The Supplication
by John W. Steele
Part 1 appears
in this issue.
conclusion
The first few times were the hardest. He’d open the casket and fear would grip his body like an avenging demon, or the stench of death made him puke his guts out. But with each shovel of dirt, and each broken casket lid, Ed’s wallet grew fatter, and his fear of the dead diminished.
He fenced the pilfered jewelry to a coin dealer in Bennington. The old man’s eyes lit up whenever Ed walked in the store. He paid twenty cents on the dollar for any treasure Ed brought him and never asked any questions. In time the cold cash erased any guilt or remorse Ed felt over his deeds. He’d found the adventure he longed for, and the fear of grave robbing transformed into a craving that only stealing from the dead could satisfy.
It was the perfect crime. Once the valuables were removed from the corpse, Ed carefully recovered the graves. After a thunderstorm or two no one would ever know he’d been there.
Ed saved nearly enough money to move away from Masonville. He wanted to buy a bar somewhere; maybe out in Augusta or even Caribou; it didn’t really matter... as long as it was somewhere else.
In time, he quit his job at the factory and dug full time. He thought it strange that no one else was smart enough to discover the gold mine lying just beneath the ground, and he couldn’t understand why nobody had beat him to the booty. The dearly departed never resisted and gave up their treasures without as much as a grumble. To Ed, their desiccate remains were only dust and forgotten memories. They’d done their time and were out of their suffering.
He got so he could almost tell what he’d find by the size and style of the gravestones. Ed liked angels; it seemed they always portended a treasure of great value lay inside the velvet-lined rosewood caskets buried beneath them.
The cherubs stood atop the graves of their masters like faithful guardians. Wind, rain, and the merciless winters had often worn away their wings, and eroded the subtle expressions of their features. Their faces appeared as little more than smooth polished alabaster with gaping dark holes where the eyes used to be. But the angels endured the ravages of time and never abandoned their mission.
* * *
On a beautiful golden morning in October, Ed drove along on a forgotten dirt road deep in the heart of the Green Mountains. The crimson and yellow leaves dangled from the branches of the hardwoods like patches of flame and the orange glowing sun hung in the sky like a jack o’lantern.
He followed the rutted road to a large clearing in the woods where an enormous old farmhouse stood rotting in the pasture. Its slate roof was littered with holes, and swallows flew in and out of the attic. The pillars on the massive cobblestone porch had given away, and the gabled roof over the deck now lay broken and caved in.
In the distance stood the sagging remains of a weathered barn. He drove behind the barn and surveyed the area. On a knoll at the edge of the clearing, he could see tombstones. As he drove nearer to the cemetery, he spotted a huge stone angel standing in the center of the plot; its feet were firmly planted on a gray marble slab. He parked his truck in a hedgerow at the side of the meadow and approached the sculpted icon.
The angels hands were folded in prayer and an etched rosary rested on its flowing marble robe. Its face was raised toward the sky, as if it were offering a supplication to heaven. The eyes of the mighty angel appeared desperate and intense like the pleading eyes of a hungry beggar. At the base of the stone was written:
Isabelle McGuiness
1787 - 1849
Beloved - Wife - Mother - Friend
Ed walked around the angel and admired its form. A thrill of anticipation surged through him and he was filled with the lust of plunder. He felt a distinct impression that he’d stumbled onto something big... really big. He looked up at the cherub, like he’d discovered a long lost friend. “I’ve been searching for you for a long time.”
The sun disappeared behind the mountain, and the spirit of night was born. Mystery spread its cloak across the sky and the heavens glowed with a lustrous white radiance. Ed had dug down to the marble slab covering the crypt. He stopped to rest for a moment and lit a propane lantern. He sat at the rim of the grave and thought about his life.
Somewhere deep in his mind he heard a voice; the voice was hollow and had a heavy amorphous quality like quicksilver. But Ed was not alarmed; he’d heard the voice before. He tried to reason with the voice as they contemplated his actions in the cool night air.
There’s still time, Ed... quit now while you’re ahead. You know this will lead to nothing but suffering.
You get one shot in this world of cheat and steal. Most guys never find that pot of gold, but I did.
