Ebenezer sucked on his clay pipe, watching the cortege slowly pass through the churchyard to the newly dug grave at the far end, remote from the others, concealed by bushes. Snow was falling, and he pulled his long, torn coat tightly round him, glad he had boots on his feet, even though the leather was old and cracked in places. He coughed, thinking about the man inside the ornate coffin.
‘Funny old bastard,’ mumbled Ebenezer, knowing Clive de Seer had been a recluse though extremely rich, living in a large house with two servants. A man who could both terrify, and earn the gratitude of the locals in the town.
Ebenezer was aware of the stories of witchcraft surrounding Clive, especially as he remained handsome until death in his sixty second year, with a face having the smooth features of someone thirty years younger. But he had been generous to the local church, including donating several stained glass windows. It didn’t stop the church elders decreeing he was buried well away from the other graves.
The vicar began the funeral service, watched by Clive’s servants among the few mourners. The snow was now falling thickly, and Ebenezer, feeling his age, shivered as he left the cemetery to walk to his hovel in the centre of town.
He smiled as he thought about his return that night and the rewards Clive would yield when dug up. The local hospital would give good money for such a fine specimen for dissection, and no questions. With Christmas only a couple of weeks away, the extra money would be welcome.
Ebenezer cursed and his arms ached as he dug deeper into the ground, with the soil piling high. The night was deathly dark with no moon to illuminate the violation of Clive’s grave. A lone owl hooted its presence as it hunted among the tombstones.
Thud! His spade hit the coffin. Soil was quickly removed until the whole casket was exposed, and the spade used to prise open the lid. Ebenezer leaned on his shovel and his chest hurt as he gasped for air, with sweat pouring down his face despite the cold and falling snow.
He looked at the finely clad figure of Clive, eyes closed, and arms by his side. He looked so peaceful as though merely having a sleep, soon to be awake and active.
Ebenezer wheezed as he struggled to lift the corpse out of the coffin, then the grave. He kneeled by the graveside until his heartbeat returned to normal, and dragged Clive along the ground to a handcart nearby. Sacking covered the corpse once it had been heaved into the cart, and the old man wiped a hand across his sweating face, and coughed painfully, before returning to the grave and replacing the lid. He gradually shovelled soil until the grave was filled, then hobbled back to the handcart and grasped the two handles. ‘I’ll take you home, Sir, bed you down for the night, and have an ale or two at the Golden Fleece. Should get a goodly number of guineas for a fine specimen like you.’
The creaking cart elicited no interest from the few people out in the ill lit streets, and carriages hissed through the snow, pulled by horses whose breath steamed in the cold
Christmas/ 2
air. Ebenezer reached his home in the slums part of town, with poorly cobbled paths and no street lighting. Lifting Clive over a shoulder, he opened the door, and deposited the still form on the floor. ‘Now you make yourself comfortable, Sir, and I’ll not be long.’
The grave robber chuckled as he weaved through the thick snow from his favourite hostelry hours later, happy, drunk, and thinking about the rewards from the night’s work. The fine clothes should bring a tidy sum once stripped from its owner before he was taken to the hospital’s dissecting room.
‘I’m home, Sir,’ he slurred, lighting a candle in its holder by the door. He tried to focus on the floor where Clive lay, and sobered quickly as he realised the corpse was gone. ‘Who’s stolen my body?’ he shouted, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose as he recognised the figure sitting in his armchair by the fireplace.
‘You’re dead, you’re bleedin’ dead,’ whispered Ebenezer, eyes popping, stomach belching, and jelly-like legs trembling.
‘Ebenezer, Ebenezer,’ said Clive, slowly rising from the chair and walking to the door. ‘Did you really think you would be allowed to take me for dissection? Have you not heard of my powers over the years? Did you think the stories were just so much tittle tattle?’
He turned his head, and Ebenezer dropped to his knees as he stared into the blazing red eyes of Clive, who smiled, and turned the door handle.
‘It is nearly Christmas, Ebenezer, and I have a surprise for you. There are those who wish to bring you tidings, but, alas, not of joy. Greet the spirits of those whom you have desecrated.’
Clive opened the door, and the bodies of corpses, dug up over the years for dissection, poured in. Ebenezer screamed once before he was torn to shreds.
GD Star Rating
loading...
GD Star Rating
loading...
TINSEL TALES RESULTS – CHRISTMAS BOX 1970 HITS THE SPOT!
Count Down
Christmas Surprise
Writing
How To ebooks for niche markets is one of the most
profitable forms of writing there is.
Recent Comments
May 19, 2012 (12:36) In The Beginning Thanks for the critique Patricia. However, there seems to be some confusion here: according t...
May 19, 2012 (12:21) Tides Um, good luck with the treatment :-)
May 18, 2012 (8:34) ONE WRONG TURN Yeah! Like it.
May 18, 2012 (8:31) Sea Wives Thanks! (It's crystal clear to me, since same brain wrote and read.) Any advice? For my next effo...
May 18, 2012 (2:51) Sea Wives I find this rather difficult to follow.