Flash Piece. T?ell me what you think.
Sam cursed as he spit a gob of spittle and mud from his mouth. "This ain' right," He said, his teeth gritty with the sand in the muck, "It ain't right, I say."
Alberto paused from his digging to glare back at him, his breath labored from shoveling the mud, "It 'as to be done, an' you know it to be true." The men stood in the dark, illuminated by the occasional spike of lightning. Alberto stood knee-deep in the pit they had dug into the mass grave, Sam above him awaiting his turn at the shovel. "You seen the bodies, you know it ta be the devilry of a vampire."
The word stung the air as sharply as the thunder did for Sam. He'd seen the bodies. He'd known the instant he walked into the house. As a gravedigger he frequently saw the bodies before even the families did. In this case, there were no family members left. The wooden house was creepily silent, even as it was filled with people. The police, they seemed, even in the daylight, reluctant to move very much. As he had made his way to the den, the room reeked of death. He knew the scent well, but what assaulted his senses was no mere accident or natural death. The man lie, his limbs akimbo, his mouth open in a silent scream, his eyes still open. His clothes had been torn and ripped from his body, a particularly bloody gash on his right thigh where the vampire had struck. That was not the end of it, of course. His body was covered in bleeding welts, sores, and bruises from where the vampire had fought with the man. It was his thigh, however, from which it had fed.
A sudden peal of lightning scored the sky brought him back to the present. Albert handed him the shovel wordlessly, breathing hard. Sam dropped down into the mud, and began digging. The rain made the dirt so much heavier, at once easier to slide the metal spade into, and yet, so much more difficult to lift. He flung the mess behind his shoulder as he worked, managing to speak between breaths, "It ain't no work for the like of us, is all I'm sayin. We should have the priest here, if nothing else." Alberto barked with laughter, "That old bastard?" He said, "He'll be warm and asleep in 'is bed by now, an' he gives not a damn for the likes of the peasentry anyway."
Sam turned, growling, shovel in his rough hands, "The Priest is a good man, he's a holy man, and you'll not be calling him a bastard in my presence!" Sam's heart thumped in his chest, his fear and apprehension at the prospect of what they may no tind, and of what they may not find finding an outlet in this outrage, "He's a damn sight more likely than the likes of us to find his salvation when he is called."
Alberto looked down at the man in the pit, and felt a momentary wave of pity. He was not a pious man, a live of digging and living among the dead having taught him more than that. He'd seen innocent women and children buried with nothing more than the most modest of formalities, and the worst men he had ever met buried with overly full funeral processions, complete with paid mourners who would throw themselves over the caskets while the priests and other mourners gave endless praise to virtues the deceased never actually possessed. Sam....Sam had not had quite the experiences. The man had remained removed from the rumors, the word on the street; he knew not the difference between a lender who ruled the lives of his debtors with an iron fist from the blameless and innocent.
Alberto relented, "You're right of course. He'd be here, except I am sure he had more pressing matters.". 'Like the widow Bruni,' Alberto thought, though privetly. Sam was one of the Blameless. A simple man, good, strong, earnest. Stupid, he tried to stop himself from thinking, and failing. He watched Sam move the muddy earth, the mud flinging back into a sodden heap before the tombstone. He had not forgotten the sights he had seen. Beyond Mr. Moretti, lie the stairs. Blood soaked them, halfway up and continuing. The girl, Alba, lie in a half-fetal position, her flesh torn and blackened. She had been a lovely girl, nearing marriage age. There was not much blood left, and her hands still vainly attempted to hold at bay an attacker long gone. The stink of death and disease still hung about her heavilly. Beyond, down the hallway held the children's rooms. Even Alberto shuddered. His long, grey years had brought to his eyes many sights better left unseen. Of all of them, of men struck down most gruseomely by overly competative suitors, of accidents involding millstones, of drownings, draggings by horses, of axe-hewen accidents, none were able to burn from his mind the hildren of the Moretti. /she shook his shoulders, and looked down at Sam, "Dig." He commanded, his tone too carefully controlled.
Sam pulled, his aching muscles lifting the mud and muck away, flinging it from the grave. The wooden thunk of his spade striking the coffin came suddenly, and to much greater effect on the men than the occasional crack of thunder. Sam hesitated a moment before he began the laborious task of scraping away the mud that cascaded down from the sides of the grave, clearing the muck away. Alberto stood, a red clay brick in his hand as he looked down, the Venice skyline behind him. His blood pounded in his ears, his eyes wide, the rain pourning down around him. Sam cleared away the last of the mud, and looked up, looking for approval, looking for confirmation. The older man nodded once, curtly, his black hair slick with the rain. As Sam pried the coffin open with the spade, Alberto readied himself. The coffin opened, and the fetid corpse of the late Mrs. Moretti in her...what was once white...gown, lay. Sam took deep breaths, the smell of death familiar to his nostrils. He eased a bit as he saw her lie there, as still and placid now as he had been when he had lowered her into tis wretched hole more than a week passed. He looked to Alberto, "She looks dead to me."
