Grave Robber

“The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?”

-Edgar Allan Poe, “The Premature Burial”


***

Wallace dreaded nothing more than being alone in the dark, here of all places. Clarence had the lantern, and although he was an old man he was faster, so Wallace had to run to keep up, shivering each time he stepped over a grave. “Which one are we digging up?” he said, horrified even as the words left his mouth.

His answer came with a snort. “We’re not digging. Do you see a shovel anywhere? You’ve not a brain in your head, boy.” Clarence held his hat so that the wind couldn’t blow it away. “There had been a fog out when they started, but it was gone now. Wallace missed it. In the fog he hadn’t been able to see far enough to make out things like the rows of graves or the looming statues or bare, grasping branches of the trees. Every grave plot he looked at was a reminder that the dead always outnumber the living. Clarence stopped him. “There,” he said, pointing with a gnarled finger. “Up on the hill: the mausoleum.”

“We’re robbing the mausoleum?”

Clarence grinned. There wasn’t a single tooth in his head. “You bet we are. Hold the lantern and keep a lookout.”

“A lookout for what?”

“Wandering ghosts.” Wallace started. Clarence rolled his eyes. “For the caretaker. Dolt.”

Wallace shivered again. He wanted to go home. He heard the mausoleum gate creak on its old hinges. “Why isn’t it locked?” he said.

“Stole the key years back,” said Clarence. “Now the caretaker just leaves it open rather than change the lock. Doesn’t want anyone to know he’s a fool on top of a drunk.”

Clarence went in, and Wallace stuck to him like shadow. Clarence might be an old ghoul, but at least he was a living breathing human being. Wallace couldn’t think of anything worse than being here alone. Except being here alone for all eternity. The mausoleum was a single moss-ridden room with a half dozen caskets lining it. It smelled damp. Wallace’s skin crawled. “Why are they in here?”

“The cold snap,” said Clarence. “The ground froze early this year, and the caretaker is an old man, so there’ll be no new graves dug until the spring thaw. In the meantime anyone what croaks is put in here for safekeeping. Easy pickings.”

He handed Wallace a crowbar. It was heavy. He looked around, unsure what to do, and then approached a coffin. “Not that one,” said Clarence, “I’ve already done that one. That was that snake, Judge Harper. He always said he’d see me hang before he died. Tough break, Your Honor. And this one here was that tight-fisted shrew the Widow Whatley. Oh yes, we have a lot old friends in here. But the gal we’re visiting today is from out of town: April Constant. A chill got her, and they shipped her here from the big city to be buried next to her father. Would have gotten to her last night, but you never rob a grave on All Hallow’s.”

“Why not?”

“You just don’t, muttonhead. Take my word on it.” Clarence got in close and leered. “There never was a more beautiful girl. Now you’re going to be the last one who ever gets to see her.”

Wallace’s mouth went dry. “You want me to open her coffin?”

“What do you think we’re doing here? Admiring the view?” Clarence stopped to light his pipe. “Get that prying bar.”

Wallace shook his head. He tried to talk but his teeth were chattering

“Feeling shy?” Clarence said. “Listen here, Thom Wallace: The dead are nothing to be afraid of, but me, I’m alive. You owe me money and you can’t pay, so that means you work for me until I say we’re even. Either pay Miss Constant a visit right now or start measuring yourself for a spot right next to hers. Your choice.”

Nobody gave the Evil Eye like old Clarence. Wallace swallowed. Old man or not, he knew what happened to people who tried to shirk their debts to Clarence. Wallace set the crowbar against the coffin lid and pushed as hard as he could. It didn’t budge.

“Is that the best you can do?” said Clarence. “Sweet Jesus, fifty nine years old I am and I can crack any box they make.”

“I’m trying!” said Wallace, leaning with his full weight. He slipped, almost smashing his skull on the lid. The mausoleum floor was gritty and cold.

“Disgraceful,” said Clarence. “You’d better be good for something sooner or later or you’ll be in a heap of trouble. Keep a lookout here while I go get the other pry bar from the cart. Maybe if we both give it a go she’ll open.”

“You can’t leave me in here!” said Wallace.

“The hell I can’t. I ought to leave you in the dark to teach you who’s in charge, but since I know you’re just a wee one I’ll let you keep the lantern. “Wallace began to sweat despite the cold. Clarence paused at the door and looked over his shoulder. “Just remember: If any of them start to knock on the lids, just give them two short and one long back.”

His laugh grew faint as he walked away, and then Wallace was alone. With the dead.

He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. Then he realized that he was sitting on the coffin and jumped up. He moved the lantern closer. He hoped Clarence would hurry back, though he suspected that the entire reason the old man left was to punish him and would take his time returning. Wallace looked at the coffin as if he expected it to move. Of course, it didn’t. At least, he didn’t think so…

He paused and looked closer. The lid was in two sections, and only the bottom was screwed shut. He reached for the topmost section—then pulled his hand back. He didn’t want to see the dead woman. But maybe if the job was done when Clarence got back it would buy Wallace a little goodwill? And the quicker they finished, the quicker they could leave. Mustering up his courage, he threw the coffin open…

April Constant was staring at him.

Wallace screamed and let the lid drop with a bang. But he felt foolish immediately: Sometimes a person dies with their eyes open, he knew. That’s why undertakers put coins over the eyes of the dead. April’s must have slid off. Clarence would want those coins, Wallace thought. If he was lucky, maybe that’s all Clarence would want, and once he had them there’d be no need to stay any longer. Bracing himself, Wallace opened the coffin again. April stared up at him. He whimpered. The dead woman clutched a bouquet of wilted lilies to her chest. Clarence was right: She had been beautiful. Even now, pale and blue-lipped and withered from her sickness, Wallace could see it. It seemed a shame. But not as much of a shame as what would happen to him if he got Clarence angry again.

Where were the coins?