OPEN GRAVE

by

THOMAS J. MISURACA

Eric was sitting in an open grave when it began to rain dirt.

"I declare," Eric declared, "This appears to be the very end."

"Hello!" the gravedigger called, "Who's down there?"

"Nobody!" Eric called back.

The gravedigger looked into the open grave to find Eric, a young man who saw no point in continuing his meaningless existence. He had a dull job, few friends, no wife or family, so he decided to send himself to an early grave.

"Don't mind me," Eric said and took a large bite of his tuna fish sandwich, "Just go about your work."

"But I can't go about my work without minding you!"

"I won't get in the way."

"You already are," the gravedigger said, "I can't fill this grave with you in it."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not your grave. And furthermore, you're not dead."

"Details. I've had rather enough of this place, so if you'd please cover me up."

"I just can't do it, mate."

"Then I suggest you find someone who will."

Eric heard the gravedigger drop his shovel and walk away. It gave him time to finish his sandwich. Eric didn't want to be buried alive on an empty stomach.

The grave was alive with various insects. Worms emerged from the walls, surprised to have run out of earth. They fell onto the coffin and squirmed in confusion as if asking: "Who's gone and put space in the middle of this fine ground?"

Spiders spun webs along the handles of the coffin. They were excited about the new housing development. Little did they realize it was doomed to be buried under six feet of soil.

Eric wondered who the poor chap was in the coffin he sat cross legged on. There was no tombstone up yet, so he didn't get a name. He didn't dare open it to look at its tenant, that would be rude.

"Dear boy!" a voice called down to him, "I'm afraid you'll have to come out of there."

It was the cemetery caretaker, an old man who'd done nothing all his life but made sure the cemetery looked okay for its visitors both dead and alive.

"I'm very glad you're here," Eric said, "I wanted to talk to you about the sloppy work of your gravedigger."

"I beg your pardon!" the gravedigger exclaimed.

"Leaving a job before it's done. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Now look here--" the gravedigger began.

"I'll handle this," the caretaker said to the gravedigger, then addressed the hole in the ground, "There is no loitering in this cemetery."

"I'm not loitering," Eric said, "I'm waiting."

"There's no waiting either! Would you kindly set up residence elsewhere."

"No thanks."

"He's impossible!" the gravedigger exclaimed and stormed off. The caretaker reluctantly followed.

The next day, the gravedigger returned and inquired into the open grave, "Is anybody there?"

"No," Eric replied.

Every morning he returned, asked Eric the same question, and received the same response. The gravedigger now made a point of asking every grave if there were anybody inside before filling it.

Every afternoon, the caretaker passed the open grave and glared down at Eric. He returned in the evening and threatened to call the police if Eric didn't leave by the next day. But the caretaker never called, he just assumed Eric would get bored and leave on his own accord.

One day, Eric heard a woman say, "I hope you're comfortable, dear."

"I'm quite comfy, thank you," Eric replied.

He heard the woman gasp, followed by a thud. Then the sound of running footsteps.

"Look here!" the caretaker appeared on the other side of the grave, "You're really going to have to leave, you're disturbing the guests."

"I'm sorry," the woman said in a whisper.

"Not you," the caretaker said and pointed into the grave, "Him!"

"Herman?"

"No," came from inside the grave, "Eric."

The elderly woman peered into the grave where Eric greeted her with a wave. She returned the wave and asked: "Where's my husband?"

"Here," Eric pointed to his seat, "He's been very good company."

"That was his best quality."

"I'm terribly sorry Mrs. Clayborn," the caretaker said, "I'll have him removed immediately."

"Why? Herman could use the company."

"Thank you," Eric said to the widow, "Now if you could just get that lazy gravedigger to fill it in."

"Fill it in?" the widow exclaimed, "Goodness no! You wouldn't be good company then! Now let me go home and get some refreshments. Any requests?"

"A tuna fish sandwich would be nice."

Mrs. Clayborn returned with the sandwich as well as a cup of hot, split pea soup and a tasty cup of apple cider. She carried it on one of Mr. Clayborn's old t.v. trays, which the gravedigger reluctantly lowered it into the grave.

"How lovely," Eric applauded.

Mrs. Clayborn returned three times a day to bring Eric breakfast, lunch and dinner. She would sit at the edge of the grave and converse with him for hours. Sometimes she climbed down and joined him on her husband's coffin.

One day Mrs. Clayborn visited until sunset. Dark storm clouds rolled in and thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Looks like it's going to be a doozie," Mrs. Clayborn said to Eric, "You can't stay out in a storm like this."

"I have nowhere else to go," Eric said, "I've given up all my possessions."

"You're coming home with me, then! I've all of Herman's possessions, you can use those. He knows you so well now, he wouldn't mind."

Mrs. Clayborn reached into the open grave and grasped Eric's arms. He let his body go limp so she could pull him out of the grave.

Eric's feet touched the ground at the same moment the rain did. Mrs. Clayborn took his arm and led him out through the cemetery gates, which the caretaker quickly locked behind them.

And in the pouring rain, the gravedigger rushed to fill Herman Clayborn's grave.

"Open Grave" first published in Nuthouse #24, Halloween Party 1995 and was reprinted in Entre Nous, April 1999.

©1995