Jack had disturbed the dead cold in the ground since age 16. The decaying body he’d found as a young child fascinated him. Playing with it for a week led to an obsession with the dead for the rest of his life.
Sweat made Jack’s thick flannel shirt cling to him despite the cool autumn air as he continued shoveling dirt during the night, his work boots grimed with mud. It shouldn’t take much longer.
The shovel hit against a solid surface, and security was nowhere to be seen. With an agility born of long experience, Jack eased onto the coffin and turned on the lantern, keeping the light low. Using a pry bar, he grunted as the lid finally gave way, releasing the pent-up smell of rotten flesh.
The rings, bracelets, and necklaces were difficult to remove from the cold, spongy flesh. Jack shoved them into a small plastic bag until he could clean them, wiping his hands on his jeans.
Seeing the horizon beginning to lighten with pale shades of pink, he knew there wasn’t much time. Jack threw the pry bar onto the side of the raw grave, turned out the lantern, and closed the lid. Climbing the grave wall proved challenging. Finally pulling himself out of the slippery maw, Jack shoveled the dirt back in, breathing hard. It was time to get home and shower for the day job.
Staying under the speed limit to avoid being pulled over, he drove the old truck home, where he showered and changed. He left the house shortly after.
Jack loved the smell of the leather seats as he eased his BMW into the reserved parking space. He entered the building and took the quiet elevator to the third floor. As the elevator doors opened, the intercom rang with his name. The pleasant aroma of hot coffee floated in the air. Stepping onto the shining linoleum in his black, polished shoes, a nurse hurried to him.
“Dr. Marks, the Kline family’s complaining that you haven’t checked their father,” she lowered her voice. “They’ve got money, you know. You don’t want to upset them.”
“Indeed, I don’t,” he smiled as he walked down the corridor. This profession had attracted Jack because he could work on cadavers during his classes in college. He felt little concern for patient care.
Jack entered the room, greeting the well-dressed family. Mr. Kline’s daughter, Sarah, offered Jack a coffee, but he brushed it aside without speaking. Sarah pretended not to notice his rudeness, silencing her brother with a look.
After checking on his patient, a retired judge, Jack said, “Your father is resting. He isn’t suffering. It won’t be long. I’ll stop in this evening to see him again.”
Jack left the room to continue the rounds with his other patients. At the day’s end, during his evening visit to the Kline patient, Kline lay comatose, his death imminent. Taking a syringe from his lab coat pocket, Jack injected insulin into his IV. Kline would be gone before Jack went home. The insulin freed up many evenings at home for Jack.
The family consoled each other as he walked over to listen to Kline’s heart and leaned down with the stethoscope. Jack glanced and saw Kline’s dark eyes staring straight into his.
Kline’s tone accused him. “Jack,” he whispered.
Jack stood bolt upright, his heart pounding. He was in a coma a moment ago! How did he know my name? Kline’s eyes closed as Jack looked at Kline’s family. They hadn’t noticed the incident. Kline needs to go soon.
“Sarah, Your father is ready to stop fighting and wants to rest. He’ll pass in the next hour or two.”
“Dr. Marks, are you sure he isn’t suffering? Dad always cared for others. I want to make sure he’s cared for.”
“I understand,” said Jack.
“People nicknamed Dad the Guardian when he was a judge because Dad protected others in any way he could. It wouldn’t surprise me if he returned from the dead if he could dispense justice,” said Sarah.
Jack suppressed his impatience, listening to the woman’s grief and concern.
“Mr. Kline is comfortable. It’s like he’s asleep,” said Jack as he backed out of the room, leaving to the sound of her weeping.
The time came to pronounce him dead an hour later. “I’m sorry for your loss. He went peacefully. You may stay and say goodbye,” said Jack.
The smell of flowers was cloying. He avoided eye contact with Sarah and left the room before she could respond. Jack left the unit and discarded his lab coat for his tailored suit jacket. Exiting the hospital, he slid into his BMW to head home.
Jack looked forward to his shower and turned on the hot spray.
“Jack.”
Jack whirled around at his name. He saw nothing. I must be imagining things.
After his lengthy shower, he stepped up to the sink. Shock reverberated through Jack’s body when he saw a bloated, gray corpse glaring back at him through the steam.
“You,” it said.
Jack’s razor clattered into the white sink, and he ran into the bedroom shivering with cold and terror. Putting his thick robe on his wet body, he backed away from the bathroom, feeling a cold draft chilling his damp lower legs. That horrible thing is Kline.
