His shovel hit the wooden coffin with a thud. He stopped to listen for intruders roaming the local graveyard. Sometimes youngsters would have the brilliant idea to hang out and drink, leaving their waste behind, which he would have to clean up the next day. For he was a gravedigger, and his job included managing the presentation of the graves. Wilfred’s current undertaking was, however, not part of his job description and he couldn’t be caught in the act. He heard nothing but the night crickets singing their forlorn songs. No soul in sight. At least none he knew of.
Another minute of complete silence. The smell of wonderful humid soil filled his nostrils and took him back to the old days. He closed his eyes to carve this moment into his brain in all its glory, as he always did. Each time was as imprinted on his mind, but some of the memories were starting to slip. He had been working at the graveyard for almost four decades after all.
One last gaze at the stars before getting back to business. After this, he would only need one final piece to finish his life’s work.
Find the rest of the story here: Coffin Bell Journal, Issue 6.4, Malicious EditionsGenre: Crime fiction, Dark Crime, Horror
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