Hallowed Horror

by Mark Tufo

  Casper turned to Roger, “Get the lamp.”

  The two stumbled about until they had cleared away enough grass and debris to reveal a headstone, the lettering mostly weathered away by time and Mother Nature. Roger held the lamp over the stone at an angle. “It looks like it says ‘Sheriff’ on there. See there? Um…Tal…something.” He stood up and shook his head. “I can’t read it.”

  Casper grinned at him and began to shake. “That’s good, though, huh? A sheriff, right? He could have lots of good stuff buried with him, huh? Maybe even his badge or something, huh?”

  Roger shoved Casper. “Calm down, tweaker.” He looked at his watch. “It’s too late to try to dig him up tonight. We’ll come back and do it tomorrow. We’ll find out exactly what this son of a bitch has on him and maybe we can score something worth our time.”

  “I don’t want to wait. Let’s do it now.”

  Roger shook his head. “We don’t have time. Sun will be up in a couple of hours.”

  “So what? Nobody’s gonna see us. We’re behind the church.”

  “They’ll see the truck. We’re parked right down the road, stupid. Besides, I’m tired, I’m hungry and I need to take a dump. Grab your shovel and let’s git.”

  Casper stomped his foot hard and picked up his shovel. He knew better than to argue with Roger. All it had ever gotten him in the past was a thump upside his head.

  2

  Jerrod Miller swung his chair back and forth lazily as he listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. He loved rubbing his minor victories in other people’s faces and this victory was even sweeter as it was his main competitor both in business and in Old West memorabilia collecting.

  Stan Ingram prattled on about his latest acquisitions while Miller listened and smiled to himself. He shook his head and fingered the three gold coins he’d freed from the clumps of dirt the two tweakers had brought to him. He spun one on its’ edge atop his desk and watched as the sunlight caught the gleaming sides and reflected it back upon the polished wood. He hadn’t known that the earth encrusted leather tobacco pouch held the three coins when they dumped it on his table, but he was never one to simply throw out anything without going completely through it first. You never know what some old farmer may have tucked away, and damned if he didn’t hit the mother lode. Three 1849 Type I Liberty Head gold dollars just waiting to be freed from the earth.

  “Yes, yes, Stan, that’s all nice, but you’ll never guess what I just acquired,” Jerrod goaded. “And they’re in nearly mint condition, too.” He chuckled as he picked them up again and jingled them close to the phone. “Hear that my friend? That’s the clinking of American gold. Minted in 1849.”

  He listened on the phone while his friend stammered and stumbled verbally on the other end. “Yeah, I thought that would catch your attention,” he snorted, “But you want to know the best part? I bought all three of them for the sky high price of forty U.S. dollars!” He pulled the phone back while Stan exploded over the phone and used words that would cause most sailors to blush. Jerrod laughed harder and finally put the phone back to his ear. “Looks like I’m up on you again, buddy. One more and I win the bet,” he said absently as he glanced at the empty trophy case.

  The two had placed a wager nearly two years prior on who could collect the most memorabilia through whatever means necessary in two years. The winner won the trophy that both coveted more than just about anything, Wyatt Earp’s Badge and Henry repeating rifle used in Tombstone, Arizona. Both were acquired under less than honorable means, but neither man cared. “The month’s almost over and we’re tied dead even.”

  “It can go either way, Miller,” Stan said.

  “Yes, it could.” Miller stared at the case. “But I think we both know who’s gonna win, don’t we, Ingram?”

  “Don’t count your chickens just yet.”

  “Count em? Hell, I’ve got the fryer already warming up!” He laughed as Ingram slammed his phone down. Miller shook his head slightly as he hung up. “What an asshole.”

  He got up out of his chair, the leather creaking as he did, and stepped over to his display case. “No sense in hiding you golden oldies, eh?” He unlocked the case and placed them on the middle shelf directly under the light. “No way to track you, is there?”

