A short look into a unseen world.
The Last Man Smiling
The shovel plunged into the earth again, and Paul tossed another pile of dirt over his shoulder and out of the nearly grave size hole he had now dug. He paused to wipe a thick film of sweat from his forehead. He was exhausted. “Hey, watch where you throw that stuff!” His friend Jeff shouted to him from above. Jeff has refused to dig 30 minutes ago and leaned on his shovel with a nervous defeat. Paul had refused to give up. It would be insane to quit after coming this far. Jeff thought quitting now was the sane thing. “I know it’s here; He said it would be. You were there, you heard him.” Paul said. Jeff shot back “Are you really going to take his word! The guy was a loon. You’d have to be to do what he did.” Paul was about to tell him to quit bringing that up, but the words withered in his throat when the shovel hit something hard. They had finally found it....................................................
"Jeff," shouted Paul, his voice ringing with excitement, "get down here and give me a hand with this, I found it, and it's exactly where old Larry said it would be”. Jeff, now suddenly eager, scurried down into the pit that Paul had just dug, nearly landing on the shovel that was protruding from the hole. "What does it look like Jeff said”, is it like the old loon described? Paul didn't answer as he took his hands and ran them lightly across the rust encrusted box. "What did you say"? Paul whispered, speaking in a hushed tone as if to reverence the moment. "I said let me see it." Paul didn't budge, his mind had fixated and all that was before had vanished. At a feverish pace now, he continued to brush away the loose soil from around the box until he could remove it. Lifting the box now with little effort, he with the care of a surgeon, precisely and gently, pried at its opening. Both fear and excitement filled his senses, while he shifted his knife against the thin and
weather worn hinges. In the wood at the edge of the field, the creatures of the night began their nocturnal hunt. Cold sweat now formed on his upper lip as he continued to pry open the lid. "Jeff, give me a hand with this, will you? Jeff? Where are you? There was no answer where could he be, wondered Paul; He was here just a moment ago. He must have thought about what Old Larry said about the box and chickened out. What was there to be afraid of? It was just a piece of rusty metal; it didn't have any evil powers like loony Larry said. Suddenly from the edge of the wood, an agonizing scream pierced the silence of the night; a scream that sent shivers racing down Paul's spine, as he stood there unable to move, frozen with terror, Larry’s
Words ravaged through his mind. "Whoever possesses the Sacrament of Dis, possesses untold power, but beware and do not open the Sacraments urn, for if one does so, evil in it's purest form will be released, and woe unto man if this were to happen". Stop it, thought Paul that's just old Loony Larry messing with your head. You would have to be crazy to believe all that hocus pocus he was talking about. There was a slight snap and Paul felt the lid to the box that he held in his hand give way, bringing Paul back to the task at hand. Reaching into his hip pocket and producing a flashlight, Paul examined the contents of the box. What Paul had seen would best be left unsaid, for when they found him the next morning it was plain to see, that whatever he saw was enough to frighten him to death. They never found Jeff, just his shredded shirt at the edge of the woods. Twenty miles away at the asylum, Larry smiled.
By J. Allen Wilson
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