Alberto looked down into the grave, the rain pattering down on the woman's body. "Open her mouth." He said, his voice loud despite the competition of rain and wind, brick gripped nervously in his hand, "We have to make sure.." As Sam leaned down, Alberto tensed, awaiting any slight movement, anything at all. Sam reluctantly proied the woman's jaws apart. Fresh blood, red even in the dark night flowed freely from her gums and over her teeth. As Sam held, stock still the blood stained the white of her dress, the shock of color sharp against the greys, browns, and blacks of the dank night. "Shove this.." was all Alberto managed to get out before the shriek began, the corpse writhing and lifting from the sanctified ground. Sam shat himself as he scrambled for the muddy ledge on which Alberto stood.
Alberto could do nothing but watch. He was transfixed by terror, a mad fear that gripped his skull and refused any release. He could not move. He could not react. He had thought he had expected the worst, but the worst he had truly expected was a rotting corpse. But now, he was transfixed by the sight of the wailing dead, grabbing at Sam as he struggled to flee. Alberto could do nothing. He wanted o help, he wanted to rescue, he wanted to put down the demon and force it from the earth. All these images of him doing as he should and more flowed around and past him as he saw Sam pulled down into the mud and casket, the howling apparition of swollen flesh and rotting decay grabbing at the man's back. As suddenly as it began, the trans fixation released him, and he stumbled. Throwing himself into the pit, he raised his hands and hurled the brick down towards the vampire's face. It moved it's head, as quickly as a viper, and bite into Sams' neck, blood flowing freely over the vampire's face adding to the weeping gums. Alberto lunged, and lunged again, grabbing for the creature's neck and face, Sam's voice hoarse already from screaming, his blood flowing from him rapidly as he stuggled and twisted. He pinned his head down suddenly, his bleeding neck flowing profusely as his muscles strained, trapping the head of the vampire on his left side.
Alberto lunged, and shoved the brick into the mouth of the vampire, the rough, broken nails of one of its greyed, decaying hands grabbing hsi throat, digging deeply into his neck. He shoved, pushing the hard clay further down, forcing it's mouth open wider, breaking it's jaw and leaving the fangs unable to feed. The vampire howled with no voice, a gurgling scream coming deep from within as Sam's eyes slowly lost their shine. Alberto looked down into them, his own eyes wet with tears and the rain, as he felt his own life drain over his friend, and the vampire.
The tangled mess of bodies, blood and mud were found many days later. Other men were hired to dig the graves, and for once, the priest prayed as hard as he was able over the bodies. The brick was left in Mrs. Moretti's mouth. No on seemed fit to move it, nor even shove the body fully into the grave. Instead she was crushed with rocks, and buried under a huge mound of clay.
Alberto paused from his digging to glare back at him, his breath labored from shoveling the mud, "It 'as to be done, an' you know it to be true." The men stood in the dark, illuminated by the occasional spike of lightning. Alberto stood knee-deep in the pit they had dug into the mass grave, Sam above him awaiting his turn at the shovel. "You seen the bodies, you know it ta be the devilry of a vampire."
The word stung the air as sharply as the thunder did for Sam. He'd seen the bodies. He'd known the instant he walked into the house. As a gravedigger he frequently saw the bodies before even the families did. In this case, there were no family members left. The wooden house was creepily silent, even as it was filled with people. The police, they seemed, even in the daylight, reluctant to move very much. As he had made his way to the den, the room reeked of death. He knew the scent well, but what assaulted his senses was no mere accident or natural death. The man lie, his limbs akimbo, his mouth open in a silent scream, his eyes still open. His clothes had been torn and ripped from his body, a particularly bloody gash on his right thigh where the vampire had struck. That was not the end of it, of course. His body was covered in bleeding welts, sores, and bruises from where the vampire had fought with the man. It was his thigh, however, from which it had fed.
A sudden peal of lightning scored the sky brought him back to the present. Albert handed him the shovel wordlessly, breathing hard. Sam dropped down into the mud, and began digging. The rain made the dirt so much heavier, at once easier to slide the metal spade into, and yet, so much more difficult to lift. He flung the mess behind his shoulder as he worked, managing to speak between breaths, "It ain't no work for the like of us, is all I'm sayin. We should have the priest here, if nothing else." Alberto barked with laughter, "That old bastard?" He said, "He'll be warm and asleep in 'is bed by now, an' he gives not a damn for the likes of the peasentry anyway."
Sam turned, growling, shovel in his rough hands, "The Priest is a good man, he's a holy man, and you'll not be calling him a bastard in my presence!" Sam's heart thumped in his chest, his fear and apprehension at the prospect of what they may no tind, and of what they may not find finding an outlet in this outrage, "He's a damn sight more likely than the likes of us to find his salvation when he is called."
Alberto looked down at the man in the pit, and felt a momentary wave of pity. He was not a pious man, a live of digging and living among the dead having taught him more than that. He'd seen innocent women and children buried with nothing more than the most modest of formalities, and the worst men he had ever met buried with overly full funeral processions, complete with paid mourners who would throw themselves over the caskets while the priests and other mourners gave endless praise to virtues the deceased never actually possessed. Sam....Sam had not had quite the experiences. The man had remained removed from the rumors, the word on the street; he knew not the difference between a lender who ruled the lives of his debtors with an iron fist from the blameless and innocent.
