by J. B. Hawker
Preston shoved his friend and walked away from him.
“Wait up, Prez!...Say, that’s a new thing in the yard over there, isn’t it? That big pile of dirt in the pretend graveyard? See, across the street at the green house where the yappy dog lives. Yesterday there was only a couple of tombstones on the flat grass and today there’s that pile of dirt and a wooden cross....and something sticking up in the dirt. Can you tell what it is?”
“Not from here. We’d have to go across the street to get a closer look, but we’re gonna be late for school, if we don’t hurry...Hey, you suppose it’s a hand sticking out of a grave, like in that creepy movie we saw? That would be so cool.”
Preston walked toward the street to get a better look.
Tyler grabbed the other boy’s backpack and spun him around.
“Come on, you goof! It was you who said we got to hurry. We can check out the decorations on the way home. Come on, I’ll race you to the corner!”
The two boys trotted away, as fast as they could under their overstuffed backpacks.
In the green house across the street, Stella Rodriguez scolded her Pomeranian, El Toro, but the overwrought dog continued to bark excitedly and scratch at the front door.
“You just went out in the back yard, Torito. You know you can’t go into the front yard while the decorations are up.”
Stella’s family always celebrated Halloween in a big way.
Since coming north from Oaxaca, Mexico, they combined the traditions of Halloween with their own festival of the Dia De Los Muertos.
Stella looked forward to the pan de muerto her mother would bake and she hoped this year she would be the lucky one to bite into the plastic skeleton hidden inside.
“Torito! Go lie down!”
The little dog reluctantly went to his bed.
Uncharacteristically, he continued to growl and whimper as he watched the door.
Stella wondered what had gotten into the little dog as she returned to her work of setting up the family altar to welcome the souls of her departed loved ones.
The plastic flowers were bright and cheerful and she loved looking at the sweet face of her grandmother smiling from the large, framed photograph in the center of the arrangement.
This was such a cheerful time of year, when her friends and family remembered those they loved and reaffirmed the cycle of life and death.
Some of her Anglo friends thought it was a morbid festival, but that just showed how little they understood it.
“Poor Torito. Don’t grumble so. You will get to run and play in the front yard in a couple of weeks, when the celebration is over.”
Letter carrier, Paris Marrs, finished the granola bar and yogurt she brought for lunch and began her afternoon deliveries.
She stepped out of the mail van into the chilly breeze. She didn’t care much for the cold. “Neither rain nor hail, etc.” was a stupid motto, in her opinion. A better one might be, “If the weather’s bad, come pick up your own mail, you lazy slugs.”
However, in that case, she wouldn’t have a job.
In the springtime and early fall she loved her work. She could wear shorts and be out in the fresh air all day, with no boss looking over her shoulder.
However, in the terrible heat of a northern California summer or in the cold and wet of winter, she often thought about the benefits of working in a nice climate-controlled office.
Paris had several letters for the Rodriguez family and was getting them out as she walked through their gate into the Halloween-themed yard.
Paris never understood the Mexicans’ fascination with death.
The whole yard looked like a cemetery and there were skeletons dancing from the eaves of the house.
She noticed one of the fake graves now looked freshly dug and there appeared to be a hand clawing to get out.
“Ugh,” she muttered. That was just a bit too grim for her.
“That hand is really a grisly touch. Makes me a little sick to my stomach.”
She looked away to ease her queasiness.
“Where do people find stuff like that, anyway?” she wondered.
Lieutenant Fuchs studied the autopsy report, his brow furrowed.
This was much worse than he feared.
It seemed they were not just dealing with some ordinary homicidal kook with a twisted sense of humor. The murdered man had been severely battered before he died. Even in the dispassionate medical terms of the report, it was not pretty.
Fuchs looked up and spoke to his sergeant.
“Mike, have we got any results on the ID of the body in the tree? Did forensics come up with anything?”
They found no identification on the dead man.
Fuchs knew, barring a witness coming forward, they would have a hard time tracking down the killer until they knew who his victim had been.
“What about missing persons reports? Anything fit our guy?”
Sergeant Michelson looked through a stack of paperwork and came up with the proper file. He looked inside before replying.
“Nothing on the fingerprints, yet, but there’s a woman over near Shasta Lake who reported her son missing this morning. He might be a fit. A retouched photo of the dead man’s face was faxed to the Shasta County Sheriff’s Office this afternoon, but we haven’t heard back, yet.”
“Give them a call, will you Mike? Have them take the photo around to this woman, if necessary. We want to get this show on the road. I don’t like the feel of this business.”
Just then, the phone on the Sergeant’s desk rang.
He picked it up, listened, put it down and spoke, “Looks like we’ve got another one, Lieutenant.”
“What do you mean?”
“A body was just discovered in a Halloween display. Over on Fir Street, near the middle school.”
“I’d better get over there and see what’s going on. You get on to Shasta County about the ID on the first one. We have to get a handle on this. Fast.”
