Page 4 of Beneath the Dirt

It’s where she always is if she isn’t in her room or soaking in the tub.

The graveyard.

Blades of overgrown grass and piles of fallen leaves tug at my boots the further I walk through the sea of tombstones. Alternating glances between where I’m walking to and what I’m walking on, I continue up to the part of the cemetery my dad leaves unkempt. He says it’s because it’s on a hill, and maintaining it is difficult, but I know that’s not the reason. My mom, just like Araceli’s, are both buried in this section, which he hasn’t stepped foot on after either of their funerals.

A chill runs down my spine, and I wish I could blame it on the brisk October air or that I’m outside without a jacket but I can’t. This is how it always is when I come here. The palpable shift in the air, no matter the time of day or year it is, when I walk on these death-filled grounds. It’s impossible to ignore. It’s why I avoid coming here at all costs, unlike Araceli, who frequents the graveyard like one would their favorite store or retreat. Especially around Halloween—the time of her mom’s passing… and ironically, the same as my mom’s.

My steps halt once I catch sight of Araceli off in the distance. I slow my stride, backtracking a bit so I can use the grave keeper’s shed on the top of the hill as my shield. I crouch down low enough that she can’t see me but not too much that I can’t see her.

With dusk no longer lingering, the full moon now hanging above us acts as the perfect spotlight. The small of her back sways back and forth, over and over, drawing my gaze to her dark-as-night hair that cascades in long waves past her shoulders and down her spine. Her hands are outstretched to either side, and each time she moves, her hands dig deeper into the dirt around her. The repetition of her movements makes her appear hypnotized… or high. I can’t tell.

Suddenly, my dad’s warning from before rings in my ears loud and clear as if he’s here warning me all over again,“Stay away from her.”

Though, the more I watch her rotate her hips around, clawing at the ground like something possessed, the more I become entranced by her erratic behavior, finding myself wanting—needing—to move closer to her.

So, I do just that. Like an out of body experience, I shift from my crouched position and fall to my knees. Slow and steady, I crawl, using the tall, weathered headstones to camouflage myself. The closer I crawl to her, the more the wind picks up, shifting the scattered leaves around me. A foreboding sense ruptures my conscience, pleading for me to leave. I ignore it, despite my better judgment, and select a random headstone to hide behind. A patch of moss brushes against my face as I peer around the uneven limestone to get a better view of Araceli. Still on her knees, she drags her hands once more in the dirt before she lifts them upward. Palms open to the night sky, fragments of broken earth fall down the sleeves of her dress as she begins to hum.

It’s low.

Hair-raisingly eerie, but sultry all the same. Each chord travels through the air for a brief moment before it stabs at my dick. Vibrating it with the reminder that she—my stepsister of all people—has the power to make me this fucking stiff from the simple act of her humming.

Guilt and fear toy with me as a surge of blood rushes to my groin. This is ridiculous.Sick. She has no idea that I’mwatching her, let alone getting hard from the view she’s unknowingly giving me.

My lids fall shut. Shame washes over me, begging me to leave before I do something I regret. The creepy melody continues to fill the air and somehow my dick is thickening the longer my ears bear witness to whatever she’s humming.

This is why Dad said to stay away from her. She’s a temptation. One that will get me in trouble… again.

Knowing that I can’t keep doing this—watching her when she thinks I’m not and getting caught up in her web—my knees begin to scoot back. My body urging me to move and to head back home.

I start to scoot back, my eyes still closed as a familiar verse taunts me. Matthew 26:28“For this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.”

Except it doesn’t make things better, and it doesn’t ease my guilt; it intensifies it. Suddenly the blood that I should associate with forgiveness for my sins—like the sin I’m committing right now by lusting after my fucking stepsister—isn’t just rushing to my cock; it’s painting my irises with a crimson tint. Distorting my vision. Corrupting my mind.

It’s all I can see even with my eyes still closed.

Dripping from the tombstones. Dripping from Araceli’s body.

It’s everywhere.

Foolishly, I open my eyes blinking twice, three times, then four. Certain that my mind is playing tricks on me, but it’s not. It’s all I can literally see or want to see.

I shake my head. Scared. Wondering if what she’s been humming is some kind of magic, a dark spell, and it’s affecting more than my cock.

Bile lines my throat, threatening my mouth. My movements are no longer smooth and stealth but quick and hurried as I run on my hands and knees until I’m far enough that she won’t see or hear me.

I switch to my feet, about to run back home to take care of this stubborn ache that’s embedded itself in my cock, but her voice has graduated to words. A chant. Still melodic and this time even creepier, but it’s louder. Clearer. The distance between us merely makes her voice echo over to me at a deafening octave.

Fighting the pull I have to head back home, I remain still and listen.

“… has to go, has to go so no one knows.”

The wind picks up once more, shuffling the fallen foliage I stand on, compromising my hearing, forcing me to take a step back and closer to her.

“… eye for an eye.” She stops singing and turns her head in my direction.

My heart stalls and the bile that threatened my throat is rising to the surface. Not sure if she can see me and no longer caring, I swallow it down and run. The vines and debris on the ground tripping me in the process. I lose my footing, the keys in my pocket jingling as I crash to the ground. I don’t bother to pick them up. I don’t have time. I need to get the hell away from her. Gathering my wits about me I stand back up, navigating the uneven terrain, I run back down the hill.

My feet stomp onto the porch steps and I make a beeline for the bathroom. Vomit spews from my mouth, almost missing the toilet.

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