Alberto relented, "You're right of course. He'd be here, except I am sure he had more pressing matters.". 'Like the widow Bruni,' Alberto thought, though privetly. Sam was one of the Blameless. A simple man, good, strong, earnest. Stupid, he tried to stop himself from thinking, and failing. He watched Sam move the muddy earth, the mud flinging back into a sodden heap before the tombstone. He had not forgotten the sights he had seen. Beyond Mr. Moretti, lie the stairs. Blood soaked them, halfway up and continuing. The girl, Alba, lie in a half-fetal position, her flesh torn and blackened. She had been a lovely girl, nearing marriage age. There was not much blood left, and her hands still vainly attempted to hold at bay an attacker long gone. The stink of death and disease still hung about her heavilly. Beyond, down the hallway held the children's rooms. Even Alberto shuddered. His long, grey years had brought to his eyes many sights better left unseen. Of all of them, of men struck down most gruseomely by overly competative suitors, of accidents involding millstones, of drownings, draggings by horses, of axe-hewen accidents, none were able to burn from his mind the hildren of the Moretti. /she shook his shoulders, and looked down at Sam, "Dig." He commanded, his tone too carefully controlled.
Sam pulled, his aching muscles lifting the mud and muck away, flinging it from the grave. The wooden thunk of his spade striking the coffin came suddenly, and to much greater effect on the men than the occasional crack of thunder. Sam hesitated a moment before he began the laborious task of scraping away the mud that cascaded down from the sides of the grave, clearing the muck away. Alberto stood, a red clay brick in his hand as he looked down, the Venice skyline behind him. His blood pounded in his ears, his eyes wide, the rain pourning down around him. Sam cleared away the last of the mud, and looked up, looking for approval, looking for confirmation. The older man nodded once, curtly, his black hair slick with the rain. As Sam pried the coffin open with the spade, Alberto readied himself. The coffin opened, and the fetid corpse of the late Mrs. Moretti in her...what was once white...gown, lay. Sam took deep breaths, the smell of death familiar to his nostrils. He eased a bit as he saw her lie there, as still and placid now as he had been when he had lowered her into tis wretched hole more than a week passed. He looked to Alberto, "She looks dead to me."
Alberto looked down into the grave, the rain pattering down on the woman's body. "Open her mouth." He said, his voice loud despite the competition of rain and wind, brick gripped nervously in his hand, "We have to make sure.." As Sam leaned down, Alberto tensed, awaiting any slight movement, anything at all. Sam reluctantly proied the woman's jaws apart. Fresh blood, red even in the dark night flowed freely from her gums and over her teeth. As Sam held, stock still the blood stained the white of her dress, the shock of color sharp against the greys, browns, and blacks of the dank night. "Shove this.." was all Alberto managed to get out before the shriek began, the corpse writhing and lifting from the sanctified ground. Sam shat himself as he scrambled for the muddy ledge on which Alberto stood.
Alberto could do nothing but watch. He was transfixed by terror, a mad fear that gripped his skull and refused any release. He could not move. He could not react. He had thought he had expected the worst, but the worst he had truly expected was a rotting corpse. But now, he was transfixed by the sight of the wailing dead, grabbing at Sam as he struggled to flee. Alberto could do nothing. He wanted o help, he wanted to rescue, he wanted to put down the demon and force it from the earth. All these images of him doing as he should and more flowed around and past him as he saw Sam pulled down into the mud and casket, the howling apparition of swollen flesh and rotting decay grabbing at the man's back. As suddenly as it began, the trans fixation released him, and he stumbled. Throwing himself into the pit, he raised his hands and hurled the brick down towards the vampire's face. It moved it's head, as quickly as a viper, and bite into Sams' neck, blood flowing freely over the vampire's face adding to the weeping gums. Alberto lunged, and lunged again, grabbing for the creature's neck and face, Sam's voice hoarse already from screaming, his blood flowing from him rapidly as he stuggled and twisted. He pinned his head down suddenly, his bleeding neck flowing profusely as his muscles strained, trapping the head of the vampire on his left side.
Alberto lunged, and shoved the brick into the mouth of the vampire, the rough, broken nails of one of its greyed, decaying hands grabbing hsi throat, digging deeply into his neck. He shoved, pushing the hard clay further down, forcing it's mouth open wider, breaking it's jaw and leaving the fangs unable to feed. The vampire howled with no voice, a gurgling scream coming deep from within as Sam's eyes slowly lost their shine. Alberto looked down into them, his own eyes wet with tears and the rain, as he felt his own life drain over his friend, and the vampire.
The tangled mess of bodies, blood and mud were found many days later. Other men were hired to dig the graves, and for once, the priest prayed as hard as he was able over the bodies. The brick was left in Mrs. Moretti's mouth. No on seemed fit to move it, nor even shove the body fully into the grave. Instead she was crushed with rocks, and buried under a huge mound of clay.