Oh man, this was just what Fuchs did not need. If they weren’t dealing with actual murders, he might suspect this was some kind of advertising gimmick. The whole Halloween connection was too bizarre. What the hell was going on?
The Rodriguez family members were in a state of shock.
Who was the man buried in their yard, and why had someone put him there, posed in that terrifying way?
It was a nightmare for Stella and her parents. She was so glad her little brother, George, had been visiting at their cousin’s and avoided the nastiness.
When Stella opened the door to bring in the mail earlier that afternoon, El Toro had darted out between her feet. She tried to stop him, but he dashed over to the mound of freshly turned soil and immediately began to dig.
Stella had not been out front earlier, so she had not seen the pile of dirt. Now, she wondered where it had come from as she walked over to get her dog.
Torito was digging frantically at something white sticking out of the mound.
“Leave the trash alone, Torito! Get away from that dirt.”
She stooped to grasp the dog and saw what he was pawing at.
Stella dropped her dog with a gasp and ran into the house.
She could not believe what she had just seen.
She told herself she must be mistaken.
It was probably a Halloween prop like the ones she saw in other yards.
She had only glimpsed it briefly, after all...and she left Torito outside. She would have to go get him and take a closer look at that grotesque object.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped onto the porch.
The dog was still digging around the arm.
Stella now realized the dirt pile was supposed to represent a freshly dug grave. There was a crude cross at one end. Obviously, this portrayed someone buried alive who was desperately clawing for escape.
“Who would want to think about such a thing?” Stella asked herself.
She wal
ked slowly over and picked up her muddy dog.
Standing very still with the dog struggling in her arms, she looked carefully at the limb thrusting up from the earth.
There were hairs and freckles on the arm. The fingernails were broken and dirty, the knuckles looked scraped and bloody.
She had not been mistaken in her first impression.
Her head swam and she experienced waves of cold and heat pass through her body. Stella swayed slightly then, getting a grip on both herself and her dog, she turned and walked very deliberately into the house.
She carefully put the dog down, turned and securely bolted the door. Next, she stepped slowly to the telephone and pressed the nine and two ones.
Her voice as she spoke to the emergency services operator was calm and measured.
“Yes. This is Stella Rodriguez. I live at 1615 Fir Street in Clark's Hallow. Please send the police. There is a dead man buried in my front yard. No...I do not know. Just the arm is sticking up from the ground. Thank you.”
She replaced the phone and sank slowly to the floor.
She awoke to feel El Toro licking her face.
“Get off me, you disgusting creature!” she cried.
Stella rose from the floor feeling as though she could not bear to touch the dog ever again.
Hearing the police siren approaching, she brushed the dirt off her slacks and blouse, and then straightened her hair.
By the time an officer knocked at her door she had pulled herself together.
There had been many questions, but Stella didn’t know the answers to the only important ones: “Who was that in the shallow grave, who put him there, and...why?”
When her parents returned home, she could only tell them what she had told the police.
The authorities now had the front yard taped off for their investigations.
Rather than stay there, amidst all the turmoil, the family had gone to visit relatives in Dunsmuir, leaving the little dog with neighbors.
At the Clarion Review office, Max and Bunny were enjoying a cup of coffee. The papers were out and things were quiet.
“You did a good job yesterday, Bunny. Thanks.”
Max seemed to be genuinely grateful. He was much more laid-back now the paper was out.
Bunny remembered how intense he had always been.
“Well, thank you. I enjoyed it, you know. In addition, I am truly grateful to have a job. We are helping each other. So, what do we do, now?”
Max gave her a quizzical look and Bunny elaborated.
“I mean, what’s the next thing to do for the paper, now we are done for this week? What’s the schedule like?”
“Well, what we usually do is try to catch up on the things we didn’t get to during the crunch of getting the paper out. This week that means taking care of the details of your new job, I think. We haven’t even talked about your salary, yet.”
Max smiled, “but maybe you just want a job to keep yourself occupied and don’t need to worry about money.”
“I’m afraid not, Max. As I told you, my husband died a few months ago. He didn’t leave me very well off. As much as I would love to be a homebody, I have to work to be able to eat. God used you to answer my prayers.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been the answer to anyone’s prayer before,” Max chuckled.
“I’m more accustomed to being the problem someone is praying about.”
“You told the agency this job would pay between eight and ten dollars per hour, Max. To be honest, I’d prefer the ten.”
Bunny was surprised she was able to speak so boldly. She’d always had trouble asking for money.
Max was quiet for a moment and Bunny prepared herself to hear an explanation of why he couldn’t start her out so high.
When he spoke, she was surprised to hear him say, “Sure, I think we can manage that. Ten dollars it is.”
“The hours are the usual eight to five, five days a week, with the occasional overtime when we are late getting the paper out. Does that sound about right?” Max asked.
