Hallowed Horror

by Mark Tufo

  “I understand, Bill,” Doc said. “But where are you going?”

  “I’m gonna find out who done this,” he said as he stepped through the door. “And if nobody in this godforsaken town will tell me…they deserve the damnation that this kind of evil brings.”

  *****

  As the burial crew carted the two solid oak coffins out to Little Hope Missionary Baptist Church, they paused to water the mules. “Why in hell are we dragging them all the way out here?” the shorter man asked.

  “Doc said to. He wanted them both away from Quitman. Said he was afraid somebody might defile the grave,” he snorted. “Can you believe that?”

  “Are we really gonna line the graves like Doc said?”

  “He paid for it, didn’t he?”

  “Who’d know the difference?” the little man asked. “We just pocket the money and tell ‘em we did it!” He smiled, flashing his good tooth.

  The larger man stared at him. “This is a lawman’s coffin and his woman. His kin is the marshal. You really want to risk it?”

  The smaller man weighed the risks. “Aww, hell,” he cursed. “Kick them mules on up then. We ain’t got all day.”

  As the two arrived at the cemetery, they searched the graveyard for an open area within the fence. “There ain’t no room in Murphy’s graveyard for more bodies. What we gonna do with these two?”

  The larger of the two scratched at his head and shrugged. “Let me ask the preacher if we can bury them behind the church. Surely they won’t mind.”

  The larger man went in search of the preacher while the smaller man settled in under the shade of a tree and enjoyed the cool breeze. He had just fallen asleep when he felt a kick at his boot. “Wake up, Junior. We got work to do and we’re burning daylight.”

  “What? Who’s there?” he snorted.

  “Preacher man said we can plant these two behind the church.”

  The smaller man stretched and yawned. “Fine, but we ain’t gonna have time to do no fancy lined hole.”

  “Yes we are. Even if’n it takes us two days. Doc paid for it, so we’s gonna do it,” the larger man said.

  “Fine. But that don’t mean I’m gonna like it,” he said as he pulled his shovel out of the cart.

  And so it was that Sheriff James Tolbert was buried in unconsecrated soil…where his spirit waited for revenge.

  1

  Jerrod Miller sat at the large, ornate western desk in his private study and polished the antique Colt pistol from his secret collection. Many of his best items had to be kept under lock and key not to keep them safe, but to keep them his and to prevent the authorities from removing them from his possession. While it wasn’t against the law to purchase antiques, it was against the law to purchase stolen antiques. And Jerrod Miller had a fine collection of stolen Old West antiques.

  He set the pistol back in its velvet lined box and slipped it back in the hidden spot behind the display then pulled out another small box. He opened it and smiled. Inside was a small collection of old badges from famous law officers, most of which were stolen from other private collections. He’d have to wait a few more years before he could claim to have purchased them from a different private collection. He sighed and shook his head. He knew the secret to dealing with stolen or black market collectibles. He’d have to wait until another collector died and then buy the lion’s share of his collection. Then he could claim surprise when he found the items hidden within.

  Once enough time had passed and the insurance claims had been paid, he’d have to pay a percentage of the payout to cover their losses, but he’d get to keep his prize. It was a game he’d played many times before; and he’d always won.

  A buzz on his intercom pulled his attention away and he quickly tucked his prizes away and spun his leather backed chair around to see who was at his door. Punching the button at his desk, the security camera showed two scruffy looking men nervously waiting to be let in. Miller sighed heavily and shook his head.

  He clicked the intercom and barked through the machine, “I thought I told you two to always come through the back?”

  The two men looked at each other nervously and the skinnier one shrugged. The larger man leaned close to the box near the door and all but yelled, “We forgot.” causing his voice to come across filled with static. “You gonna let us in or what? We got some more stuff to show you.” The skinny one held a burlap bag up to the camera and shook it.

  Miller rolled his eyes and buzzed the lock allowing the two drug addicts into his million dollar ranch style home.

