
"You're very nice sir." A young girls' voice says to the gravedigger.
"Eh?" The digger Ludovik asks absently of his company.
"I said you're quite kind sir."
"Oh, well, you're very generous. Thank you small one, you're very well-manned as well." Ludovik smiles a half smile and continues working at hollowing the earth.
"I should call you my friend if I may." The girls' voice continues on.
Ludovik stops digging and turns around. He is knee deep in a self-dug rut. He wipes his brow with a filthy hand and courteously responds, "Many thanks my dear lady. I am honored to be so considered. You may well know I've few, if any, here that would call me as you do now."
The girl giggles and reminds him, "It is only that they do not know you. You really are far too shy."
"Oh," the gravedigger has already resumed his work, "Oh, is that it? I suppose I do keep to myself, eh?"
"Oh yes sir, very much so. A number of speculations are drawn to a silent stranger. And though you have lived here for a while now, most still think you a strange one."
"Yes, speculation is a terrible thing. It often becomes rumor and there is no need to talk of where rumor leads. However, mine is a solitary job."
"It is one you chose, is it not sir?"
"That it is. I did indeed take this work of burden and brought myself into it, my lady. You see, I am a man with no trade or skill and I admit that I have a lack of learning. But, a strong back is in my favor. Everyone everywhere can use a man with a strong back most times."
The conversation is paused. The crisp summer night is filled with crickets and hungry frogs belting out their respected tunes. The night wind feels good on a sweaty workers' face.
"Do you ever get scared working at night, all by yourself?"
Ludovik stops again and turns around. "Scared? There is nothing to fear out here."
"It is very dark."
"Yes, that it is. My lady, do you fear the dark?"
"Yes sir, dreadfully so. There's something most horrid in the darkness."
Ludovik cannot help but to chuckle softly. "No, no, there is nothing in the dark, nothing to fear. Whatever is hidden away may always be found. That includes what cannot be seen in the dark. Nothing to fear." The gravedigger goes back to work.
"Not 'hiding' in the dark, sir. The darkness itself is frightening. It speaks to me...speaks in a scary way it does. It whispers a voice sounding of sand poured into an empty metal canteen. Very chill inducing as it makes my skin crawl of the goose flesh."
"The voice you speak of sounds quite menacing. What does the dark tell you?"
"It seeks the Pale Man, but I've never seen or heard of such a fellow. It yells at me and tells me no excuses, but it's not my fault I do not know him." The girls' voice carries on as Ludoviks' work slows to a crawl. "It tells me to surrender my soul to Deces."
The gravedigger stabs his shovel in the ground and climbs out of his hole. He walks, as if angry, to the half-sized coffin and drops to his knees to speak with the young girl within. The still and silent girl, with no color or life in her face, has no option but to listen. "You speak of things you know not of. My fair little one, you know of no thing of that wicked god of the Old World, that-that precious god of the dead, you know nothing!"
An orange glow warms the face of the dead girl. The mother of the deceased stands opposite of the startled man on his knees.
"It's been since this afternoon that I've shed tears for my baby, and still, I come to mourn, and still she is not at rest!"
"M-M-Mrs. Cliffton. I-I-I-" Ludovik is no longer the smooth talker he was only seconds ago. He stutters his apology but is cut short while trying to claim no disrespect.
"You come here to our town a stranger, gravedigger, and yet stranger you become! You should know I think you a beast in the ways you disturb my daughters' peace!"
"N-no n-not disturb, c-c-console. She is-is frighten-ened."
"Shut up simpleton! SHUT UP! I have all the time in the world now that my baby is gone, but none for your stuttering idiocy! Now put an ache in your back and bring rest to my child lest my husband should learn of this!"
Ludovik has already continued digging and looks up only once to watch the rightfully scornful woman led away by the light of her lamp. He swallows heavily and cuts at the earth with a mix of shame and anger. That woman knows nothing, he thinks. If she knew, if she had any idea, she would keep her bitchy mouth shut. The little girl speaks again and confirms his fears.
"She will tell father. She is most upset and will tell him out of distraught. There will be trouble for you..."
"Yes, yes, I know, my lady, I know. A woman such as her in a town such as this has long since been trouble for me. Do not worry though. Do not worry about me, trouble or no."
"I am very sorry."
"No need little one. Now, forget all of that. I am finished and so it is time."
Ludovik climbs from the grave once more and pulls the lid half-way over the sweet pine smelling box.
"Please sir...I do so fear the dark."
"Do you fear it even when your eyes are closed?"
"No...Not so much sir, I do not."
