In October, while the ground was still just soft enough to dig, a wealthy woman of the town died and was buried with all pomp and circumstance in a polished coffin with brass trim. Digger readied her grave with his attendant care but no particular fanfare - it was all the same to him. Her hole was set near to a small stone that read “Little Betty Graves” (so appropriately named). Mourners came, the new minister decried the wealthy's entrance into heaven (the needle's eye and camel talk), and left the bereaved feeling aghast and confused. A few days later Digger and a couple of strong men wrestled a huge monument to the head of the grave, the men making snide comments about what the minister would have to say about such an ostentatious display.
“She wuz buried with all her jewels and fine gold,” said the shorter one, leaning on the stone. “Won't do her no good,” said the other with a sniff of disdain. “A complete waste.”
Whatever Digger may or may not have thought, he kept to himself, as per usual.
The moon was at its slimmest crescent three nights later, heading into her dark phase. A pale light moved among the graves, casting brief shadows on the dry grass, moving in a steady path toward the newest of plots. Booted feet crushed the fallen leaves. The figures came to a halt beside the large monument and two spades were thrust into the still-soft dirt.
The taller one grinned in the lantern light, his missing teeth showing black gaps.
“It's time, bucko-me-laddy. Once we're done, it's the easy life for us.”
“Whist!” hissed the shorter one.”Shut yer gob or we'll be taking it easy in a noose. Start diggin.”
“Looks like someone tried to dig before us and gave up,” smirked Tall. “Naught for them and winners take all.” He took up a spade and struck the soil.
In the dim light, the hole at the foot of the grave mound seemed insignificant. A possum scratching for grubs. Woodchuck whose lair had been disturbed by the new grave. Nothing important.
The two men kept at it for half an hour, throwing dirt higher and harder as the hole increased in depth. Shorty paused to wipe the sweat from his brow. “This had better be worth the aches, Snoddy. If someone took her jewelry off before boxin her, I'll be right beshitted.”
Tall just grunted and continued his labors. They were getting close.
At once, Tall stopped, his face serious. “Didja hear that?”
“Only hearin yer heart tryin to beat louder than mine. What was it? Someone comin?”
“No. It was scratchin. A scratchy sound.”
“Mebbe a rat in the box with our foine lady,” laughed Shorty. “Wouldn't that just set the richies on fire?” He took up another shovelful.
“I hate rats,” grumbled Tall. And with his next thrust, they heard the spade strike wood.
“Jaysus, about time. C'mon, let's get it uncovered.”
(listening intently from within, its face pulled back in a snarl)
“Dig a bit more here, Snoddy. We need to get to the latches.”
(crouched down, mouth still full, waiting)
“Oi, it's one o them fancy jobs with the split cover. This'll be easier than tit.”
A click. A creak. The sound of dirt and pebbles sliding.
“I see it! She's got em! She-”
The eater of the dead leapt for Shorty's face, every claw extended, mouth wide. Shorty fell back in horror, screaming shrilly, trying to bat it away. Stunned to silence but not stillness, Tall grabbed his spade. And swung.
The sound of the metal crushing Shorty's face was a hideous mix of splitting a watermelon and slapping a pig. Instantly dead, Shorty's body jerked twice, then lay still. Tall, with the spade still in his hands, stared in unbridled fear as the creature turned its head slowly to look him dead in the eye. Deliberately it swept its claws through the ruin of Shorty's head and brought the bloody hand to its black tongue. A strangled hiss of breath escaped Tall's mouth and he fell into a dead faint on top of the coffin.
Disinterested, the Grümklauch licked its claws, returning to the meal of Shorty.
Digger watched from the shadows above. He'd never seen it eat before, and certainly nothing so fresh. Half disgusted, half mesmerized, he looked on as the Grümklauch sat itself on the chest of the dead man. Releasing one of its ear-splitting squeals, it bent forward and, like a bee at a flower, sucked out an eyeball.
It always began with the eyes, so tender, so fresh. Lips, too, though these tasted sharply of liquor. Abdomen next, with rougher actions to get at the soft interior. It grunted as it ate. Whether or not it noticed Digger, it gave no indication. Once sated, it looked up, hissed, and scrambled up the side of the hole, leaving Digger with two corpses and a living, though unconscious, man.
Digger looked upon the bodies for a time, deep in thought. Then slowly, but with all meaning, he took up his own spade and began to fill the hole.
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