  Roger Culley, the larger of the pair was the brains of the two-man outfit, but that really wasn’t saying much. Since the two made the major decision to drop out of high school in the tenth grade and try their hand at dealing drugs, neither had much future. Casper Wineguard, dubbed ‘Wino’ by his classmates, was the smaller, and lacked the sense God gave a gnat. He had a nervous tic about him even when he wasn’t tweaking on methamphetamines and always set those around him on edge because of his mannerisms.

  They walked through the house, eyes darting about, taking a mental inventory of Miller’s belongings as if casing the place. Miller met them near the front room and waved them back to his private study. “I hope you brought something good this time. I’m about sick of the crap you’ve been trying to hock to me.”

  “We got some good shit this time, Mr. Miller. Good shit!” Roger reached for the bag. He pulled it from Casper’s grip and thrust it out to the older man who pulled back as if there may be a snake inside.

  “Set it on the table,” Miller said, the disdain dripping from his voice.

  Roger laid the bag on the table and unceremoniously dumped it. Dirt, debris and rusted chunks of metal scattered about, most of which was unrecognizable. Miller stepped closer and pulled out a magnifying glass and a small satchel of tools. He picked at the larger pieces and cleaned off a few. “This is all junk,” he claimed as he pulled away from the table. “Where are you boys digging this crap up from?”

  Roger’s eyes became shifty and he hemmed about, obviously not wanting to give up his booty’s location. “We, um…we…”

  “Just spill it, damn you. I don’t have all day.”

  “The ghost town,” Casper stammered. “Out a No Hope.”

  “Little Hope,” Roger corrected. “We been digging up Little Hope.” He lowered his eyes to the rich rug below his feet.

  Miller sat on the edge of his desk and hiked a brow at the two boys. “So, you two have been diggin’ around the old ghost town, have you? Well, I got to hand it to you. That’s a might smarter than I would’ve given you credit.”

  Roger smiled, not realizing he’d been insulted. “Why, thanks, Mr. Miller.”

  “Where abouts in Little Hope have you been digging?”

  Casper’s eyes widened. “The cemetery. We dug up the old Murphy cemetery by the Baptist Church.” Roger elbowed him hard in the ribs and Casper almost collapsed.

  “That’s okay, boys,” Miller waved them off with a hand. “It’s not like I’m gonna pick up a shovel and try to out do ya, now am I?” Roger had to see the logic in that statement and relaxed a little. “But I will tell ya this, if you keep bringing me crap like that, our little business arrangement isn’t going to be so lucrative.” Miller’s smile evaporated.

  Roger began to panic. He could almost see Miller’s money evaporating with his smile, and that meant no drug money. That meant no food money. That meant no gas money, or hooker money… “Well, now, hold on, Mr. Miller. We brung you some good stuff this time.” He plucked up a rusty piece of metal. “This used to be a real life spur. See?” He held it out to him.

  Miller nodded. “Yeah, son, it used to be.” He reached behind him and pulled out a set of spurs from 1850 and held them in his hand. “And these ARE a set of spurs. Handmade to boot. See how they’re still in one piece? See how they still have the rowels? Those are originals.” He set them back on his desk and picked up the rusted piece of metal that Roger offered. “Th
is rusted chunk of metal? Well, it might have been a spur once. But it ain’t no more.”

  Roger’s face fell as he looked at the crap he had dropped on the table and at the collection that Jerrod Miller had under the lights behind his desk. “What are we supposed to do, Mr. Miller?”

  Miller got up off his desk and patted him on the shoulder, “Keep digging, boys. Just keep digging. You’ll hit pay dirt.”

  “But what about ‘til we do?” Roger said, his eyes threatening tears. “We worked real hard for what we got.”

  “I’m sure ya did.” Miller rubbed at his chin and reached back for his wallet. “Tell ya what, here’s twenty a piece for ya. Just a little incentive to keep ya both swinging that pick axe and slinging them shovels. You find something worth me looking me at, you bring it to me. Day or night, ya hear?” He handed them each a twenty and ushered them out the back door.

