Fourteen Years

Rain drops fell heavily through humid air, splattering upon the muddy grass with reckless abandon, as if they didn't know what had transpired here. Remnants of the past few hours were many; shame left a palpable trail, as did glory and an uncontrollable need to possess. But those were only the metaphysical fragments.

His hat was already soaked and no longer provided any protection from the downpour. At the same time, it didn't matter. He had long ceased to notice the wet falling around him. All he could focus on now was what had just happened. The thrill, the adrenaline, had left a residue in his veins.

That was what he was afraid of most; the utter pleasure he had gotten from the act.

Back home, in the small room that his mother still let him use even though he was well past eighteen, he sat on the bed and thought. He couldn't get the smell out of his mind, the feeling, the sound, the sight. His senses were inundated with what he had done, and he whimpered simply in remembrance.

Mother would be so angry, because she would know. Once she saw his boots by the door, muddy and leaking onto the already filthy linoleum, she would know. She always did.

He moved to sit at the desk, on the hard metal folding chair he had found in the trash at his last job. His last job. That had been five years ago, at least. The desk, as well as the room, was littered with debris in the manner of empty pop cans, broken pencils, magazines with pictures torn out, unopened packs of gum and cigarettes. He neither smoked nor chewed gum, but he always bought a pack or two when he went to the store. He also had notebooks, dozens of them, filled with aborted scraps of gibberish. No one could read his writing; perhaps it would have helped had he been literate

It was late, terribly late. He should go to sleep. He went through the motions, taking off his clothes and lying down and covering himself, but sleep was not to be found. The memory still bounced, unobstructed, in his head. The shovel scraping against gravel in the dirt as he worked tirelessly, scooping and scooping. His strength never faltered, and he couldn't understand why. Maybe the demon had taken control? He had been all twisted up inside, part of him knowing he shouldn't do this and another part relishing that fact. It was so dirty.

The earth was soft, though the hole kept filling with water and he kept having to remove that as well. The main reason it was so easy to dig was because it had been dug up already, not more than two days ago. He had watched them throw the dirt in the hole. Watched from afar, across the street, under the pretense of reading a newspaper so they wouldn't notice him.

When the shovel hit something hard, he jumped. He hadn't noticed how long he had been digging, but the earthen walls rose around him. He was knee deep in water, but he no longer cared. He reached down, felt with his fingers, and actually giggled. He was so close!

His fingers groped blindly, like a shrew, in the mud for a handle, and he found one. It took all of his strength and then some to pry the large coffin out of the hole, knocking mud away from the walls he had dug to finally get it up. Once he had it above ground, he tried to open the lid. It was sealed.

No matter.

Using the pointed tip of the shovel, he carefully, carefully, busted a hole in the top, at the posterior end of the box. It was a large hole, and it made it wider by ripping the wood with his hands. Ordinarily, this would have proved impossible. But tonight, somehow, he possessed supernatural strength.

Finally he got the lid off, and the rain trickled down over what was inside.

He smiled. Finally, after so long, he would have what he had coveted for years. Leaning over, he kissed those soft lips. Cold, yes, like he had always imagined them. He stroked that perfect nose, those beautiful cheeks, and was surprised to find stubble. Had they not properly shaved him before burying him? How rude!

He crawled into the coffin with his new found love, holding and caressing and whispering. Finally, after so long, they were together! How he had waited for this moment for years and years, carefully planning until he had it all figured out, how they would meet. All it took was a keen, watchful eye and a good memory. It was a wonderful plan, he figured. No one would ever know!

And so they hadn't; they had never suspected the hit-and-run was intentional. So unfortunate, they said, that the guard rail was missing and the car rolled down into the river. Knocked out from slamming his head into the windshield, he had drowned in the icy water. Such a pity he hadn't worn a seat belt.

And now, finally, he was his.

Gently, he lifted him over one shoulder in a firemen's hold and carried him over the gravel. He mustn’t leave any tracks! Put him in the back of the car, and then drove home. In the shed was where he stored him, but first he satisfied pent-up desires that had been boiling for easily over a decade.

Not a single soul heard or witnessed his ecstasy.

Then he had come to the house, and crawled into bed. God, how good it felt! Finally, after so much time spent watching, wanting, waiting. Now it had all paid off.

When he finally fell asleep that night, it was peaceful and consuming. It was also the best he had ever had.
He woke staring into the barrel of a pistol. His mother was screaming. Was this the kind of son she had raised? A grave robber? A rapist? A homosexual?! Before he could even begin to stutter some form of explanation or apology, the gun discharged directly into his face.

She smirked, and threw the gun on her dead son's stomach.

"I've been wanting to do that since you were born, you son of a bitch." Then she walked out, out of the room and out of the house.

She never came back, and no one came looking for either of them. His body, and the one out in the shed, was discovered two months later when the rent still hadn't been paid yet and the landlord was going to just pitch all of their shit. The minute he entered the house, he noticed the odor, suppurating and foul. Like a fool, he followed it into the small room that was meant for an office and had been turned into a bedroom.

He would have nightmares for the rest of his life, and he hadn't even visited the shed yet.

Faraway, the mother laughed.