They went over the other details of her employment and she filled-in a few forms, then Banks went out, leaving Bunny catching up on some filing.
“Sergeant Michelson, have you got that information from Shasta County for me?”
Lieutenant Fuchs needed to hear they were making some progress on this case.
The second discovery raised the stakes considerably. The new find was so much worse than the first.
Several officers at the scene had been ill as they uncovered the remains in the pile of earth.
They did not find a body, though; only the crudely severed arm and shoulder of a man. The limb had been hacked off with a cleaver or an ax, from the looks of it.
It did not seem possible for any man to have survived the injury. Everyone felt sure they were now looking for another body...or what was left of one.
Fuchs was sure the County was going to have to call in some help on this one. They just did not have the necessary manpower to deal with the monster who was responsible.
Just then, the man on Fuchs’s mind was eating a ham and egg sandwich, drinking a beer, and thinking about what he had done. He was disappointed he had not been able to complete his plans the previous night.
“It could have been lots better,” he muttered to himself. “If only all those cars didn’t drive by.”
He’d had to keep ducking out of sight and it unnerved him.
He forgot that street was so busy with traffic from the middle school.
There was always something going on there in the evenings.
He should have waited until much later, but he was too eager to tuck his treasures into the perfect settings for the Halloween contest.
His plan had been to insinuate half a dozen or more body parts into various holiday scenes around the neighborhoods.
When he came so close to being spotted digging the hole, he lost his nerve and abandoned the idea of more dismemberment.
It was a lot harder to chop someone up than he thought. He was lucky, though, to find an easy place to stash the rest of the body.
He wished he could be there when someone found it.
He would have to plan more carefully next time.
Hanging his first victim in that tree had been a whim. He saw the dummy hanging in the tree while he was driving around trying to decide what to do with the body.
It had seemed like a sign, or something.
“If these people wanted a dead man hanging in their garden, why not give them the real thing?” he thought.
He’d had a heck of a time getting it up there, but the results were worth it.
He always felt everyone on Earth was here for a reason. Now, he had found his.
Chapter Nine
You fill my cup until it overflows.– Psalm 23:5
After work later in the week, Bunny was enjoying her walk home.
She strolled along in the twilight, hugging her jacket close against the blustery wind.
These shorter, cooler days were a sure sign of less pleasant weather to come.
In this Northern California mountain valley, hot weather could linger into October, but as Halloween neared, summer began to loosen its grip.
The leafy trees were dropping more and more of their russet-hued garments and displaying an occasional nude limb. Bunny was encouraged by this wanton display. October could not end quickly enough for her.
The recent tragic discoveries had tainted this season for her, as it did for most of the inhabitants of Clark’s Hallow.
The Chamber of Commerce was soldiering on with the decorating contest, however.
Bunny didn’t know if it showed a determination to prevent the killer from ruining things or if the members of the Chamber were trying to pretend nothing was wrong, in the spirit of, “ignore it and it never happened.”
Either way, the whole thing would be behind them in another week.
> She hoped the maniac in their midst would be apprehended by then, or if not, the end of the contest caused him to lose interest in his bizarre crime spree.
Working on the newspaper had given Bunny access to perhaps more information than she would have liked about the crimes. She now knew the man in the tree was murdered and the dismembered arm meant another body must be somewhere.
The police had been very interested in Max’s photo of the hanging man.
Mr. Lewis had cut the man down before anyone arrived, so the police had not seen the body until it was already on the ground. They hoped digitally enhanced blow-ups of the photo might provide some clues to the killer.
Bunny thought that was a slim hope, but realized the authorities must be grasping at any possibility to get the lunatic off the streets.
Imagining the killer had walked this same street and might still be in the area gave Bunny a cold chill and she picked up her pace.
She would be happy to reach the snug safety of her home.
Just as she inserted her key in the door, Bunny was startled to see a man coming around the side of her house.
It was Walter, from church, and he was carrying something in a grocery sack.
“Mrs. Elder, Pastor Jim asked me to bring you these.”
Walter held the bag out to her.
Bunny took the bundle and peered into it.
The bag contained an assortment of miscellaneous, vaguely familiar, items.
“Where in the world did this junk come from?” she blurted out without thinking.
“I am sorry to intrude on you in your hour of bereavement, I’m sure, but Pastor Jim thought you should have the things he found in your dearly departed husband’s desk drawer. He asked me to bring them round, special.”
Walter seemed a bit put out that she did not think more highly of the things he brought.
“Of course, Walter. Thank you so much for bringing them. I’m afraid in the general upheaval, I never thought to clear out Eustace’s study.”
“That’s all right. I’m sure you were blinded by the pain and anguish of your loss.”
That was quite an exaggeration of Bunny’s feelings and she almost corrected Walter, but he seemed to be getting so much enjoyment from his condolences she thought better of it. The poor man probably had few sources of pleasure in his life.
