Grave Circumstances by Dean Kuch
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Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong violence.![]()
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~†~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The brass sign attached to the weather-beaten post read, Dr. Orlin F. Beaumont, M.D. “Aye, this is the place,” Lidia whispered into the darkness. Skeletal branches of large oak and cottonwood trees lined the winding drive, undulating in the breezes. Long tendrils of shadow criss-crossed the pathway, deepened by the illumination of a full moon. Suspended by twin rusty chains, the ornate marker creaked and groaned as it swung, spurred on by the occasional blustery gust. She stopped her cart out in front of the isolated home, tied off the horses, then set about the task of wrestling the burlap sack from the cargo hold. After managing it to the stoop, she followed up with a brief rap on the door. A gruff, irritated voice boomed from the other side. “Come inside, then. It's open!” Lidia took a cursory glance back toward the deserted cobblestone lane, then entered. The orange glow of a solitary oil lamp danced and flitted upon whitewashed walls. Smirking, Lidia dragged the bundle in behind her...
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“Oh, 'es dead sir, deader 'n a doornail, I'm quite sure of it. I checked 'im me self. 'E's a fresh one too, layin' there in 'is bed not more 'n a few hours, I'd wager.” The grizzled, gray-headed physician extracted his face momentarily from the journal he was immersed in writing. Lifting his pale gray eyes to meet the intense azure blue of her own, he grunted out a reply. “Madam, if we could conclude this business expediently, I would be most grateful. I've much work to do, and my son is expecting me for supper promptly at eight.” “Well...what would ya be willin' to pay, then?” Realizing she knew virtually nothing about the standard rate of fresh, black-market cadavers, he dropped the quill back into the inkwell with an agitated sigh. “My dear madam, the going rate for...scientific specimens is eight pounds, five shillings. No more, no less. Furthermore, that precedent applies only if the specimen is fresh enough to be...harvested for research.” “Oh. 'es fresh 'nuff, alright, doc. I checked 'im me...” The doctor cut her off. “Yes, right, you checked his body yourself. I understand.” “Wanna 'ave a look at 'im, doc, so's you can see for yourself.? Mr. Pips, 'es the bloke which told me about you. I'd never 'ave been able to find this place wif'out 'im. The both of ya in cahoots, are ya?” The elderly man's prior smugness was put off a bit by the woman's wry grin. “I've been a fancy of Mr. Pips for”—she rolled her piercing blue eyes for dramatic effect, tapping her chin with a grunge-caked fingernail in unison—“say... 'bout a month now. 'E's told me lots of things 'bout you two, 'e has.” Dr. Beaumont went to great lengths to be cautious. No one could be permitted to know of his secret affiliation with the reprehensible, grave robbing Mr. Pips. He thought he'd made that very clear to the man. However, because of his partners amorous endeavors, all his hard work had obviously been compromised. “Even told me 'bout the babe you 'ad 'im dig up and bring to you, nigh on a fortnight past. You recollect that one?” “Miss...” He struggled for her name, one she'd never imparted to him. “My name's not important, gov'nor. W'at is important is for you to 'ave a look see so's I can be on my way. Then you can get on with, well... whatever it is you do 'ere.” Dr. Beaumont rose, straightening his shoulders in a vain attempt at maintaining an air of authority. Odd he should feel so intimidated by a woman he'd just met. However, for reasons unbeknownst to him, her current demeanor made him a bit— uneasy. “Alright, I-I'll examine the body, so we can be done with this...transaction.” The venerable physician extended a shaking hand, then pulled back the burlap covering the face of the cadaver. His gut clenched and his heart seized. It seemed as if every ounce of air rushed from his lungs in a solitary burst. His mind raced feverishly, frantically fighting off the realization presented by the cold, lifeless visage revealed before him. He clutched at his chest, the crushing pangs of death now descending upon him in bone-shattering waves. “That babe you 'ad dug up? She were mine, see. An' you 'ad her pulled up out of the ground, brought back here to be butchered like a holiday goose. Her name was Mona..." The old man crumpled to the floor, gasping futilely for the last morsels of life-giving air. “Oh, gov'nor...let's not be rude.” Lidia violently yanked the rope binding the sack. The burlap unfurled, exposing the dismembered corpse within. Aint 'cha gonna say 'ello to your son?”
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Dean Kuch
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