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Acresville, May 20
11:25 p.m.
Hoss wanted to finish this before the thundershowers arrived. Already black clouds roiled on the horizon, making him anxious.
The road he traveled on wove through an undulant valley. On both sides of him, the sharp pitch of mountainside was covered in a lush mixed forest. There was a river on his right, looping in and out of the trees. Occasionally, he could see the surface sparkle when touched by his headlights.
Hoss wasn’t aware of how fast he traveled or the tightness of his grip on the wheel. His focus was on the world ahead, a reduced visible cone lit up by his headlights. The broken center line on the pavement was a blur, racing backward.
Ahead the road took an abrupt climb. Within a minute the mountains gave way to gentle foothills. Hoss found himself gazing out at a generous panorama of Acresville. From this elevation, the small town was a mere cluster of lights cupped in a bowl of low hills. Encasing them, the continuing mountain range was a black smudge against the backdrop of sky.
At a T-intersection two miles from town, he turned left. A gravel road brought him to the clearing where the Rolling Hills Cemetery was located. As he passed the wrought-iron gate that marked the only public entrance, he felt his chest tighten.
He pulled over to the edge of the road and parked. When he cut the headlights, it became pitch black. The dash clock glowed 11:34.
Hoss looked out through the windshield at the darkness ahead of him, looked into the rearview mirror at the darkness behind him. No sign of lights in either direction.
He reached into his duffel bag and took out a flashlight. Then with the bag and flashlight in hand, he got out, inhaling the night air. He lifted out a shovel from the back of the pickup.
For a moment he stood very still, listening, every sense alert. Close by a chorus of spring peepers sounded. Beyond that, the deep-toned rumble of a freight train cutting through the valley. Hoss could feel the heavy thump of its wheels hitting gaps in the rails.
He flicked on the flashlight with a thumb. Then, moving quickly, he started into a brisk walk. On the road he was a shadowy figure dressed in coveralls and rubber boots, with a beam bobbing in front of him. His pickup now rested broken down and abandoned by the side of the road.
He found the main gate secured by a chain and padlock. Cursing softly, he realized he would have to go over the wall.
The moist breeze chilled the sweat on his face. He lifted the shovel and duffel bag over his head with one hand and picked his way through a tangle of shrubs with the other. Branches tore at his coveralls. Under his feet the ground felt spongy.
When he reached the stone wall, he dropped to a crouch. He looked out to the road, seeing nothing. In the distance loomed a dark shape—his pickup.
Hoss stood up and heaved the shovel and duffel bag over the wall. Seconds later, he heard the muffled impacts as they landed on the other side.
He stuffed the flashlight in his back pocket. Then, grabbing the top of the wall, he dug his foot into a notch and pulled himself up. He swung his other leg over and dropped to the other side, falling onto his hands and knees.
He withdrew the flashlight again, turned it on. In a widening arc, he swept the surroundings with the beam. Eerie shadows moved among the gravestones, shifting from light to darkness again. Around him the cemetery felt vast, peaceful. Hoss stood very still. Only his eyes moved back and forth. Out of the darkness materialized headstones, a marble dove, a statue of a kneeling lady. At the edge of his consciousness, he could hear the spring peepers, fainter now.
Five feet in front of him, he saw the shovel and duffel bag. He wiped his forehead and picked them up. Then he headed off into a sprint up the first low hill. At the flashlight’s outer reaches, he saw the front of the caretaker’s shed. Moving quickly, he followed a path that circled the shed, down the other side of the slope, and around the bottom. Here the night seemed even darker.
In the distance came an angry roll of thunder. Hoss lifted his gaze and saw a flash of lightning ignite the horizon in stark relief. The black clouds were getting closer.
Hoss moved through an area of newer graves, playing the light in every direction. Then he found it, the headstone with the angel holding a large heart.
He put the duffel bag by his feet and removed two sheets of tarp from it. Carefully, he laid out one on either side of the grave. After he retrieved his gloves and slipped his hands into them, he positioned the flashlight on the bag so the conical beam spread across the ground in front of the headstone.
He set to work by digging his fingers under the edges of the sod and pulling up on the corners. Freshly laid, the sod came up without any problems. Hoss set each piece, grass down, on the tarp to the left of the grave. When he finished, he picked up the shovel and began digging.
The loose soil came away with ease. Hoss tossed a shovelful onto the tarp to the right of the grave and then went back at it again, working himself into a rhythm. Within minutes sweat beaded his forehead. Slowly, the mound of dirt beside him began to grow. The hole he dug began to deepen.
By the time he was thigh deep, the beam from the flashlight did little good. It lit up the top walls of the grave but failed to reach the bottom. Hoss moved the light to the edge of the hole in front of the headstone and angled the beam downward.
Wearily, he continued digging.
Thirty minutes passed.
Forty.
Soaked with sweat, Hoss became frustrated. Belly deep in the hole now, and still no sign of the casket. He fished a handkerchief from a pocket and mopped his face and neck.
Dirt trickled from the walls of the grave, spattering on his boots. All around him, he could feel the coldness leaching from the earth, the rich smell filling his nostrils.
He should’ve come across something by now. He wondered if the grave was dug deeper than usual to allow for a second or third interment. It would be just his luck.
He picked up the flashlight and shone the light around his feet. Nothing but broken soil and rocks.
He labored on.
Minutes later, a thump. The tip of the shovel stuck in something. Working it free, he put the shovel aside. Then he got down on all fours and began clearing away the dirt by the handful. Sweat dripped from the end of his nose. After a few moments, he leaned back on his heels and lit up the area before him. Patches of glossy wood showed through the soil. As he brushed away more dirt, he realized the casket was double-lidded, opening at the top and bottom.
Pulse racing, he dug around the edges of the casket until he’d removed the soil just below the top lid. He crawled out of the grave, taking notice of the murky cloud cover now blanketing the sky. A breeze sprang up out of nowhere. Suddenly, an explosion of light flared above the mountain ridge. The sharp crack of thunder that followed seemed to vibrate the ground.
Hoss retrieved a pry bar from the duffel bag then went down into the grave again. He pushed the wedge of the bar under the lid of the casket and gave a powerful downward thrust on the lever end. With two loud snaps, the clips holding the lid tight gave way.
A chill rippled Hoss’s skin as he hoisted the lid and shone his light inside to reveal the body of an elderly man. He was dressed in a conservative taupe suit, white shirt, and a tie striped tan and orange. There was a smear of makeup on his collar. Someone had tucked a leather-bound Bible into his hands.
His stillness made the hairs prickle on the back of Hoss’s neck. To him, the man looked more like a wax sculpture than real.
Hoss stood up and inhaled a shaky breath. When he climbed out of the hole, the electric sky sent off a bolt of lightning, and for a split second, the entire cemetery lit up around him. Then everything went black again. Right above him came a clap of thunder, loud and percussive.
The rain was close, perhaps only minutes away. He needed to finish this soon.
Reaching into the duffel bag, Hoss brought out the hacksaw fitted with a new tungsten carbide blade.
