Sarcophagus

by Ben Hammott

  With fluid dribbling down his chin, his eyes swept up the legs and focused on the man staring at him menacingly. The knife gripped in his hand reinforced the threat emanating from the man’s cruel eyes. Confused and frightened by the man’s presence, Peter at first thought robbery was the intruder’s motive for being in his room. When the blade jabbed at him, Peter realized he was about to die; something he had flippantly wished over the past few hours.

  Baraz felt no sense of panic or concern when the man suddenly moved and started spewing his guts into the bucket, but calmly waited for him to finish. When Peter Kilburn looked up at him and exposed his neck, he stabbed the knife into his flesh. The blade entered his throat, sliced through the windpipe and jarred to a halt against the backbone. As he pulled the blade out, Baraz dodged back to escape the blood spraying from the wound. The man’s death contortions weakened quickly. When they stopped, Baraz waited for the last dribbles of blood to fall before pushing the dead man back onto the bed. He wiped his blade clean on the blanket before replacing it in its sheaf and stared at the corpse he would have to dispose of. The voyage would last a few more days, too long to let the body that would soon start to smell remain in the cabin and alert passengers and crew that something was amiss. He turned his head at the porthole. It would be a tight squeeze, but with a bit of shoving and the breaking of a few bones, it should be possible to force the body through. It would fall into the sea and no one would be any the wiser until he was missed by family or friends. It was another job to be carried out at night.

  Baraz wrapped the body in a blanket and flushed the contents of the bucket down the toilet. He opened the porthole to evict the smell of vomit and climbed onto the top bunk. Though the mattress was thin, it was a luxury he was seldom used to. He closed his eyes for a few minutes rest and wondered what time breakfast would be served.

  Baraz awoke three hours later to moonlight bathing the room. He glanced at the porthole, climbed down from the bunk and set about his grisly task.

  Kilburn’s corpse thudded to the floor when Baraz pulled it from the bed and dragged it the short distance to the porthole. His gaze flicked from the tightly wrapped body and the porthole as he judged the best way to push it through. The shoulders would cause him the most problem, but he was confident they would fit through with a bit of rough persuasion. Deciding feet first would prove the easiest, he grabbed the legs and hoisted them up to the opening. The deadweight proved uncooperative, and he struggled to maneuver the feet through the hole.

  After five minutes battling with the corpse that left him exhausted and the body with its ankles resting on the porthole’s bottom frame, he stepped back panting from the exertion and looked frustratingly at Peter Kilburn’s body. He kicked the corpse in the side in annoyance. He glanced around the room for an easier solution, his eyes fell on the small table he had moved aside to get clear access to the window. He dragged the corpse out of the way, positioned the table below the porthole and manhandled the body on top. It should be easier now the corpse was only a couple of feet below the window.

  His second attempt to dispose of his murdered victim met with better success. The legs now protruded out of the opening midway up to the thighs. Baraz climbed onto the table and gripped the body under the shoulders. He shoved, pushed and kicked at the uncooperative cadaver until the dead man’s hips finally squeezed through the inadequately sized opening. Wheezing heavily, Baraz knelt on the table to rest. He knew from his struggle to get the hips through the opening, the wider shoulders were going to cause him more of a problem than he had thought; the bunched-up blanket around the inside of the frame presented another problem.

  When he had caught his breath, Baraz rested the man’s shoulders on the table and unwrapped the blanket from around the body. Luckily, except for underpants, the man was unclothed, so there was nothing else to snag on the opening. After resting the limp arms over the chest and tucking the hands into the underpants to hold them in position, Baraz again grabbed the corpse by the shoulders and pushed. Grunting as he twisted the body left and right and shoved, it slid jerkily through the porthole. Slowly, the stomach passed through and then the chest until the top of the arms jammed in the opening.

  Baraz pushed and shoved to try and force the unwilling body through. Finally releasing his grip, he sat on the table, wondering why life had to be so hard. He glanced at the corpse protruding from the porthole and cursed the man for causing him so much bother. What he needed was some grease or something to lubricate the body so it would slip through easier. After wracking his none too intelligent brain for a solution, he crept from the room and returned a few minutes later with some butter stolen from the dining room tables set for breakfast.