"Then keep them closed and go to rest."
"But, I will see no light if I open them. What if I fear the dark even behind closed eyes and must look for light again?"
"Ah, no worries little one. I have made you a very shallow ditch, so if you need to open your eyes, and if you look closely enough, you just may see the sunlight. Perhaps you will even feel it on your face." Ludovik smiles at the unmoving and expressionless girl in the coffin. He stays silent as if giving her time to consider what he has told her.
"I called you my friend, sir, so I will trust you."
"Sleep now little one. You're not of the living. There will be no more waking, only sleep. Sleep well knowing I am honored to have met you."
"Will you keep searching? Will you keep looking for your 'living dead girl'? The one whom you thought I was and had asked me about when your dig began?"
"Yes, until she is found I will always seek her. Now, no more interruptions. You must rest my dear." Ludovik closes the lid slowly, watching her closed eyes as he does so. He sets the petite box into its equally miniature trench. He hears the girl speak in echo from within, reassuring him or herself that she trusts him.
The night is calm and silent now but of the shoveling of dirt into a filling grave.
---------------------------------------------
A horrid sun fans the earth with heated tides the following day, mid-afternoon. A man of native tan skin clothed in a ratty gray duster enters the saloon in a stereotypical fashion; complete with gawking barflies staring down his every step.
“Deantai Kais traveler.” Greets the barkeep as Tenison Slade takes a seat at the stone top bar.
“Same to you old timer, though I think that blessing has run its’ course. I mean, it’s a bit archaic, if you will.”
“It’s old, I’m old, seems to make no difference.”
“So it is, so you are, then no difference it shall be.” Tenison takes the hat off of his head. His black hair is cut very short, but is still matted from sweat and cramped quarters.
“You bringin’ any trouble with you?”
“Straight to the point.” Responds Tenison to the barkeeps’ blunt persona.
“Your iron caught my eye. Bit hard to hide a bulky piece like that.” The grayed and wrinkled man indicates the side bulge of the travelers’ coat.
“I bring no trouble old man, only an end to what would be the such.”
“Sounds like we got us another hired gun Randall! Reckon he must be lookin’ for a bounty so as he can have a place to sleep and a breakfast to wake up to.” A barfly in overworked overalls speaks.
“Actually,” Tenison turns sideways on his stool to uphold conversation with both sides, “I’m an inventor. That is, I create things for a living, a steady one at that. As for this,” The gun is brought out, one with an oversized ammunition carousel and a short, thick barrel. “This is my baby, my Lady Laina.”
“What in the name of high heavens is that supposed to be?”
“I ain’t never seen no shooter like that in all my days. Just what is that supposed to be?”
“Gentlemen, this is the last thing a man sees before the light takes him away. This fancy home product of mine is a nine chambered buckshot handgun.” Tenison, in his element, glorifies the weapon with a spin of the wheel and a stroking of the iron.
“A shotgun . . . revolver?”
“Nine shots of buck? Good graces and all who’d a need so much firepower? Can you not hit the ass end of a barn injun?” The barflies pour it on thick.
“I have to agree traveler. Seems a bit outrageous, a troublesome gun like that.” The barkeep stops wiping down the stone and peers deep into Tenisons’ eyes. “Though I would reckon if you can’t kill some thing with that . . . it ain’t supposed to die.”
“Excellent.” The gun is tucked back into the Indians’ duster but the man is not defeated. “In case the hecklers weren’t enough, I do thank you for the encouragement.”
“You-you c-can’t kill the li-living dead gir-girl. No-no-no matter wha-at.”
“Shut yer yap gravedigger! Drink up until you’re drunk enough to make some sense. Maybe then we’ll give your stupid ass the time of day.” Bites the barkeep.
Tenison shifts himself back to face the barkeep. He glimpses, without much care, the filthy man three stools away. The neglected spoken-word-impaired man shuffles in his seat and curses under his breath. His fists are wrought together in pent-up frustration.
“Y-you’ll shut yer trap when-when she c-c-comes. She’ll fuckin’ kill-kill-kill you all.” Stutters Ludovik.
“Cute.” Says Tenison. “There’s one in every town, isn’t there?”
“Fella came into town seven, eight months ago, ‘askin’,’ if you can believe it, for a gravdiggin’ job. Mostly it’s always been the kin who does the deed, but sheriff don’t give a damn, ‘bit easier that way’ he says. Hell if anyone else gives a damn.” Randall the barkeep finally sets his newest customer up, preparing him it seems, for a long and drawn out tale. “So, anyways-“