  *****

  Deputy Jeff Eckerson sat in his cruiser trying to finish his daily reports but the radio traffic kept catching his attention. He’d turn the radio down only to find himself turning it back up to hear what was going on. He grabbed his coffee and tossed back a gulp only to spit it back in the cup. The only thing worse than coffee from the station was cold coffee from the station. He checked his watch for the third time and shook his head. He knew that the undersheriff was getting off at any time so he risked getting back on the radio.

  “502, 504,” he called.

  He hoped that the dispatcher didn’t chew his butt for radioing after reporting that he was done for the night. After reporting you were 10-7 and Brenda caught you back on her radio, she tended to make life miserable. He couldn’t really blame her. For a smaller department, they carried a lot of traffic. Besides, the sheriff’s office, they also handled the radio traffic for all four constables and the local police departments. Being the lead dispatcher was a thankless job but for a little woman, she could be a real terror.

  “Go ahead, 504,” Justin radioed back. Jeff smiled to himself as he could almost smell the fresh coffee.

  “10-25.” (Police code for ‘Report in Person’.) He said it quickly hoping that either Brenda had left for the night, or that someone else was manning the radio at the moment. He waited, knowing Justin was looking at the time, estimating how much longer his shift would be.

  “Affirmative, 504. Location?” Justin replied.

  “Ruby’s, where else?” Brenda answered over the radio, causing Jeff’s cheeks to flush. Busted.

  “Uh, yeah. That’s an affirmative,” Jeff replied sheepishly.

  “Copy that,” Justin called back. Jeff could almost swear he heard him laughing when he said it.

  As Jeff started the black Dodge Charger, he wanted to curse, but instead decided to focus on the hot coffee and homemade food at Ruby’s Restaurant. It was just a little hole in the wall greasy spoon, but Ruby Sue had been in business longer than most locals had been alive and she cooked better than most grandmas. That’s saying something when it came to Texas home cooking.

  He pulled the car into the small parking spot and saw that Justin had beat him there. He already had a booth and was just sitting down inside. He set his metal clipboard down and pulled out his paperwork for the night as Jeff walked in. “Coffee please, Ruby.”

  “Sure thing, Hon. Want anything else with it?”

  “Naw, just…wait. Are you eating?” he asked Justin.

  “I got the breakfast special,” he answered without looking up.

  “What the heck? It’s 2:30 in the morning.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  Jeff looked at Ruby. “I think I’ll pass. I’m going to go home and go to bed as soon as I finish my paperwork…are those maple bars fresh?” He pointed to the end of the counter.

  “Just arrived.” She smiled at him.

  “Donut King?”

  “Help yourself, sweetie. Ain’t met a cop yet that didn’t like a doughnut.”

  “I heard that,” Jeff said as he pulled one out from under the acrylic cover.

  He sat across from Justin and opened his case. “Anything tonight?”

  “Nothing much. A couple of speeders. Couple of warnings.” Justin sifted through his papers. He looked up at him and then checked to make sure Ruby Sue wasn’t in hearing range. “Caught a couple of kids up at the ridge getting busy,” he shot him a wicked grin.

  “No foolin’? What did you do?”

  “I lit em up. Scared the cat shit out of them,” he whispered. “Funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

  The two shared a chuckle. “You didn’t write them up for indecent exposure or anything, did you?”

  “Negative. They were both seventeen. Nearly eighteen. I just ‘warned’ them that there was a serial killer on the loose and he was last seen in that area. Told them it might be a good idea to maybe rent a room.”

  Jeff shook his head. “You’re a mean SOB, you know that?”

  Justin shrugged. “Somebody’s got to do it.”

  “Order up,” the cook in back hollered and rang the bell.

  Jeff could smell the huge breakfast plate before Ruby Sue brought it and started regretting not ordering anything. “So what about your night?” Justin asked as he sprinkled hat sauce on his eggs. “Anything exciting in your neck?”

  Jeff ran through his short list. “Not really. A couple of warning tickets. A B&E that turned out to be a false alarm…here’s one.” He pulled the sheet. “Got a call from out of town. A lady kept seeing lights out by the Little Hope Baptist Church.”

  Justin looked up from his food. “The old ghost town?”

