Graverobbers Wanted (No Experience Necessary)

by Jeff Strand

  She swatted him playfully on the arm. "I also do the lighting, which is very important in that it allows people to actually see themselves on the videotape."

  "Essentially, her job is to go from room to room and find out where all the light switches are," Dominick said. "Once she's done that, she goes back and makes sure that they all operate on the up-for-on, down-for-off principal. Occasionally her job will be made more difficult with a knob instead of a switch, but that's what she makes the big bucks for."

  She swatted him again, also playfully but with a hell of a lot more force than last time. "Actually, I work with very large, powerful lights, which I have to set up out of sight of the camera. And I have to make sure that they don't burn down the customer's home, which tends to screw up our chances of a good referral."

  "I can see where that would prove problematic." I was still noticing Dominick's aroma, which I suspected was some kind of funky Goth cologne. "This is off the subject," I said, "but what kind of cologne are you wearing?"

  Dominick frowned, then lifted his palm to his nose and sniffed. "Oh, that.Catfish."

  "The mighty sportsman was out terminating helpless fish this morning," said Linda. "Those manly impulses get the best of him sometimes. Normally he does a better job bathing afterward."

  Farley waved to me. "If you've had enough of the lover's quarrel, I think he's dry."

  I returned to where poor Roger sat. "How's it going, buddy?" I asked. He gave me the finger on the sly, which I thought was shockingly unprofessional for a magazine editor.

  Farley began to brush on some flesh-colored makeup, hiding the edge of the latex and making it look like a natural part of Roger's neck. "We do almost entirely aftermath gore here," he explained. "It's pretty complicated toactuallyshow a throat being ripped out, and it definitely takes more time than we've got when we're just visiting somebody's house for a day. And it's a little more gruesome than most people want anyway, the wimps. So we won't actually show anything really gross happening, we'll just show what it looks like afterward."

  He took a couple more minutes to blend in the makeup, and then nodded with satisfaction at the result. "Now, if this were for real, I'd take longer to ensure that it looks more believable, but this is just a demonstration. Dominick, could you grab me the bottle of blood?"

  Dominick took a large bottle from one of the shelves and brought it to him. "Show of hands," said Farley. "Little bit of blood, or lot of blood?All in favor of little blood?"

  Nobody but Roger raised their hands. I certainly didn't.

  "Lotof blood?"

  Everyone else raised their hands.

  "Okay, let's dump it on!" Farley poured a generous portion of the blood on Roger's neck. It was thick and looked unnervingly real. "Enough?Never!" He poured on even more, and I could see Roger cringe as it oozed down the side of his neck.

  "Am I dead yet?" he asked.

  "Oh, yeah, you're dead," said Farley.

  "Okay, roll your eyes in the back of your head and let your tongue hang out," said Rachel, appearing out of nowhere with a Polaroid camera. Roger did as instructed, and she snapped a picture. She removed the photo from the camera and handed it to me. "Here. This could be the cover of your magazine."

  "Can I get up now?" asked Roger.

  "If you want, I could add a small demonic creature gnawing on your throat," Farley offered. "I don't make this offer for everyone, so take it or forever hold your peace."

  "I'll hold my peace," said Roger. Farley held the sheet so that it caught most of the blood as Roger sat up.

  "Oops, it dripped a bit," Farley pointed out. "But that wasn't your best shirt anyway, was it?"

  "Too bad Helen isn't working right now," I said. "We could pay a visit to the hospital and freak her out." After about .0037 of a second's reflection, I decided that it was, in fact,agood thing Helen wasn't working right now.

  "I'll give you a free severed thumb effect if you walk around town all day wearing that and a sign that says `Ghoulish Delights was here,'" Farley offered.

  "Thanks, but no," said Roger. "How about directing me to the nearest bathroom?"

  Linda took him by the hand. "Here, I'll show you." She led him through the doorway. After a moment's consideration, Dominick followed.

  "Could I look at one of the scripts?" I asked Rachel.

  "Oh, sure, come on back to the waiting room," she said.

  Looking at the script was just to satisfy my own curiosity. I really didn't have much to go on toward figuring out who buried Michael and stabbed Jennifer, but I was pretty sure it hadn't been anyone in Ghoulish Delights. After all, could I really stand there and talk to the killer face-to-face without getting any kind of indication that he or she hated my guts?

  Rachel took a binder off her desk and handed it to me. I opened to the first script and quickly flipped through the ten pages. Linda was really on to something when she said they weren't practicing their Academy Awards speeches yet.

  Sample dialogue:

  MOTHER :Stay away! Stay away, you beast! Stay away!

  PSYCHOPATH :Never! You will die, as did my own mother, and as will all the mothers of the world when I'm done!

  MOTHER :But...but...it's Father's Day!

  While I was perusing the script, Carl walked into the room and asked Rachel something very technical about a new tripod. She answered back with something equally technical and budget-related. Carl tried to explain in very technical terms why the budget-related answer wasn't what he wanted to hear, but Rachel quickly forced him to accept it, and he returned to the back room.

