Topsail Island. Paul Boardman

Nissan holding his semi-automatic handgun loosely, not aiming it directly at Forbes. He sat silently, asking no more questions. The silence was eerie. Wendell had no idea what the stranger’s next move might be. There was no possibility of him scrambling out of the grave and disarming his assailant. Finally the stranger waved the gun to indicate that Wendell could climb out of the grave.

      “Sit down, right there … but sit on your hands.”

      Wendell did as instructed. The stranger glanced over his shoulder into the back of the truck at the flowers and equipment.

      “Take a few minutes to rest. Dirty work, grave robbing.” The stranger reached back and pulled a bottle of water from the case. “Here, have a bottle of water.” He tossed it toward Wendell who scrambled to catch it but was unable to free his hands in time. It bounced off his chest. “Just sit on one hand, then,” he relented. “I see you brought flowers.”

      Wendell was thinking that he would probably end up in the grave he had just dug. He wondered if the stranger would bother to bury him and decorate it or just leave him there, uncovered. He realized how silly and erratic his thoughts were and wondered if he was hallucinating. He decided that he was exhausted and probably a bit giddy.

      The two men sat, saying nothing for a good five minutes while Wendell drank the water with one hand as he continued to sit on the other. He tried to wiggle his fingers but it was no use. His hand had fallen asleep under his weight. Finally, the stranger spoke.

      “I assume you came here with a plan. It isn’t likely that there is anything of value in that grave and you seem more interested in the skeleton than anything else. I find that intriguing. So please, enlighten me.”

      “You’re right, there is nothing of value. I just needed a skeleton. Thought I’d dig up one and then refill the grave and plant a few flowers. When someone eventually finds the ground disturbed they will assume I planted a few perennials over an old ancestor.”

      “Not bad thinking,” mused the stranger. “I think that might work.” He sat perfectly still, considering his next move. “Tell you what. Continue on. Pretend I’m not even here. I’ll watch. We can talk when you are done.”

      “That’s it? Continue on? Pretend you don’t exist?” The proposition was surreal.

      “Sure. Pretend if you want. Just don’t forget that I have a gun. By the way, I already removed yours from under the tarp. We can talk, if you like.”

      “I’ll be damned,” stammered Forbes, thoroughly confused.

      “Stop saying that. It’s a bit odd, coming from you. Furthermore, I don’t think you even believe it yourself. I doubt many devout Christians would entertain grave robbing.”

      Wendell Forbes stood, stretched a bit. His body was aching, now.

      “Do you mind if I take a quick feel around for any more relics?”

      “Of course not. Be thorough,” said the stranger, but he leveled his gun as Forbes reached to pick up the shovel.

      Wendell turned back to the stranger with at least a pretense of bravado. “Now it’s my turn to tell you not to worry. They say ‘never go into a gun fight with a knife.’ I’m sure as shit not going to go into one with a shovel.”

      “Lift up your shirt tail with your finger tips and turn around slowly.”

      “I’m un-armed. My thirty-eight was digging into my back so I put it under the corner of the tarp. You already found that.”

      “Do it anyway. Then you can have your shovel.”

      Forbes lifted his shirt and turned around slowly.

      “Fine, fine. I can see you are clean. I checked out the small of your back while you were picking up bones. Just double checking. Probably best you empty your pockets, though.”

      At that Forbes winced. There was a bulge in his front pocket. It contained over five thousand dollars in cash packaged in a Ziplock plastic bag. He began to place it on the ground but the stranger demanded that he toss it his way.

      “That’s quite a bankroll,” he said admiringly. “Well it doesn’t matter. Time’s flying. Back to work.”

      As Forbes climbed back into the hole and scratched around with a shovel he watched the stranger count the money and stuff it into his own pocket. He found nothing but sand and a few more bones. Satisfied, he asked for permission to climb out and begin backfilling the grave. That part of the job went much more easily. There wasn’t even much earth left over because from time to time Forbes tramped it down and the cavity where the wooden coffin had lain was now full of earth. The stranger said very little but they each had a Red Bull and a candy bar, part way through the job.

      When the tarp was bare Forbes shook the loose soil over the hole and folded the tarp. Then he retrieved the plants from the back of the SUV and spread the topsoil around them. The tombstone had begun to lean toward the grave and Wendell had been forced to roll it backwards. Now, using half a case of bottled water he poured a slurry of quick drying cement and propped the tombstone up straight. Then he covered the wet cement with earth. Finally he sprinkled a bottle of water on each of the plants. When he was finished, the grave looked just the way he had described it to the stranger. It was as if some well-meaning person had tended to the grave of an ancestor.

      “It’s already four o’clock. You did a fine job. Leave everything here and come with me. I’m going to give you a glass of whisky and fifteen minutes to tell me exactly why you were digging up that grave before I decide what I’m going to do.”

      “Where are we going?” asked Forbes, nervously, as the stranger pointed him toward the woods.

      “To my house. Where else?”

      The stranger’s “house” was approximately a hundred yards away, hidden from the road and the old family plot, by the forest of pine trees.

      The “house” was a twenty-five foot camping trailer, sitting level on trailer jacks. It was only a few years old and had been maintained like it was brand new. The tires looked like they had no more than a few hundred miles on them and dangled two inches off the ground. The stranger shone a flashlight around the yard. Everything was neat and clean. The site had probably been the location of someone’s home at some time. There was a well nearby, decorated with a little roof and bucket. An electrical wire and a pipe ran over top of the ground between the well and the trailer. A utility pole held an old meter and a yard lamp. The yard light was turned off. Near the door of the trailer rested an outdoor patio set and a stainless steel barbeque.

      “Damned old house burned down about five years ago. Best thing that ever happened to me,” explained the stranger. “I bought this trailer with all brand new appliances, bulldozed the old place away and made myself a place ten times more comfortable than the old dump. Go on inside, I’ll get you a drink. Truth is you look like you need one.”

      On that score, Wendell Forbes agreed. Suddenly he felt good. He was almost beginning to like the old codger. All that he had left to do was get out of there and the second part of his mission would be complete. He hoped the five thousand dollars the stranger now had in his pocket would be sufficient to buy his release. On that score, he couldn’t have been more wrong.