Jeff Strand - Graverobbers Wanted - No Experience Necessary

It was gone.

I used the word "shit" numerous times.

Then I realized that this wasn't even where I'd left it—I was still a block away. It was pretty clear that my mind was no longer the well-oiled, smooth-running piece of machinery it had been a little over a day ago.

I jogged over to the place where I'd left my car, and was actually surprised to find it there, fully intact. The keys were still in the ignition, and the doors were locked. I suppose I could've called a locksmith, but I didn't want to stand around waiting so I picked up a nice-sized rock and smashed open the passenger-side window, spraying safety glass all over the place. I leaned inside, retrieved my keys, and headed back to Michael's house.

Nobody was out for a late-night stroll and I didn't see anyone with their faces pressed against the neighboring windows, so I figured it was safe enough to hurry into the backyard. Once there, I saw that there was a door that probably led to the garage, and a couple of large windows in the main part of the house.

I reached for thedoorknob, mentally reviewing my plan of action should an alarm go off:

Stand in dumbfounded shock for exactly twoseconds .

Run away very fast.

I tested the doorknob.Locked. I tested it again, in case some higher power had fixed the situation for me, but no luck. I'd left my lock-picking tools in a previous life, so my only choice now was a window.

I peeked through one of the windows, a sliding one which was up about five feet from the ground. Through it, I could see the kitchen. Hopefully they had beer in thefridge, because I wasgonna need a good drink after this. I pressed my hands against the glass and tried to raise it, but the window was, of course, locked.

I hadn't even realized that I was still holding the rock I'd used to break my car window. So, I'd have to test how heavily the neighbors slept.

I raised the rock to the glass and gave it a couple preliminary taps, as if the window might be kind enough to shatter quietly. I listened for a possible meteorite or exploding vehicle that might cover the noise, but nonewere handy.

I took a deep breath, and then hurled the rock through the glass, near the bottom. I was confident that if Michael's corpse had been buried in the backyard at that moment, the crash would have awakened him, but at least no alarm went off. I stood silently for a full minute, watching for lights turning on in the neighboring homes and listening for voices saying "Thelma, go fetch my shotgun!" but it didn't appear that my ruckus had disturbed anyone.

I reached through the hole and unlocked the window, then carefully raised it. I gripped the frame with both hands and pulled myself inside, knocking over a stack of dishes that had been resting on the counter. They fell to the linoleum floor and shattered with a sound that reminded me of policemen firing gunshots at suspected burglars, though I may have just been a tad edgy.

I hopped off the counter and took a moment to admire the kitchen.Neatly decorated, if a bit antiseptic for my tastes. I opened the refrigerator and found nothing to drink but bottled water, so I proceeded into the living room.

Nothing especially interesting in here, either, except for a couple of pieces of art that were so tacky I'm surprised the wall didn't come to life and fling them away. I think one of them was supposed to be a chicken, but it also might have been a portrait of Albert Einstein. A black cat, sleeping on the floor, looked up at me and meowed as if to say "Please remove your unworthy hide from my palace."

I walked down a hallway, which was decorated with framed photographs of Michael, Jennifer, and other people who I presume were relatives. There was a picture of Michael and Jennifer at their wedding, the happy couple shoving cake into each other's faces (an idea Helen had nixed well before our own ceremony).

The first doorway led to a bathroom. Frilly shower curtain, exotic soaps that I'm sure nobody was ever allowed to use, blue water in the toilet...high-class stuff.

The next doorway led to an office, which had been ransacked big-time. There were books and papers all over the floor, as well as a bunch of torn horror movie posters. The corners of some of the posters could be seen still taped to the wall. A desk had been overturned, and a chair ripped apart, with cushion stuffing scattered everywhere. All the drawers of a filing cabinet were open and the contents had been dumped on the floor in front of it. There was some computer equipment that looked like it had been smashed apart with a baseball bat.

I crouched down and began to sift through the papers, hoping to find something like a signed confession or coffin schematics. What I found were lots of papers with cryptic budget figures (I somehow skipped accounting as one of my majors), uninteresting bills, junk mail, warranties for major appliances, and other stuff that seemed to have no relevance to a man being buried alive.

I searched through the office for about ten minutes, and found nothing that seemed even remotely helpful. I wondered if the person who'd made the mess had ended up with the same result. It was going to take hours to go through everything piece-by-piece, and I decided I'd better at least check out the rest of the house before I resigned myself to that task.

When I turned on the light in the bedroom, it was immediately obvious what the search had been all about.

A large picture of Jennifer rested on the bed, the plastic frame cracked. A nail on the wall showed exactly where it had previously been hanging...covering your standard-issue wall safe. The door to the safe was ajar, and rather than being a combination dial it had been opened with a key.

Perhaps a key smelling of Michael Ashcraft's foot odor.

I walked around the bed and swung the safe door open all the way. Empty. That wasn't much of a surprise, since the killer probably hadn't been dumb enough to go through all this work and then forget thebooty.I might have been dumb enough to do something like that, but not the killer.

A closer examination of the inside of the safe revealed a small hole in the back. I wasn't sticking my finger in that thing, so I returned to the office for a pencil.That done, I slowly inserted the pencil into the hole, encountering a bit of resistance right away. There was some sort of spring inside.

The significance of a spring-loaded hole inside a safe then became extremely clear to me, and I thanked whatever deity was handy that the booby trap hadn't been reloaded before I got here.

I returned the door of the safe to its original position, and then began to look around the area. A few seconds later I heard the front door open.

I hadn't even heard a car approach, which didn't mean much if the intruder had parked elsewhere like I had. I quickly moved around the bed on my tiptoes as the intruder shut the door behind him. I could either hide under the bed or in the closet. I picked the closet.

I opened the closet door and threw up my hands to defend myself against the pile of pillows and blankets that came crashing down upon me. The closet was absolutely packed. I had chosen poorly.

Before I could rethink my hiding place, I turned toward the doorway and saw The Apparition. I didn't much like seeing him again, but I liked seeing the gun he was pointing at me even less.

"Hands in the air."

I did as he said.

"Turn around."

I turned around. The Apparition stepped over to me and pressed the barrel of his revolver against the back of my neck.

"Walk to the living room."

I walked at a slow, steady pace,trying not to do anything, such as tumble forward, that might panic him and cause a large hole to be added to my neck. Once we were in the living room, he gave me a violent shove and I collapsed onto the sofa.