In the Night

The peaceful cadence of crickets and katydids was disturbed suddenly by the crunching of withered and decaying leaves beneath a slow and heavy gait, followed by the dragging of a burdensome... something. The trailing object digs into the soft forest floor, scattering the fall pattern that had collected in the weeks previous. A twig snaps loud and crisp through the night, sending a startled fox scrambling though the surrounding underbrush, desperate for safety.

Silence... After a couple of steamy breaths pour into the cold air the dragging resumes in a circuitous route, a feeble attempt to conceal the ultimate destination. The thought that even an indirect trail would still lead anyone where he is going has not even entered his mind in the slightest way. He doesn't get paid to think. He just wants it over and done with; to go home and have a beer.

A heavy thump followed by a metallic clanging against dirt and rocks signals the end of the short journey. In the darkness ahead of him a pool of deeper darkness stretches forth. Not even the glow of the waning crescent reaches there, but the filtering among the left over leaves and branches dilute it's silvery light. He sighs. Always doing the dirty work, he thinks bitterly. He rests a few moments, sitting on a mound of earth he had made earlier while digging the deep hole. A few more moments of condensing breaths passes along with the crickets and the katydids. Carrying such a cumbersome load wasn't easy, especially in the shape he was in.

With a heavy, raspy sigh, the man stands, taking the spade in hand. Using his big boots, he pushes the shapeless mass a short distance, scooting it inch by inch to the gaping cavity marring the previously undisturbed ground. Another loud thunk and the burden is safely in it's resting place. Taking a look around, the sounds of his labor making him momentarily paranoid, the man begins the final stage of his task.

Scrape. Thump. Scrape. Thump. Scrape. Thump. A gritty rhythm almost accompanies the crickets and katydids as the man scoops dirt, severed and broken roots, dead needles, and leaves with his shovel and deposits them into the hole. Scrape. Thump. Scrape. Thump. Dry clouds of dust billow and rise up out of the darkness, causing tears to blur his vision and streak down his face, leaving muddy tracks in their wake.

"AAAACHOOO! " The man freezes, the sound echoing through the night, even silencing the crickets and the katydids. Adrenaline explodes through his chest as real fear invades, forcing out all other thought. Silence... The only sound is his racing heart. Silence... Silence... Slowly, the crickets and the katydids, tentative and staccato at first, resume their singing. Still the man listens, blood roaring in his ears like the rapids as his heart rate continues its rushing. A few moments and his breathing eases, aided by the confidence of the crickets and the katydids. The adrenaline disburses somewhat and his heart regulates itself back to near normal.

Although he is calming down, mild tinnitus sounds in his ears and shapes matrix in the blackness around him. When he's sure he's safe and alone, he puts shovel to earth and continues much more carefully and slowly this time. This is going to take longer than anticipated.

***

As the mound of dirt and debris shrinks, his fears begin to completely subside. Feeling that the worst is passed him, the man feels almost silly to think anyone would be out in the middle of these trees at this time of the cold night. Except himself, of course. Emboldened, and anxious for that cold beer, he gets down on his hands and knees and begins to push the dirt into the filling hole with his body and hands. Soil blackens his skin and clothes as he writhes around, twisting and grunting, trying to hurry the job along. Just as he is about to stand and pack the dirt into place he freezes yet again, the hair on his neck erect, sensing.. something.

Behind him, a soft, whispery sound catches his ear. Like clothing caught on the reaching pine needles. His heart sinks to his stomach. Whoever it is, they surely heard him. He wasn't exactly being quiet. Had they seen him? He could barely see his hand in front of his face. He admits to himself silently that he does need glasses though. It didn't matter. Someone was there. He could feel eyes on him, all sprawled out on the ground. He had never been in a more vulnerable position. Just then, he hears a creaking of wood and another twig cracks like a shot through the night. He had never heard a louder sound in his life. It may as well have been a thunderbolt in his situation. Someone was DEFINITELY there!

Another sound. His eyes widen with fear and the adrenaline is back. That's it! I'm done! A sense of urgency grips him. The fight or flight instinct grabs hold and flight wins. He does the dirty work. He doesn't get paid for confrontation. Without heed to whomever was lurking in the shadows behind him, he bolts, forgetting his winding trail he came in on. Raucous, quickening footfalls grow steadily quieter and quieter as he disappears. A barn owl shuffles along her branch, wings fluttering as she settles in for the early hours of the morning, preening her delicate feathers. The timid fox slowly creeps out of his hiding place. Warily looking around, he pauses to sniff the forgotten shovel, palely glinting in the far off pink of the newly rising sun as the crickets and katydids come to the coda of their song.