  As I set the script back down, I noticed something resting on Rachel's desk that gave my heart a sudden jolt.A deck of cards.Prophecies of the Night.

  "Oh, hey, Prophecies of the Night," I said, keeping my voice casual. "Do you play?"

  Rachel rolled her eyes. "Oh, God, Carl is always trying to foist that stupid game on us. He plays it once a week with his friends. He got everyone a deck for Christmas, and we all get a new deck on our birthday. I went with him once just to shut him up, but the game makes no sense."

  "It is a bit confusing," I agreed, to keep her from giving me a pop quiz on the rules. "Is Carl the only one who plays regularly?"

  "No, actually, I think Farley goes with him quite a bit, and Dominick and Linda will go occasionally just to mooch free chips and soda. I remember Mike saying something about shoving a fireplace poker through Carl's left nostril if he didn't shut up about that stupid game, so I don't think he's a regular."

  "Do you know where they play? I've been looking for a player's group for a while, but I've never been able to find one."

  "They play in the basement ofBalder's Dash on Thursdays. As far as I know they're on for tonight, though you might want to ask Carl to make sure."

  What a happy coincidence! I'd looked seven-to-one odds in the face and come out victorious!

  "I don't think I'll be able to make it tonight," I lied, "but I might mention it to him some other time. So here're a couple of questions. First, could we possibly tag along when you're filming one of these things? And, second, is there some time we could meet, just us, to talk outside of work?"

  "I hope you're not asking me out," she said. "I'm flattered, but I can very clearly see that little ball and chain around your ring finger."

  "No, no, it's strictly professional. You look pretty strong, but my wife has access to a drawer full of kitchen knives and knows where I sleep. No, it's that whole human interest deal...what do the people who work at Ghoulish Delights do in their spare time?"

  Roger walked into the waiting room with Linda, his throat intact again. "He's all yours," Linda told me with a wide grin.

  "Thanks," I said. "Looking snazzy,Rog ."

  "I agree. Your throat has never looked better," Rachel commented. To me, she said "How about we meet tomorrow atVon's Gym, 6 A.M.?"

  "Um, I've heard rumors that such an hour of the morning exists, but so far it's unconfirmed."

  "Great, six o'clock then. I a
ssume you don't have a membership, so you'll need to tell the guy at the front desk that you're there to see me. And as for tagging along with us, we have an appointment tomorrow at noon, and if you show up here around eleven we'll be more than happy to have you."

  We thanked her and left the house. "Why do you think she assumed I don't have a gym membership?" I asked Roger as I shut the door behind me.

  "I guess she missed all those muscles bursting through your shirt," he replied."A common problem, to be honest."

  "Shut up."

  "You asked, I told. Hey, what's that on your car?"

  There was indeed something on the hood of my car, a bright red box, about one foot square, covered with yellow stars. When we reached the car and saw it up close, it was revealed to be a jack-in-the-box.

  "Okay, so what the hell is this all about?" Roger asked.

  It was a perfectly innocent-looking jack-in-the-box, but I wasn't sure we were going to like the answer.

  Chapter 8

  "IT'S NO BIG deal," I said, trying to sound casual."Just a jack-in-the-box. Turn the crank, hear a catchy tune,see a clown pop up, squeal with delight."

  "Uh-huh. So why is it sitting here on your car?"

  "That I can't answer."

  "You think the killer put it here, as a warning?"

  "How should I know? I don't even think anyone inthereis the killer! One of them, or all of them, probably just stuck it out here as a prank. We'll turn the handle and see a clown with an axe in his head or something."

  "Or it could explode and kill us both," Roger pointed out.

  "Now you're getting a little paranoid. Do you think the killer just happened to have a booby-trapped jack-in-the-box sitting around in case we showed up?"

  "I don't know, but I certainly welcome you to turn the handle and see what happens. I'll be way the hell over there behind that tree."

  "Okay, look, this is stupid. I'll pick it up, march right back in there, and demand to know who put it out here."

  "It could have been any of them," said Roger. "Rachel could've done it while I was in the back being tortured, and anyone else could've done it while we were in the waiting room."

  "If there's a back door, yeah.Farley could have snuck out unnoticed when Carl came out to gripe about his tripod. Were Dominick and Linda with you the whole time?"

  Roger shook his head. "Dominick wasn't with me at all. And Linda was kind enough to give me some privacy while I took a leak. But if we go in there and raise hell over a jack-in-the-box, we're going to look really stupid."

  "I never intended to raise hell," I said. "We'd just walk back inside and ask who left it. No big deal."

  "I say we knock the stupid thing off your car with a stick and then get out of here," Roger suggested. "If the killer did leave it, he wouldn't have been stupid enough to let himself be seen going outside with it, and if we ask too many questions about it we're going to blow the whole reporter setup."

  "You're right," I agreed. "But I don't think we should throw it away. It could be an important clue."