  After pulling the corpse back into the room a few inches, Baraz smothered the butter over the top half of the man’s torso. When the butter had been depleted, he gripped the corpse’s shoulders and gave them a hard push. Slippery from the greasy butter that covered them and the dead flesh he gripped, Baraz’s hands slipped off the shoulders. His head smashed against the porthole frame. Dazed, he toppled to the floor. Before he hit the floor, his back cracked over one of the chairs he had had shoved aside to make room. He lay there groaning with a throbbing pain in his head and agonizing spasms emanating from his spine. Through pain-glazed eyes he noticed the corpse’s head dangling upside down over the edge of the table looking at him, as if mockingly.

  Baraz remained still for twenty minutes until the pain began to subside. Aware he couldn’t afford any more delay, he rolled onto his knees, winced from the shooting pain in his back, climbed gingerly to his feet and with hands gripping the edge of the table, sucked in a few deep breaths. He would be glad when this night was over. He entered the bathroom with cautious measured steps and washed the butter from his hands. He took the towel he used to dry them and placed it over the mocking corpse’s shoulders. Gritting his teeth against the pain that flooded up his back, he climbed onto the table and again gripped the corpse. After preparing himself for the effort and the fresh wave of pain he knew it would produce, he pushed the corpse.

  At first the body refused to budge, but when Baraz increased his efforts it slowly inched forward. When the butter-greased flesh met the metal frame, it shot though the opening. Taken by surprise from the sudden willingness of the corpse to vacate the cabin, Baraz tipped forward. His arms followed the corpse through the opening. His forehead struck the top of the frame and grazed down its edge before falling through the empty space the body had just been ejected from. Blood spurted when his nose smashed against the bottom of the frame. Aware a scream would disturb passengers either side of his cabin and might bring the crew to investigate the cause, he held back the pained yell that had sprung to his lips.

  Slamming his eyes shut against the fresh waves of agony that stemmed from different parts of his body, Baraz waited until it lessened to a more manageable degree. He opened his eyes a few moments later and groaned. Not from the many sources of pain that invaded his body, but from the sight he glimpsed below. Peter Kilburn’s corpse had not fallen into the sea as he had planned, but rested on top of the promenade roof. Baraz almost sobbed from his misfortune. Just for once in his life he would like something to go right for him. Aware he couldn’t leave the corpse there for the passengers drinking their morning coffee and tea to discover, he pulled his tired arms back through the porthole, raised his battered head and slid his wounded body off the table. With blood bubbling from his smashed nose, one hand fondling the growing lump on his head and the other pressed against his painful spine, Baraz shuffled toward the door with the hope that at least nothing else could go wrong.

  If there was one thing that Baraz excelled in, it was his ability to move stealthily; his life had depended on this skill many times in the past. He had once crept into a drug lord’s den, slipped past the brutal, but complacent guards, who never imagined anyone would be crazy enough to try to steal from their ruthless boss, Jose Kretri, and stolen a large chunk of their week’s earning
s from selling their drugs. So, armed with this talent, moving furtively through the ship and avoiding the single crewman who had stepped onto deck to smoke, caused Baraz no problem. Concealed in the darkness shrouding the area beneath one of the lifeboat stanchions, Baraz waited for the crewman to finish his cigarette and leave.

  Unaware of the corpse a few yards away, crewman Ricky Lawrence took a drag on his cigarette as he gazed down at the white wake produced by the speeding vessel. Highlighted by the half-moon in the star splattered sky, the frothy waves spread out ever farther from the ship. They were making good time in the calm seas experienced so far and might arrive at their destination half a day early. Normally he would be all in favor of cutting short the voyage, but he had taken a shine to one of the passenger’s daughters, Jessie, and was trying to pluck up the courage to approach her. She was slim, pretty and, he thought, about the same age as him—twenty—though in his experience women usually looked and acted a little older, so she might be eighteen or nineteen. He sighed, took a last drag on the cigarette and flipped the glowing butt into the waves. Adamant he would speak to Jessie tomorrow, he turned away from the rail and went to resume his duties.