  He shut the display case and locked it, slipping the key back into the hidden compartment of his desk. He sat back in his leather chair and admired the newest addition to his private collection. Folding his hands behind his head he rocked back and forth and smiled once more. “One step closer…”

  *****

  Eckerson pulled his Charger up to the station earlier than his shift began and honked the horn. He was picking up one of the newer deputies and taking him across town to pick up his own patrol vehicle. Justin didn’t explain why, but Jeff was more than a little perturbed to have to start his shift early, even if it wasn’t ‘officially’.

  The young Asian officer marched out of the station and stepped into the passenger side of the cruiser with fluid efficiency. He thrust his hand out. “Jonathon Foo. Nice to meet you.”

  Jeff eyed the young officer with his crew cut and starched uniform and raised a brow. He shook his hand and put the Charger into gear. “Where are we going, exactly?”

  “Hibdon Tire,” the young deputy said somewhat sheepishly.

  Jeff looked at him again and then nodded. “Have a blowout?” He knew that the maintenance department usually kept a few spares on hand.

  “Uh, not exactly,” Jon answered absently, peering out the window.

  Eckerson drove on, but he wouldn’t drop the subject. “So what happened?”

  Foo sighed and stared at the older veteran. “I lit up a speeder and the guy ducked into an alley. When he came out the other side, I was right on him and rather than go to the corner and turn, he drove through a fence and tried to lose me in a parking lot.”

  Eckerson waved him on with his hand, urging him to continue. Foo shook his head. “I wanted to do the right thing, okay? I mean, I just got upgraded to the SUV and I didn’t want to tear it up.”

  “So what happened?” Jeff feared he knew the answer.

  Foo sighed again and averted his eyes. “I pulled into the entrance of the parking lot, and—”

  “And it wasn’t the entrance.” Eckerson finished for him.

  “You know those signs that say, ‘Do NOT Back Up, Serious Tire Damage Will Occur’? Yeah, well they mean it. And for the record, they need to have those facing the other way as well.”

  Eckerson stifled a laugh. “Could’ve happened to the best of us.”

  Jon looked at him expectantly. “Seriously? Has it happened before?”

  “Son, I’ve been with this department for nearly fourteen years now,” he stated as he rubbed his chin. “And in all those years I can count the number of times it’s happened on one hand and have four fingers left over. That’s counting you, of course.”

  Jon nodded, then realized what he said. “Gee, thanks.”

  Jeff laughed and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, kid. Everybody is entitled to one boneheaded move in their career.”

  Jon hung his head and shook it. “That was my second.”

  Eckerson shot him a sideways look. “Really?”

  Foo nodded. “Yeah. I got the SUV because I sunk a Crown Vic.”

  “Oh, my God. That was you?” Eckerson gave him a surprised stare. “I heard someone on dayshift put a Vic in a cattle pond.”

  Jon nodded. “That was me.”

  “What the hell happened on that one? I heard like four different stories on that.”

  Jon shook his head. “Accelerator stuck and the brakes went out. Damndest thing ever.”

  “Wait. Was that the blue one? What was it, the 513 car?”

  Jon nodded. “Yup. That’s me. Lucky 513.”

  “Oh, my God. No wonder, kid. That car has been unlucky since they first got it.” He leaned over and offered quietly, “Personally, I think you did the department a favor
by sinking the damned thing. It’s tried to kill three deputies already.”

  Foo turned and narrowed his eyes. “Seriously?”

  Eckerson nodded enthusiastically. “Hell yeah. And, that explains why Scott didn’t hand you your walking papers.”

  “He still might over this one,” Foo slumped a bit in the seat.

  “How long has it been since it happened?” Eckerson asked, pulling into the tire shop.

  “Day before last. Right at the end of my shift. Freakin’ undersheriff had to come and get me and arrange for the tow.”

  Jeff laughed. “Then I wouldn’t worry about it. If you were history you would have already been notified.” He threw the Charger into park and turned off the engine. “Let’s go sign some papers and get you back on the road.”