  "Well, sure, when knives shoot through the sides at us, that'll be an importantclue leading us to conclude that it was a trap!"

  "Roger, it's a jack-in-the-box! A toy! Nobody knew we were coming! Who the hell keeps explosive knife-shooting jack-in-the-boxes around?"

  "Who the hell buries people alive?"

  "Okay, look," I said calmly. "It's there for a reason. If our friend wanted us dead, he would have stabbed us to death right after he murdered Jennifer. He would not leave a trap on our car. It's impractical. And unless everyone in Ghoulish Delights is in on it, having us die right outside of the house would immediately get him questioned by the police!"

  "Everyonecouldbe in on it," said Roger. "They were all pretty scary. That Farley lunatic enjoys his work a little too much, if you ask me."

  "Now you're just being ridiculous," I said. "At the very least we need to quit standing around debating this and get out of sight in case somebody comes out to ask us what we're doing. Get in the car. I'll grab the box."

  "You're actually going to touch it?"

  "Yes."

  "Idiot."

  "Oh, shut up." I reached for the box...but then hesitated at the last moment. Damn that Roger. Now I was scared to touch a children's toy. The stupid thing couldn't be a trap. There were so many better ways to get rid of us.

  "Gee, Andrew, why are you pausing?"

  "I told you to get in the car and shut up." I took a deep breath, and slowly extended my index finger toward the box. I made contact, and then pulled back as if I'd just touched a hot stove.

  "Something wrong?" asked Roger.

  "No, you've got me all freaked out." I forced myself to pick up the jack-in-the-box with both hands, revealing a small piece of paper underneath. Written in blood-red letters were the words "Badgraverobbers !"

  This was not good.

  I tucked the jack-in-the-box under my arm, picked up the note, and then got in the car. I handed the note to Roger as I set the box in the back seat.

  "Oh, piss," said Roger.

  "Yep.So, either the killer followed us here, or it's somebody inside."

  "Or somebody else could know."

  "Right, that too." I started the engine. "We need to find out what's in this box."

  "Screw that. I say we take it to the police, let them check it out."

  "Roger, are you using your brain on a time-share program?" I asked as I backed out onto the road. "Did you forget that the whole reasonwehaven't gone to the police is that we got into this mess by agreeing to dig up a corpse in the boondocks?"

  "We could make something up," said Roger. "Jennifer's dead, it's not like she'sgonna contradict us."

  I shook my head. "Even if we could come up with a convincing story that answers all the questions they'd throw at us, we don't have anything to give them but a jack-in-the-box. And we don't know what it means yet."

  "So what do you suggest we do?"

  "Find out what it means."

  "I don't know, Andrew, this kind of reminds me of a really nutty decision made by some guys I used to know. They agreed to dig up a coffin for twenty thousand dollars. Where are we going, anyway?"

  "ToMerriamLake ," I replied. "I might be able to ease your worries."

  "I CAN'T BELIEVE we're doing this," said Roger.

  I couldn't quite believe it myself. We were parked at the edge ofMerriamLake , standing outside watching the water. The jack-in-the-box had been submerged for the past fifteen minutes. If Roger was so worried that it was going to blow up, I figured we'd dunk it for a while.

  I don't know anything about bombs, so I had no idea if this would even do any good. And in fact, I was more inclined to believe that it was really, really dumb. But if it were something low-budget and gunpowder-based, soaking it might work. So that's what I was doing.

  Finally I waded out and retrieved the jack-in-the-box. I brought it back to shore and set it down on the grass. "Are you happy now?" I asked.

  "No. That couldn't possibly have been enough time to rust any knives in there."

  "There aren't any goddamn knives! Do you see any place a knife could come through?" I tapped on the side of the tin box, causing Roger to flinch. "See?Solid. No knives. I'm just going to turn the crank and see what's inside. If you're going to keep being a big baby, you can go hide somewhere and I'll tell you what happened later."

  I could tell that the idea was appealing to him, but to his credit Roger stayed where he was. "Okay, I'll watch you turn the crank. Just keep your head away from that top part."

  "I was going to." I knelt down beside the box and firmly gripped the handle. I took a deep breath, braced myself, and then let go of the handle. "All right, I don't see any harm in pushing a big mud pile around three of thesides, to sort of block anything that might shoot out, do you?"

  Roger agreed that he saw nothing wrong with the idea, so we scooped up some mud from the shore and built a protective barrier around the jack-in-the-box, coveri
ng everything but the lid and the handle. That finished, Roger returned to his position of relative safety next to the car and I gripped the handle once more.

  I turned the crank. "Pop Goes the Weasel!" began to play. It occurred to me that I didn't know any of the lyrics to this song besides the "Pop Goes the Weasel!" part. I'm sure my brain chose to share that information with me just to distract me from the fact that I was excessively nervous.

  Dah-dah,dah-dah ,dah-dah-dah-dah-dah ,dah-dah ,dah-dah ,dah -DAH,dah ,dah-dah ,dah-dah ,dah-dah-dah-dah-dah ...