17 February 2009

The Mirror Grave

Samuel Oliveri had trouble sleeping. It always starts this way, and with the haunting dreams. He had found that the only remedy worth pursuing were midnight walks around town. It was quiet and calm, and the heavy air of the night seemed to slow his mind enough to allow an adequate amount of sleep.

The city’s greenway trail, though not really green, cut through the southern corner of the cemetery. It never troubled him before, nor did it this night, until he approached a peculiar headstone that he had not seen before. It was on the edge of the greenway and stood alone, away from the others. As he approached it he read the inscription with great wonder. The granite headstone reflected his name: Samuel W. Oliveri, there were no dates, no in memoriam, no last words.

The grass grew plentiful beneath the moon-cast shadow, thick and leaning over from the weight of the dew. Leaning lightly against the headstone was a spade shovel with a wooden handle, slightly worn, and it begged as it stood there to be used, and he begged from the inside wanting only to know. It would be hours before the sun would lighten the sky, and there was nobody to be seen walking around.

The shovel felt proper in his hands, as if it were his own, the same one he had used to tend to his garden at home. With a thrust downward he stabbed at the soil, then hesitated before pulling back on the handle leveraging up the soil so unfortunate to be chosen first. The hole started small and grew wider and deeper in an awkward manner- as if there was no real intent, just a raucous digging. But deeper and wider the hole became, and the mounds of soil placed on either side of the headstone grew proportionally bigger. The shovel made an awful broken sound when it hit bottom, and was cast up and over the ledge onto a patch of dirty grass after Samuel remove what he could from atop the casket. Kneeling down, he brushed the layer of dirt off to the side as he searched for an opening.

The casket was simple but sturdy, and he was unsure of what he would find. A thousand images flashed through his mind as to what the outcome of the next moments would be. His heart palpitated. His throat clamped down. His breaths became shallow and forced. His eyes widened as his hand found the latch, and when his fingers began to pull- at this point he tried to stop but his hand was in control- he shut his eyes tighter than he did as a child in the dark. Only the top half opened. He slowly, squeamishly, began to open his eyes and turn away in disgust before even he could see. The casket was empty, but contained this oddity: the bottom of the casket was a mirror, and as he looked at it, befuddled and amazed, his face attained a slight smile only the moment after his heart gave out.

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