  “I may not be fired, but I’m working nights now,” Jon said.

  Eckerson smiled. “You’ll be in good company. Me and Justin both work nights. It’s a better shift anyway.”

  “How do you figure?” he asked as opened the door.

  “All the really bad stuff happens at night, didn’t you know that?” He laughed as he held the door for him.

  *****

  The sun hadn’t set before Roger Culley and Casper Wineguard drove out to Murphy cemetery at the old ghost town. They turned off the road and bounced the old pickup through the ditch and past the remains of the Missionary Baptist Church. When they forced the truck deep enough into the brush, Roger killed the engine and slid open the rear window. Tree limbs prevented them from being able to open the doors of the truck so they climbed out the rear window and into the bed of the truck.

  Roger stood in the bed and looked around in the dwindling twilight. “I think we’re good. Come on.”

  Casper climbed out after him and the two grabbed the tools of the trade for grave robbing. They waded through the tall grass and found the marker for the sheriff’s grave they were about to rob.

  Ignoring the biting insects buzzing their heads, Roger cracked open his first of many beers for the night and drank heavily from it. “Gotta fuel the tank, right?” He crushed the now empty can and tossed it over his shoulder.

  “Sounds like a helluva plan to me.” Casper slipped a tiny white chunk of illegal substance into his mouth before chugging his beer and crushing his can. He shuddered in place and gave Roger a wide eyed stare. “Let’s get this party started!” His voice echoed as he yelled.

  “Shh!” Roger hushed. “It’s bad enough we drove the truck all way back here, but we don’t want to let the whole fuckin’ world know what we’re doing back here.”

  Casper looked around the old ghost town and shivered. “This place gives me the creeps, Rog. I don’t like being here at night.”

  Roger gave him a sideways look. “You never said nothing all them other nights we was digging up graves.”

  Casper kept looking over his shoulder. “I dunno. This is different. I just keep getting this creepy feeling. Like something is waiting to jump out and git us.”

  Roger scoffed and rammed his pick into the earth. “Git to work ya idgit.” He pried the pick up again out of the hard soil. “These bones ain’t gonna dig themselves up.”

  Casper nodded and jumped up and down on the shovel to pry up what he could and fling it over his shoulder.

  The two continued to work long into the night. It didn’t take long for them to realize that this grave was much different than the rest. Longer and much wider than the others, it was lined with long flat blocks with mortar between in the joints. Neither man had ever seen a grave like this before and wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  As they approached the mark where they expected to start finding bones, the pick struck something hard and Roger let out a yelp as he dropped the axe and shook his hands out. “What the fuck is that?”

  Casper scraped along the edges and brushed as much of the loose dirt away as he could. “It’s flat, Roger. Looks like a slab rock or something.” He brushed more and more dirt away. “It sure is smooth.”

  “Fuck me.” Roger stepped to the side and dropped to his knees. “It’s like a sar…sar…”

  “A what?”

  “A tomb. Like them Egypt fellers had. Sealed ‘em up tight as a drum.”

  Casper sat down on the stone and rapped it with his knuckles. “Sounds purdy thick. What do we do now?”

  Roger leaned against the stone walls of the grave and thought. He scratched at his stubbly chin and pulled the sweaty baseball cap from his head and ran his calloused fingers through his greasy hair. “We keep digging. We dig down the sides ‘til we can pry the damned thing up.” He stared Casper in the face, his eyes wild in the light of the old Coleman lantern deep in the hole. “If we can’t pry it up, we break the damn thing.”

  “That looks like some tough rock, Rog. How we gonna break it?”

  Roger smiled at him. “Remember them sticks of dynamite I stole so’s we could go fishin’ out at the quarry?”

  Casper started laughing, then stopped. “Hey, won’t that bust up whatever’s inside?”

  “Not if we don’t use a whole stick, dumbass. We cut off half a stick, shove it along the side and…but, we’ll cross that bridge if we can’t get the top off. For now, let’s just see if we can dig down around the sides and pry the thing up.”