  Baraz slithered farther into the darkness when the crewman approached and passed him by. Only when the footsteps had faded did he risk emerging from his hiding place. A shifty glance both ways along the deck revealed the area was deserted. He moved along the promenade until he reached the start of the covered section, and hoping the action wouldn’t prove too painful, he climbed up one of the supporting poles and dragged his battered body onto the roof. He remained still for a few moments until the fresh spasms of pain faded, before crawling over to the corpse a few yards away.

  Splintered bones protruded from the man’s legs that were bent at an impossible angle; they had taken the full force of the fall. Keen to get the job done so he could rest, Baraz sat behind the corpse and pushed it with his legs. The body slid along the gentle slope of the roof and rolled over the edge. Baraz cocked an ear to detect the sound of the body’s splash into the ocean that would signal the end of his current problem, but it never came.

  Believing the body had slipped into the water with barely a sound, Baraz moved to the edge to make certain he was rid of the troublesome body and peered down. He sighed at the body draped over the rail. His head shot toward the bow on hearing a door slam shut. Cursing his luck, Baraz swung down from the roof and dropped to the deck. Tears welled in his eyes when his feet contacted with the deck and jolted his spine, sending renewed bursts of agony soaring through his body. Voices of a man and a woman accompanied the footsteps growing steadily nearer. With no time to throw the body overboard without being spotted, Baraz dragged the body back over the rail until its lifeless feet touched the deck and forced the splintered leg bone back in the wound he then shielded with his leg. He placed an arm across the man’s shoulders and made a retching sound loud enough for the approaching couple to hear.

  Mr. and Mrs. Crookshank stared at the two figures by the rail when they came into view. By the sound one of the men made, it was obvious one of them was unwell.

  “That’s it, get it out of your system and you’ll feel better,” said Baraz as the couple drew level. He glanced at them apologetically. “Sorry if my friend has spoilt your evening walk. I’m not sure if sea sickness is responsible or too much wine at dinner.”

  Trying to ignore the fact the sick man was only dressed in his underpants, the man nodded knowingly. “Please, don’t give it a second thought, and I hope your friend recovers soon.” He noticed what seemed to be blood around the man’s nose. “Are you hurt?”

  Baraz inwardly sighed. If only the man knew. He put a hand to his nose and winced when the two met more forcefully then he had intended. “Oh, this, it’s nothing. I was helping my friend out into the fresh air when he accidently elbowed me in the face. It doesn’t hurt,” he lied.

  The man glanced at Baraz’s friend draped unmoving over the rail. “It looks like your friend has fallen asleep. Would you like me to give you a hand carrying him back to his cabin?”

  “No, please don’t trouble yourself. He’s always doing this when he’s had too much to drink. He nods off for a few minutes and then wakes up full of energy.”

  The man looked at Baraz a little strangely. “Well, if you are sure. We’ll be strolling to the end and then returning this way, so if you change your mind you can catch me on the way back.”

  “Thank you, but I’m certain it won’t be necessary. Enjoy the rest of your stroll.”

  The man nodded, gave one last look at the near naked man and arm in arm with his equally bewildered wife, continued their moonlight stroll along the promenade.

  As soon as they were out of sight, Baraz heaved the body over the rail. Satisfied by the splash it made on entering the sea and relieved he was at last rid of his burden, he headed off in the opposite direction taken by the couple and took the long route back to Peter Kilburn’s cabin.

  Baraz entered cabin ten, and aware of the pain he would have to endure climbing onto the top bunk, flopped onto the lower bed. Ignoring the potent odour seeping from the vomit infused pillow, he shut his eyes. Weariness guided him to sleep a few moments later.

  CHAPTER 5

  Death

  It took two days for Baraz to recover from the injuries he had suffered during his disposal of Kilburn’s corpse, before he felt fit enough to tackle the gold theft.

