around one of the grave markers, he suddenly jumped back.  “Run, Matt, run!” he yelled.  “A hand is reaching up from that grave!”
        I felt my blood turn cold and rush from my face as I turned to run.  Then Jeff started laughing.  I stopped, and my fear turned to anger.  He knew I’ve been afraid of the supernatural ever since I was a little kid, and now he was having fun at my expense.
        “If you’re going to pull crap like that, I’m going back.  You can hunt your artifacts by yourself.”
  
He was truly apologetic.  “Gee, Matt.  I’m sorry.  Really I am.  I don’t know what got into me.  I know that you’ve been fighting your fears, and you’re doing real good.  That was stupid of me.  Please forget that it happened.  Okay?”
        It was true that I had been gradually overcoming my fear.  Just being in this cemetery was a big accomplishment for me.  I made Jeff promise not to pull anything else like that, and agreed to stay.
        He smiled, gave me a brotherly pat on the back, and we continued our search.  “Most of these stones are dated from the early to late 1880’s,” he said.  “The town burned down in 1900, so it must have been in existence around a hundred years before that.  We should find some interesting artifacts.”
       
Jeff suggested we search for Jackson’s Corner by walking around the cemetery in a gradually-widening circle.  As we did this, we came across another headstone some distance away from the first ones we’d found.  Jeff kneeled down and cleared away the leaves and dirt.  “Holy Smokes!  Check this out, Matt. This is crazy.”
  
My first thought was that he was at it again, but I kneeled for a better look at the inscription.  “Evil lies here.  Disturb not her grave.”
        I was bewildered.  “What on earth…?”
        Jeff stood up.  “Look at the stone and the marking,” he said.  “The stone is rough and natural looking.  It’s not finished like the others.  Also, the lettering looks to be chiseled by an amateur.”
        “But what could it mean?”
        “It means this wasn’t done by a professional like the rest of the gravestones.  I think we may have stumbled onto something big.”
        “How do you figure that?” I asked, even more confused.
        “Think about it. The bank was robbed by a local.  Before he was captured, he hid the money, which was never found.  Matt, I bet we’re looking at the spot where he hid the money.”
        Now I understood.  “Yeah,” I said.  “He put the inscription on the stone to keep people away.  But he must have known that the townspeople would be suspicious, and wonder how the marker got there.”
        Jeff pondered that a moment.  “It’s my guess that when it was found, the locals figured that since it was located away from the cemetery, it had been there before the town was built.  The people of that period were very superstitious, and there was probably no one who would dare to disturb the spot.”
        “What do you think we should do?” I asked.
        He pulled an army surplus trenching tool from his backpack.  “Get out your tool,” he said.  “We’re gonna dig.”
  
The lure of finding treasure was great, yet I was still leery about digging this close to a graveyard.  “But you’re only guessing, and you can’t know for sure.  And what about the artifacts?  I thought you weren’t interested in treasure.”
        “Okay.  I could be wrong, but it sure appears like we’ve stumbled on it.  Anyway, we’ll never know unless we dig.  We can always look for artifacts later.”
  
Jeff was a practical-minded guy, and if he thought the treasure was here, I wasn’t going to argue, especially since I had badgered him about looking for it.  I pulled the entrenching tool from my pack and we started digging with the small shovels.  It was a chilly, September day, but it didn’t take long for me to work up a sweat.
        Our hole was directly in front of the stone.  It was about four feet across and six feet long, just big enough to allow the two of us room to dig.  We got down to a depth of about four feet when Jeff stopped.  “I think we may be digging in the wrong spot,” he said, “or the gravestone is just a hoax.  I don’t think the robber would have buried his loot any deeper than this.”
        He crawled out of the hole and poured a hot cup of coffee from his thermos bottle.  “It’ll be dark soon.  It’s already after four, and we have an hour’s hike through the woods to get home.”
        I agreed.  “We can come back tomorrow and try another spot.”  I stuck my shovel in the soft dirt and hit something that felt like wood.  “Hey!  I think I’ve hit the treasure box!”
        “Probably a root,” he said.  “C’mon out and have a cup of coffee and then we’ll start for home.  Tomorrow is Sunday, so we can come back and dig some more.”

  

        Ignoring him, I dug down a few more inches, until I could see what my shovel had hit.  “Jeff, this is not a root, it’s a board.”
   
Jeff jumped back into the hole and we dug.  Twenty minutes later, we uncovered most of the top of an elongated box.  The middle section of the top was exposed, with the ends still covered.         Jeff struck a blow to the top with his shovel, punching a small hole in it.  “It’s rotted,” he said, striking the hole to enlarge it.  As the hole got larger, I could make out the contents: bones.
        I felt a chill and scrambled out of the hole.  “That’s a skeleton in there, Jeff.  Come on out and we’ll head for home.”
        “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Matt.  It’s probably the bones of a poor old woman who was convicted of witchcraft and put to death.”  He widened the hole.  “I see something shiny in there,” he said.  He stuck his hand inside and pulled something out.  “A cross.”  He tossed it up to me.
        I rolled it over in my hand.  It was a small cross that appeared to be made of silver.  “Must have been something personal that they buried with her,” I said.  “But why would they think that a woman who wore a cross was a witch?”
        Jeff looked up at me.  “C’mon down.  They say the best way to overcome fear is to meet it head on.  There’s nothing but bones here, and they can’t hurt you.”
        I knew he was right, but I couldn’t bring myself to jump back in.  “I gotta think about it,” I said.  “I think we ought to head for home now and come back tomorrow, like you said.”
  