  The two men continued scraping and digging until all four sides were exposed. They stood back and looked at the oversized rock and Roger whistled. “How in the fuck did a bunch of old timers get a flat rock that big down here?”

  “Beats the shit out of me,” Casper answered quietly. “It sure is big, ain’t it?”

  Roger scratched at his chin again and hitched up the back of his pants. “Hand me that pry bar,” he said with his arm extended.

  Casper handed him the solid steel bar and he shoved it into the only gap he could find as hard as his arms could muster. He wiggled the bar a bit to try to get purchase and lifted. His ears caught the sound of metal grinding on stone just before the pry bar slipped out and he found himself splayed across the large flat stone. Casper laughed so hard, he thought he’d split a stitch.

  “Shut up, fool.”

  “Want me to get the dynamite now?” Casper wiped at his eyes.

  “I’ll tell you when to get the damned dynamite!” Roger shouted. “That’s a last resort, fucker.”

  “But why, Roger? We could blow the top and just be done with it.”

  “Think, you dumbass. If we blow up dynamite out here, somebody’s liable to hear it and call the damned police. Then where would we be? Huh?”

  Casper nodded. Of course, Roger thought of everything. He was the brains of the outfit. “So what do we do?”

  “We try again.”

  Roger went to the far side of the crypt and jammed the pry bar against the lid. Putting his back against the stones and bracing his feet against the edge of the stone lid, he used his legs and lifted. This time his ears caught the distinct sound of stone on stone as the lid shifted slightly. Casper yipped with glee and jumped to the side, throwing his body against the stone wall, putting his boots against the stone lid and pushing for all he was worth at the same time.

  “On three, okay? One…two…three!”

  Both men gave it all they had and were gifted with the stone moving again. Roger looked down and saw that there was a gap big enough for him to fit the pry bar into the crypt.

  “Give me a hand here, Tweak.” They inserted the pry bar and created a gap all along one edge of the crypt. Using the lantern, Roger held it to the gap and peered inside. “Holy shit, Tweak.”

  “What? What’s inside?” Casper asked excitedly.

  “It’s dry as a bone inside.” Roger wormed his hand inside and pulled it back out. “Help me move this over some more.”

  The two pushed on the lid and slid it further over. Roger peered inside again and came up smiling. “You’re not gonna believe this shit.”

  “What is it, man? Don’t leave me guessing!” Casper was practically dancing beside the cryp
t.

  “We hit pay dirt, ya little tweaky fucker!” He whooped as he punched the skinny addict.

  3

  Jerrod Miller had just started his second cup of coffee and settled in for breakfast with the morning paper while his housekeeper, Maria, cleaned the kitchen. As he pulled out the sports section he heard the doorbell ring. Maria stepped out of the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. Miller tried not to listen to who might be at the door, but he so rarely had guests at that early an hour and his interest was piqued. It didn’t prevent him from forking into the omelet and allowing the spicy peppers to bite his tongue awake.

  He could hear Maria arguing at the door with someone and he sighed. Who could be ballsy enough to try to force themselves past her? He took another swallow of his coffee, wiped his mouth and went to the door. He paused in the hallway when he saw Roger and Casper both standing at the door, covered in filth and holding another burlap bag, smiling like a possum sucking shit from a Coke bottle.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “We brung ya something,” Roger offered.

  “Good stuff this time,” Casper added.

  Miller fought back his anger and shut his eyes as his jaw ticked. When he opened them again, the two idiots still stood there, smiling. He sighed and shook his head. He craned his neck around Maria and looked at their mud-caked boots. “Around back. Leave your boots at the sliding door.” He turned and left them standing there with a perplexed look on their faces.

  He walked around to his study and met the two idiots as they came jogging around the back, sack in hand. They were grabbing for the sliding door handle and Jerrod stood watching them tugging at the locked door, stupid looks of confusion across their features. They looked up at him through the glass.