Dead Ringer
The cool night air hung deeply upon the grounds of the graveyard as Don solemnly marched along. The heavy flashlight shook slightly in his old wrinkled palms. At the age of 68, the spring in his step had long faded and his nearly twenty years of maintenance and security at West Portland Cemetery had recently begun to wear on him. The job was indeed a quiet one, and old Don Macabre enjoyed working in the fresh air, but the recent passing of his son Dennis had been incredibly difficult on him. As he drew nearer to his son’s grave he grimaced and paused for a moment to take a deep breath. A dark movement entered the periphery of his vision and he turned to see the silhouette of a man a few yards away.
“Sir, the cemetery is closed at dusk, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Don shouted clearly as he turned his flashlight to the mysterious figure. The man’s face was hidden beneath a tattered cloak and he seemed unresponsive to the request. Don, growing slightly frustrated, walked closer to the man and repeated himself kindly. “Sir, you can’t be here at this time. I’m going to have to ask you to head home and return tomorrow.”
“A life must be given to undo death. You cannot cheat the reaper,” the man replied in a mumbled, hollow voice. His face remained hidden.
“What?” Don began. “Who are you? Do you know where you are?” He then questioned, assuming the man must be confused or perhaps not right in the head.
The man raised his eyes to meet Don’s. His face was pale and rough, and his eyes were darker than the night – lifeless and daunting. The two men stared at each other for nearly a minute before the loud ringing of a bell forced Don to break their gaze and turn his head in the direction of the interruption. He aimed his flashlight toward the sound but it stopped as suddenly as it had started.
“What did you mean by…?” Don began as he turned back to the man, only to discover he no longer stood before him. Shining his flashlight this way and that, he confusedly searched for the cloaked man – but he was nowhere to be seen. Don furrowed his brow, wondering if he was losing his mind. Before he could come to a conclusion the sound of a bell loudly ringing once again cut through the silent autumn night.
Shivers ran down Don’s spine as he followed the ringing to his own son’s tombstone. He stopped and bent over to see a bell tied to a string hanging on a small mechanism next to the grave. Anger coursed through the old man’s veins at first while he tried to think why someone would deface his son’s grave. Then a disturbing idea struck him hard – he moved in closer to the bell and shone the light upon it. His eyes followed the string down into the earth. Horror swept across his worn face as realized what the other end of the string must be tied to.
Hysteria took hold of the usually rational mind of Don Macabre and he ran to the cemetery’s shed to find an old familiar shovel. He panted heavily when he returned to his son’s grave and dropped the shovel to place his hands on his aching knees and regain his breath. The quiet calm of the night was then broken by the dull sounds of the shovel churning up earth as the bell continued to ring – egging Don on in his ludicrous endeavor.
A loud wooden knock caused the elderly man to stop momentarily. Now drenched with dirt and sweat, he had reached the coffin. He grabbed for the flashlight at his belt and clicked it on. The bell had gone silent but he could now clearly see that his terrifying guess had been correct – the string was threaded through a tiny hole in the coffin. He took only a moment to wonder how this could be possible before he cleared the rest of the soil from the coffin and tossed the shovel out of the deep hole he had dug.
Don wiped some of the filth from his face with his sleeve and took a few deep breaths. Tears uncontrollably swelled in his eyes. He grasped the lid of the coffin and in one determined motion ripped it open. There his son lay in his finest suit with his eyes closed gently.
“What have I done?” Don sobbed. He placed his face in his mud caked hands and began to weep. His heart then leapt into his throat as he heard the now-familiar bell ring and felt a hand on his wrist.
“Dad? What… what’s going on?” A voice croaked weakly. Don immediately threw his arms around his son and felt that he was now warm. He was now alive.
“Dennis…” Don sobbed, “I’m sorry son. It was my fault… I should’ve let you drive. I never should have…” He broke off for a moment before continuing. “It should have been me.” He pulled his son back to get a better look at him.
“Dad, don’t worry about it,” Dennis replied. “Whatever happened, I forgive you.”
“I’m sorry, Dennis. I love you, son.”
“I love you too dad.” There was a brief moment of silence throughout the night before Dennis realized the string tied neatly around his wrist. He pulled it loose and then spoke plainly.
“All right, come on dad, I’m not sure what’s going on here but we should get you home,” he said, utterly confused as to where he was or what had happened, but none-the-wiser about his supposed death.
Beneath the moonlight the two men climbed out of the large hole – one cleanly dressed in a shimmering black suit and the other stripped down to a dirt soaked undershirt. The younger of the men shouldered his elder and carefully walked him to an old Ford parked on the side of the road outside the cemetery.
Don was nearly catatonic after the ordeal and merely continued to sob quietly in disbelief as he handed the keys to his son. Dennis carefully helped his weary father into the passenger seat.
“It’ll be all right dad, you can tell me what happened when we get you home and you get cleaned up,” Dennis said softly after he entered the driver’s side door and took his seat. The engine whirred and the bright headlights sliced through the night. Don looked over at his son as they travelled down those familiar back roads. He didn’t pretend to comprehend what exactly was going on but instead simply smiled and wiped the tears from his eyes once more.
Suddenly, Dennis slammed on the brakes, and the old Ford’s tires screeched as the car slid along the road. Don turned and looked out the windshield. It appeared that time had frozen as he caught the slightest glimpse of a man in a black tattered cloak standing deliberately in the middle of the road.
It was at that moment that Don Macabre understood what had occurred that night and he was ready.
By Benjamin Gentry
Intresting story, it's cool because you could rewrite the ending to any number of different outcomes to explore all kinds of anxieties about love and death.
ReplyDelete