Think about your mother, Ed, would you be happy knowing someone did this to her?
A chill ran down Ed’s spine, the words burned in his mind like a red-hot poker. A single silver tear rolled down his cheek.
This will be the last time... I promise.
But Ed had made that vow before. He grabbed a pinch bar and jumped back into the hole.
With a grunt, Ed eased the marble slab to the side of the crypt where it landed with a hollow thud. He gazed at the body resting in the coffin.
“Well, Isabelle, for being in the ground over a century you’re still in pretty good shape.” He laughed, and his voice rumbled deep and bass inside the grave.
The woman’s hair was silver and she was dressed in a fine sky blue linen gown with a white lace collar. Her skin was smooth like wax, and though her teeth were exposed, and her cheeks hollow, her features were soft, like those of a sleeping child.
Lying on her chest was an exquisite sapphire mounted in a setting of gold filigree. Ed tore the amulet from her neck and stuffed it in his pocket.
He shined his flashlight on the woman’s hands, which lay folded comfortably across the center of her abdomen. On the ring finger of her left hand glimmered an enormous round cut diamond. A glint of white-silver light reflected from the gem like the beam of a laser, and Ed’s heart skipped a beat when he beheld the majestic stone. The diamond was as big as a pea, and twinkled like a tiny star.
He reached down and gently tugged at the ring on the woman’s bony finger, but the ring wouldn’t budge. He jerked on the ring in an attempt to dislodge it from her hand, yet the diamond clung to her like a barnacle.
Filled with an angry sense of frustration Ed screamed at the corpse. “It’s over, give it up, bitch!”
But the ring defied all his attempts to remove it from the woman’s withered hand. Ed began to tremble, and a sense of urgency surged through him like a shot of adrenaline.
“Okay, grandma, you want to do this the hard way, we’ll do it the hard way.”
He reached for the hunting knife that hung in a leather sheath on his belt. Ed raised the cold honed steel to the woman’s wrist, and a wry smile formed at the corners of his mouth.
A sigh like the sound of wind rustling through the leaves of a sleepy maple whispered overhead. A fountain of red, green, and yellow light erupted inside Ed’s mind, and a jagged bolt of energy like electric barbed wire tore down his spine and into his nerves. A muffled cry filled the air and then, but for a resounding thump... all was still.
* * *
The morning broke cold and gray. Deer season had arrived, and the first flurries of downy snow floated gently in the air. Far in the distance the rumble of gunfire echoed in the mountains.
John raised his rifle to his shoulder and sighted in on the enormous buck standing in the field behind the ageing barn.
Shots rang out... bam... bam... bam...
“I think I hit him, Joey. That was the biggest rack I’ve ever seen.” The hunters strode into the meadow.
“He ran up through that cemetery. Look, he’s bleeding, lets track him,” John said.
The young men entered the tiny gravesite and spotted a body lying in the leaves on the ground. Their footsteps grew timid when they viewed the carnage before them.
“Dude... check it out,” John said.
Joey approached the body. The stench was horrific and he struggled not to vomit. The battered remains of a man lay sprawled on top of a grave. His head was crushed and parts of his brain protruded from open areas of his skull. His teeth were chipped and broken and his face looked like it had been beaten to pulp by a sledgehammer. The chest of the body was crushed flat, and its ribs stuck out from the torso like the splines of a boat.
John gazed at the mangled corpse and his mouth fell open. “That’s gross, man... totally gross. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as gory as that.” His stomach churned and he looked away.
“Look at the digging tools. What do you think that moron was doing?” Joey asked.
“I don’t know,” said John; his eyes wandered up to the austere face of the towering angel. “Look at the scowl on that thing... it looks seriously pissed. Did you ever see a tombstone like that in your life?”
The men stood without moving, petrified by the gruesome spectacle before them. The angel’s head was now bent towards the ground and its eyes seemed to gaze at the body sprawled on the surface of the grave. It stood defiant like a mighty warrior with its arms hanging at its sides and its broad sculpted hands drawn into fists. Spatters of red dotted its flowing stone robe, and clenched in the angel’s left hand was a blood-smeared marble hammer.
Copyright © 2008 by John W. Steele