Jeff leaned over for a closer look.  “Wait.  There’s more.  Looks like something stuck in her rib cage.”  He reached in and pulled out an object.  “It’s a sharpened stick, coated with pitch or something to preserve it.”  He tossed it up to me.
        As I looked at the stick and silver cross, a horrible thought came to me.  A stake in the heart, and a cross for added protection against evil meant that she was a vampire! “Jeff, get out of there now.  And hurry.  That’s the corpse of a vampire!”
        “That explains it,” he said calmly.  “They thought this poor woman was a vampire.”  He punched another hole above the woman’s head then jumped back.  He looked shocked.  From where I stood, I could see what terrified him.
  
It was like one of those dreams where you try to run from something horrible, but can’t move.  I was frozen to the spot as I saw the bones in the coffin flesh out, showing a sallow skin.  Small fangs grew from her mouth.  A bony hand reached through the hole and grasped Jeff’s wrist.  He did not struggle, but kept his gaze on her face.
        I finally found my tongue.  “Jeff!  Get out of there!  Let’s go!”
        “No,” he said in a monotone, staring directly at her.  “She needs my help.  I must stay here and help her.  She will need me until nightfall.”
   
My brother was under her spell.  I knew what I had to do.  “I’m going, Jeff, but I’m not abandoning you.  I’m coming back with help.”
        The vampire moved her head.  Her gaze left Jeff and her eyes turned on me.  I could feel a strong compulsion to stay and a silent warning: I must not go for help.  With great effort, I was able to break eye contact.  I turned and ran.
        It was already dusk.  I had to hurry or I might be too late.  I found the trail that led home and moved at a fast trot.  After fifteen minutes, I was tiring and slowed to a walk.
  
As I walked, I realized that only Grandpa would be at home.  Mom and Dad were attending the funeral of Mom’s aunt in another town and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.  Grandpa had a bad back and would be of no help.  I could go to a neighbor, but who would believe me?  They would think I had lost my mind.
  
I could not—I would not—leave my brother to such a terrible fate.  Then my hand absently closed around the sharp-pointed stake.  I felt my pocket for the cross.  I had weapons to fight the vampire.  Whatever the consequences, I would return and help Jeff.
        I turned around and again moving at a trot, I headed back through the forest.  A half-moon was now visible through the pines, lighting up the woods.  I shivered; I had heard that the rays of the moon helped to revive weakened vampires.
        I was almost out of breath when the gravesite came into view.  Jeff and the vampire were standing only a few feet away from the hole.  I positioned myself behind a tree and held my breath.  I had the feeling that my breathing was loud enough to be heard for miles.  My fear was taking hold again.
  
I wanted to run. The stake and cross I held seemed puny and ineffective weapons with which to face a vampire.  I was shaking now and broke into a sweat.  My knees were weak as water.  My heart thumped wildly.
        She said something and Jeff lay down on the ground.  She knelt beside him and her head craned toward his neck.  I knew I could wait no longer.  I had to make my move now or run away.
        Summoning every ounce of courage, I sprang from behind the tree and, holding the cross in front of me, I ran toward the vampire.
        She jumped up and shielded her face with her hands.  With all my strength, I lunged forward to drive the stake into her heart.  But at the last moment, she swayed and the stake penetrated just below her right breast.  It missed her heart.  Blood spurted.  Snarling, she grasped the stake and yanked it out, throwing it on the ground.
        She came at me.  During my attack, I had dropped the cross on the ground, and now my only chance was to run.  But before I could turn, I felt the steel grip of her hand around my wrist.  She spun me around.  Her mouth opened wide to reveal her fangs.
  
Suddenly, she released me and screamed.  Jeff was standing behind her.  She fell forward, the stake protruding from her back.  This time it had pierced her heart.
        Jeff and I embraced.  He explained that he had been dimly aware of what was happening, but was powerless to act until my attack broke her spell.
        Before leaving for home, we reburied her—two feet deeper this time, with the stake and the cross.
   
Ever since that night, there’s been a large cross and a rope of garlic hanging above the door to my bedroom and along the window sash.  Jeff hasn’t said a word. 
 
 
                         About The Author
  
        Donald Sullivan is a native Floridian from St. Augustine.  He is a U.S. Army retiree and a Vietnam veteran.  He started writing after retirement, and learned the basics from “how to” books in the local library.  To date, he has about fifty mixed-genre short stories, mostly science fiction, horror and fantasy, published in a wide variety of small press magazines, as well as a number of placements in Calliope’s fiction contests.  In addition, he has had a half dozen nonfiction pieces published, including several winning essays in Calliope’s nonfiction contests.
        Donald recently completed and published his first novella, a science fiction story titled The Psionic Man.  The book can be ordered online at Lulu Publishing.  To find out more about the story, go to: http://stores.lulu.com/dhsully.
    
    
                             Copyright © Donald H. Sullivan