  “Yeah. I did a drive by, but I didn’t see anything suspicious. I went by the caller’s house, but nobody was home. To be honest, I don’t know how she could have seen anything from her property.”

  Justin nodded, “Maybe she saw something when she drove by?”

  Jeff nodded and sipped his coffee. “Possible. Still, I didn’t see anything out that way. No obvious vandalism, no signs of trespassing, no tagging.”

  Justin smiled at him, “Maybe it was them UFOs.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Don’t they always go out to middle of nowhere to crash a ship or kidnap a cow or some such?”

  Jeff moaned. “For the love of Pete, don’t start any rumors. We have enough trouble with rumors around here.”

  “Yeah, so what’s one more?” Justin bit off a piece of bacon.

  “You’re supposed to be the undersheriff. Show a little restraint.”

  “I AM the undersheriff.” He shoveled another forkful of egg into his face.

  “Mm-hmm. Does Scott know about your UFO theories?” Jeff asked, referring to the sheriff.

  “Oh, sure. We talk about UFOs and little green men all the time. Usually over a bottle of tequila.”

  “Now I know you’re full of shit.” Jeff finished his coffee. “Scott doesn’t drink, and neither do you.”

  “Maybe not, but it would make a hell of a rumor!”

  “Tell me again why you’re working nights?” Jeff hiked a brow accusingly.

  “Because nothing happens during the day,” Justin said matter-of-factly. “Besides, Scott covers things during the day; I cover things in the evenings.”

  “And you’re off at 2:30. Who covers things after that?”

  Justin smiled at him. “Brenda.”

  Jeff groaned and raised his coffee cup, “Ruby! I need a double!”

  *****

  Roger swung the pick into the dry rocky dirt, breaking it up as best he could while Casper scooped it up and piled it to the side. They had dug up most of the graves in the Murphy cemetery and had yet to find anything worth scavenging. A belt buckle that had crumbled with rust, a set of earrings, a single wedding band, a set of buttons. Most of the bodies didn’t even have shoes, much less spurs, and most weren’t even bodies anymore. Time had seen to that. That whole ‘ashes to ashes’ and ‘dust to dust’ thing must have been more than just a saying.

  There wasn’t much traffic on the side roads leading out to Li
ttle Hope but they kept the old Coleman lantern turned as low as they dared, and turned it off when the moon wasn’t behind clouds. They didn’t want to be seen and caught. They knew that old man Miller wouldn’t bail them out of jail if they were arrested. He’d say he’d never heard of them and leave them to their own devices.

  It was backbreaking work and after the third grave that night, both men were ready to quit and start again the next night. Casper sighed and leaned against the wall of the old church. “It’s just not worth it, Roger. I’m telling ya. Surely there’s an easier way to get this crap. Maybe we can get some new stuff and make it look old?”

  Roger shook his head. “Old man Miller ain’t stupid, Cas. He’d figure it out in a heartbeat.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “I gotta take a whiz.” Casper dropped his shovel and tromped to the corner of the church to relieve himself.

  He stood in the darkness and unzipped his fly. As the water began to flow he arched the stream to make it fly further in the moonlight, attempting to increase the distance and giggling to himself. As the urine splattered the ground away from him, he heard something that sounded distinctly different than the sound of pee hitting grass and his curiosity was piqued. He zipped his fly and went back for his shovel. Roger had just loaded his digging equipment in the back of the old pickup as Casper turned back toward the rear of the church again.

  “Hey, where you going?”

  “I need to check something.” Casper slipped back along the shadows.

  “Ignorant shit,” Roger muttered as he slipped in behind him. “You’re gonna get yourself snake bit. And if the damned thing bites your pecker, ‘you’re gonna die’,” he giggled as he repeated the punch line to his favorite joke.

  Casper rounded the corner of the church and poked the ground with the tip of the shovel. He felt rather foolish as the tip sunk into the tall grass. Surely it was just a rock he had pissed on or a piece of the crumbling foundation…the shovel rang out in the darkness and he held the handle still, moving closer until he was nearly on top of whatever had caused it to make the noise. He tapped the shovel around more until he had the rough outline of the stone. Whatever it was, it was large.