With his eyes fixated on the bathroom door, he dressed and hurried downstairs to the den, afraid he would see more.
The large recliner in the corner proved the best vantage point for watching and listening for more sounds. Remaining seated for hours, Jack snapped his eyes open. The late time had caused him to fall asleep. Creaking traveled across the upstairs toward the steps. Jack waited. Hearing nothing more, exhaustion claimed him.
In the morning, Jack woke to see rotting bare feet standing on the dim landing. Terrified, he stood, falling over the ottoman once he saw Kline’s feet move down another step, chunks of flesh falling.
Grabbing his phone and wallet, he left, slamming the door. He sped in his BMW, driving toward the hospital. Kline’s grotesque being stood on the sidewalk on the next block, staring at his speeding car. I’ve had enough of Kline. He cut a sharp turn in a parking lot, spinning gravel as he sped toward Kline. Kline, nowhere to be seen, caused him to cut his steering wheel to avoid running onto the sidewalk. Jack saw a frightened 8-year-old where Kline had stood. He slammed on the brakes, and the squealing tires drew the attention of bystanders.
With a tight grip on his steering wheel, he was thankful he’d missed the boy. He didn’t need the police after him for killing a child. Are those people taking pics of my license plate? He stepped on the gas and pulled out, leaving the block. Jack drove to the hospital, shaking.
If the staff noticed Jack’s pallor, they said nothing. The hospital offered a respite from the sight of Kline, to Jack’s relief. He calmed himself and fell into his normal rudeness to the office assistants. Mrs. Lars seemed to draw most of his ire.
Jack saw a newspaper with Mr. Kline’s obituary at the busy nurses’ station as he squeezed in to write notes. The information in the paper informed him where Kline’s family would place him for burial. Jack was unable to stop thinking about confronting Kline at his gravesite. Does the dead judge know about me killing patients? Is that why I’m seeing him? According to Sarah, Kline’s nickname had been the Guardian.
Hot liquid spilling down his legs brought him out of his reverie when kind Mrs. Lars spilled coffee on him. Jack spewed profanities. The room fell silent.
“Watch what you’re doing!” said Jack.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll pay to clean the stain,” Ruth Lars said, wiping tears.
The office staff looked at Ruth with sympathy. One woman covered her mouth to keep from laughing. Ruth caught the moment and began snickering through her tears. Jack threw down his paperwork and stormed off. He quit for the day.
That evening, Jack forced himself to go home. Once again, the blue velvet recliner in the corner seemed the best vantage point. His house was quiet until dark fell. Jack couldn’t bear the creaking noises upstairs. He fled to a hotel.
After reassuring himself that Kline wasn’t in the empty closet or behind the white shower curtain, he ordered a bottle of whiskey and allowed himself to get drunk. At least it stopped the shakes. Jack called off work the next day, wallowing among the sheets and remaining inebriated until they buried Kline. Then he knew he would have to face him. His hands grew icy. What if I can’t stop Kline?
Jack knew if he didn’t win against Kline, the dead man would never leave him alone. Hungover with a throbbing headache and waiting until dark, he drove to his garage without entering his home. Jack gathered his shovel and lantern. He took two pry bars with him in the truck to be safe. He would dig a grave dressed in a suit.
Once he arrived at the damp cemetery, finding Kline’s fresh plot wasn’t difficult. The whiskey would have been a comfort for what was to come. Jack put down his tools and lantern and started digging. The minutes seemed to turn to eons. He reached the casket and paused with knots in his stomach. Prying it up, the open lid revealed white satin stained by Kline’s rotting corpse.
Jack half-expected Kline to be gone. Remembering the bare feet on the stairs, it horrified him to see Kline’s body was barefoot. Lifting his foot over Kline’s head, he wanted to obliterate him, put an end to his terror. As Jack brought his foot crashing down, tearing at the flesh on Kline’s putrid face, his eyes opened. Kline grabbed Jack’s legs with a tight grip, pulling him downward into the stench of death. Pry bars were of no use now.
Jack fell into the casket next to Kline. Breathing became difficult while fighting against Kline’s large body. Kline’s body juices began leaking into his eyes, burning. Struggling and kicking with his feet, he knocked the lid shut on them. Unable to kick the casket open, Jack fought Kline in the darkness. No one heard the weakening muffled thumps and shouts accompanying Jack’s last gasps for air.
When authorities found Jack Marks’ body in the casket with Mr. Kline, there were unanswered questions. They gained some answers when they discovered Jack’s cache of jewelry in his home.
No explanation offered itself for what appeared to have been a struggle in the casket.
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