  Poised to begin his act of thievery, Baraz stood in front of the museum crates with a pry bar he had found hanging beside the door. His eyes roamed the various sized crates as he contemplated which one he would open first. Gold was heavy, so it would make sense to put a little treasure in a lot of crates to spread the weight rather than put it all in one. He placed the thin end of the pry bar under the lid of a crate about two feet by eighteen inches by nine inches and forced it open. Nails squealed louder than he would have liked when they were drawn free of the wood. He froze and stared at the door. When no one rushed in to find out the cause of the noise, he raised the lid six inches and slipped a hand inside to check the contents; it would be less noisy and easier to replace the lid if he didn’t take it completely off. His fingers probed the grassy packing until they touched something hard and stroked the rough surface of the object; it was stone. He removed his hand and pressed the lid back into place and moved to the next one. After finding stone statues in the next three he opened, his eyes rested on the large crate in the center of the pile. Maybe he was wrong and the treasure was all in the same crate.

  He climbed onto one of the smaller crates surrounding the large one, pried up one end of the lid a few inches and peered inside. There was something large in the gloomy interior, another box. He felt it with a hand and sighed, more stone. He cursed his luck.

  Where was the gold?

  He stared at the stone box teasing him through the slit and then the size of the large box. It was big enough for a body so maybe it was a coffin? The snatches of conversation he had heard from the museum man included gold and Tutankhamen. The boy pharaoh was found wearing a solid gold mask, and he vaguely remembered gold trinkets and jewelry were found with the body. Perhaps this was what the archeologist meant and the treasure was inside. There was only one way to find out. Baraz grabbed the end of the wooden lid and raised it enough so he could work inside.

  It was a struggle to force the pry bar between the join running around the top of the coffin without making too much noise, but after a few minutes, Baraz succeeded. He pressed down on the long bar without effect. Only when he leaned his body weight on it did it move. Sweating from the exertion, he twisted the metal bar to the side. When the stone lid shifted a few inches, he balked at the musty, rotten stench that streamed out and turned his face away as he gagged. Calming the bile that threatened to rise in his throat with a few deep breaths of fresher air, he looked at the small gap he had made. Startled by a noise, he spun nervously toward the movement. A rat scampered across the floor and disappeared behind som
e sack-filled pallets. The atmosphere in the hold seemed to have changed. It was now expectant, almost foreboding. Baraz glanced around the room for an explanation. He shrugged the feeling away. His nerves were getting the better of him. He would finish checking the contents of the coffin, and if he found nothing, he would give up for the night and try again tomorrow.

  Careful to avoid the protruding nails, Baraz leaned under the raised lid with a hand covering his still sore nose and placed an eye to the gap. He saw only darkness within. When something unseen inside emitted a slow, mournful groan, he jerked his head back, scraping his scalp along the sharp point of a nail. He cursed as his fingers shot to the fresh wound and came away bloody. He stared anxiously at the opening. Though he hadn’t seen what the stone coffin contained, he assumed—hopefully—that the sound must have been caused by the disturbed corpse settling from the inrush of air.

  Eager to get the night’s work over with, he gripped the edge of the lid. Drips of blood ran from his fingers and dripped inside the coffin as he strained to slide it open and increase the gap. The pressure on his back awoke the damage suffered from his previous night’s escapade and caused him to wince, but he persevered. His efforts were rewarded when the stone moved and widened the gap. He again peered inside, but it was still too gloomy to see anything. He remembered the silver cigar lighter he had pilfered from Kilburn’s cabin when he had searched it for valuables, and took it from his pocket. He struck it to flame and poked it inside the coffin.

  Beetle husks half-filled the coffin. His fingers probed the dried carcasses for treasure and hooked on something hard. He pulled it free of the dead insects and almost staggered back in surprise when the light glinted off the golden object. The beetle carcasses crackled when he pulled more of the object free. Baraz shook with excitement as he stared at the amount of gold hanging over the edge of the crate. It seemed to be a net formed of thin rods of gold joined together with small golden links. Baraz smiled greedily. He had just become a rich man.