A. Colucci - Seeders

“Throw it away,” Monica said painfully.

The porcelain face was full of fissures, like veins that had surfaced to its skin. A deep crack ran a crooked line from the left temple to the chin, dividing the face in half.

Luke shivered and tossed the head under a tree stump. He returned his attention to the body, feeling more comfortable in its presence. He drew certain conclusions about the death, based on the amount of decomposition, the collapsed abdomen, and the number of maggots feasting.

“He hasn’t been dead long…”

“Can we just go?”

“Maybe a few weeks, hard to tell.”

“Does it matter?” she asked.

Luke pulled himself away from the corpse, kicking up dirt and leaves. He grabbed Monica’s arm and they walked briskly back toward the path. “Yeah, it matters. The killer could still be on the island.”

AN HOUR LATER, Jules stood over the body while everyone else stayed an ample distance from the smell. He flicked off a penlight and wiped his brow, shooed the flies that were still buzzing about.

“The boy’s right,” he said. “This man was murdered. Either a bullet or sharp object to the head.”

“Bloody hell,” Ginny said and took a long drink from her thermos.

Jules shined the penlight on the man’s face again and locked eyes with Ginny. “Do you recognize him?”

At first she squinted, and then both her eyebrows went up. “Hodges? Is that Paul Hodges?”

“I’m afraid so.” He turned to Isabelle. “Drifter from Halifax who worked on occasion for your father.”

Isabelle stepped closer, seemingly to have a look, but it was actually to block Sean, who was craning his neck for a better view of the body.

Monica whimpered and buried her face in Luke’s neck.

“Take her back to the house,” Isabelle told him. “She shouldn’t be out here.”

“None of us should be out here,” Ginny said. “Better we look for the diamond inside until we know it’s safe to venture out.”

“What about the killer?” Monica demanded, her eyes shifting to the trees. “He might be out there.”

“Nonsense,” Jules said. “Why would a murderer stay here? He’s probably a thousand miles away by now.”

“Well, I can’t stay!” She was becoming hysterical and Luke backed up a step. “I won’t stay on an island with a dead body.”

“It’s all right,” Isabelle said, giving Monica a small, reassuring hug. “You need to calm down.”

“I w-want to go home.”

“Let’s go back to the house. There’s a radio, remember? We can call the police or the Coast Guard and they’ll come right away.”

“At this hour? It’s nearly dark,” Ginny scoffed. “You’ll be lucky if they come by morning.”

“This is a murder. Of course they’ll come.”

“What if they don’t?” Monica said. “That body—”

“Jules, maybe you could put it somewhere.”

“Oh, certainly,” he quipped. “How about the freezer?”

“I just mean… she’s so upset.”

“Well, I can’t move physical evidence.” He sniffed and looked around. “Perhaps I can cover it with a plastic sheet or something, throw some leaves on it. It’s not an ideal burial, but at least that will keep the poor chap from the elements, preserve what little evidence is left.”

“That would be good of you, Jules.”

Sean walked past his mother and squatted by the body.

“Get away from there, Sean,” Isabelle said sternly.

The boy grunted, pointing to the feet.

One foot appeared to be missing. The right leg emerged from the pants as a stump of bone and tattered flesh.

Monica let out a cry.

“His foot is gone,” Ginny observed. “Oh, dear.”

“Could it have decomposed that quickly?” Isabelle asked.

“No,” Jules said, inspecting the bone joint. “It appears the foot was cut off.”

Ginny clicked her tongue. “Poor Hodges.”

“Back to the house, all of you,” Isabelle said.

It was a silent walk home, Monica clutching Luke’s hand so tightly he could feel the sharp muscles and small bones in her fingers. He could hardly believe this was the same girl he’d known for weeks. Obviously she wasn’t as tough as she let on. For once, he had the upper hand.

They assembled in the kitchen around the radio. Jules flipped the on switch and a loud crackle of static filled the room. He lowered the volume and tried channel sixteen, but there was nothing. He scrolled the dial.

“Hullo? Hullo, anyone there?”

Isabelle tried, but she had no better luck than Jules.

“Oh pooh,” Ginny said.

“There must be some kind of interference,” Jules said. “Bad weather at sea perhaps.”

Isabelle gazed at the children one at a time. Sean was sitting on the floor, lightly tapping his head against the wall. Luke was having a go at the radio. Monica was twisting a tissue with nervous fingers. Isabelle said to the group, “I know this trip isn’t what you expected. I’m sure we’ll get the radio to work soon and then if you want to leave early, that’s okay.”

“What if we can’t pick up a signal?” Luke asked, tapping the microphone.

“Then we’ll go back with your father. His boat should be arriving a week from Wednesday.”

“That’s too long,” Monica whined.

“It’s only ten days. Besides, we’ll have a signal shortly. It worked fine for Mr. Bonacelli.”

Monica sniffed. “We’re still stuck here tonight, with that body .”

“All right,” Jules said, wearily. “We’ll cover him up, then.”

Jules found a tarp in the shed and dragged it over the corpse. Hodges stared at him with black eye sockets through the clear plastic sheet.

Jules shoveled heaps of dirt and leaves on the grave until the body was no longer visible. Then he speared the shovel into the ground so it stood up straight, and he sat down on a large fallen tree to rest. He wiped dust from his face, satisfied with a job well done. So well, in fact, that it was difficult to tell a corpse was buried there.

The police would need a marker to find it.

Jules looked around for something bright and conspicuous, but nothing stood out from the earth tones of the forest. Everything in his pockets was too small. He was about to strip down to his white undershirt to make a flag when he noticed something gleaming beneath the log under his feet.

He reached down and picked up a doll head.

Its skin was pink, but made of antique porcelain with quite a lot of cracks, and its parted red lips revealed broken, pointed teeth. The doll winked at him. Jules smiled. Standing over the body, he attached the blond stringy hair to a tree limb. He stepped back and looked at the face, confident it would be visible.

“You’ll do,” he told it.

The sun was setting and rays of bright orange light broke through the trees, casting a copper glow on the doll head and the wet leaves on the grave. The air was getting colder and the woods were quickly darkening. Jules wanted to get back to the house right away. He picked up the shovel and started toward the path.

All was quiet as he walked back to the path, nothing but leaves crunching beneath his feet. Then a sound broke his stride, blowing past him like a thin breeze.

Jules—

He spun around, kicking up dirt, but seeing no one.

There was a burst of childish laughter, as if coming from a speeding car, and he spun again. He stood motionless, listening while the hair on the back of his neck bristled.

Stay—

Pain shot through his temples, and he threw a hand to his head.

“What is this?” he gasped in alarm.

A wave of nausea and dizziness buckled him over. Reaching back, he grasped on to a log and sat down. He felt exhausted and shut his eyes, trying to figure out what was happening to him. Perhaps low blood sugar, he thought, and reached into his pocket for a biscuit he’d taken that morning. He found it and took a bite, let it dissolve in his mouth, and then he ate the whole thing. The headache began to subside and so did the nausea.