A man moves into a graveyard. It is very nice– very quiet. He sets up a tent under a tree. He has a small collection of canned goods, which he cooks in a skillet over a portable burner. He plays the harmonica sometimes, and has a phone book he reads when he’s bored.
Isn’t it creepy out there? people say.
Creepy? says the man. No, not at all. In fact it’s really quite pleasant.
But then one night the man awakens to find cold, dead hands trying to drag him underground.
Aah! shrieks the man. He bashes the hands with the skillet. Let go! Let go! Let go!
The hands release him and retreat into the earth, but the man can’t get back to sleep that night.
I wonder what they want from me? the man thinks. I wonder what’s down there in the ground?
You have to move, everyone says. That’s ridiculous.
No, says the man. It’s okay. I figured it out. I just buy some steel sheets and lay them on the ground. Then I sleep on those. The hands won’t be able to get through the steel, and I’ll be safe!
And he does it, and sleeps soundly for the next three nights or four.
But on the fifth night the man is awakened again. A group of six cadavers have lifted him up from his bed on the steel sheet, and are carrying him toward a gaping hole in the ground nearby.
No! says the man. No! I don’t want to go!
The man kicks and fights. The idea of going down into the ground sickens him. He fights like a wild animal. And– perhaps because the corpses are dead, and poorly coordinated– he escapes.
He runs from the graveyard in terror.
Are you done now? say the people. Ready to live someplace normal.
But the man looks down at his feet.
It’s so nice in the graveyard, he says. It’s relaxing. Really, it is!
The people all throw up their hands.
The man goes back, but takes to sleeping during the day.
They don’t come out then, he says.
And all night long– every night– he sits there, with his skillet clutched in one hand. Playing the harmonica and reading the phone book, and fighting the cadavers when they come.
It’s not a bad existence, he says to himself. I mean, it’s sad not seeing the sun. The graveyard is so pretty in the daytime. But it’s also nice at night– and quieter.
Well, he amends, except when they come, and I have to fight for my life.
The weeks and months and years go by, and the man has it down to a science. He’s no longer even really scared of the cadavers. In fact, he’s just bored by the whole thing.
I don’t even know what’s down there, he starts to wonder. All this effort to stay out, and I have no idea. Plus I’m tired of this same rectangular graveyard. I need a change of scenery. Something.
A few times the man has decided to leave the graveyard and go out somewhere for a walk, but for some reason now the gates are always locked.
They were never locked before, the man thinks.
So finally, one final night, when the cadavers come, the man stands up and goes peacefully with them. And the dead men lead him down, into the dark, dark earth, into a grotto lit by phosphorescent lichen.
The man looks around and sees he is surrounded– by hundreds, thousands of cadavers. All of them lying out on their backs on their blankets, underneath the rocky, “starry” sky.
Somewhere in the distance, a harmonica is playing a quiet, plaintive song. And all around, the cadavers are turning the pages of their phone books, and reading on and on.
So this is what you do down here? the man finally says. Just lie around and read?
But nobody answers; no one says a word.
I’ll go get my book too, the man says.
The man lives underground with the dead men for some time. He can’t believe how much reading he gets done. But finally, one day, he reaches the end of his book.
Well, he says, I guess I’ll make some calls.
The man climbs slowly back to the surface, brushes himself off and heads for the gate. The combination on the lock stops him for a while, but trial and error eventually take the day.
He stumbles into town and finds a phone booth. He starts right in with the A’s.
Party at my place! he says to everyone. Come one, come all! he says.
Nobody wants to come, but he just keeps dialing.
Bring a friend! he says. Bring everyone!
But not a single person in the world is interested.
No one, not even Mr. Zzz.
Still, the man is not disheartened.
They’ll change their minds, he thinks.
So he buys a nice bean dip and heads back home, picks up his harmonica, and waits.
©2009 Ben Loory
Ben Loory lives in Los Angeles. He is a screenwriter and a member of the WGAw, and a graduate of Harvard and the American Film Institute. His book Stories for Nighttime and Some for the Day is currently seeking a home. He can be found at www.facebook.com/benamuckee
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September 25th, 2009 at 7:14 am
I liked that. Great tale! It makes me laugh about the phone book, harmonica and bean dip. Cool!
September 25th, 2009 at 8:51 am
Off-beat and brilliant. Great flash.
September 25th, 2009 at 7:31 pm
Whimsical and poetic. Feel like the liner notes to a morbid blues song, and I mean that in the best way possible. Good stuff!
September 26th, 2009 at 7:24 am
A quirky chiller that I liked very much.