Restless

The knot in my stomach tightens under the moonless night; anxiety, birthed from disgust, suffocates my throat as my eyes struggle to focus on the inconspicuous headstone engraved with my mother’s name. Eleanor Wright. My hands shake around the bitter iron handle of the shovel. The callous winter air shreds through the thin fabric of my old knit gloves with a voracity that can only be found in the indifference of the cruel elements.

“I’m sorry, mum.” I whisper a worthless apology. “I’m sure you understand.” Shame strikes me like the shovel does the earth Clank. The spade tip struggles to penetrate the frozen soil, doing little more than scraping at the top layer. This task will be harder than I envisioned. A huff of frustration forms a frosted cloud in front of me, and the regret of my decisions twists away any sense of self-respect. With debt knocking at my family’s door, I’m out of options. If there was another way, any other way, I wouldn’t be out here shoveling through my mother’s grave. Unfortunately, I fear her matrimony band is the only thing that might stave off the debt collectors at this point.

“Gods above…” My muscles ache from exertion while the frost gnaws at my fingers and grounds me back into my grim work. It takes hours of grueling labour, but my mother’s grave now lies violated. Nipping tears blur my vision, and I have to choke back the acrid taste of my remorse to prevent from desecreating her grave any more than I already have.

I’ve already come this far. I sink to my mother’s modest coffin, and find the polished lid askew. I crawl into the grave and move the lid aside.

“By the gods!” The corpse of a man lay in her stead, unprepared and frozen in an expression crossed between agony and terror. His heavy dark coat caked in dried mud and deep rust, dried blood from jagged gnashes in his neck. I scrutinize the grey tombstone, hanging on the name written. This was her grave, but that wasn’t her body.

Nausea and confusion flood my head before I scramble to find grip in the cascading dirt, stumbling onto the cold earth. The sight of it tears at my mind; Where is my mother? Panic overrides my senses. Did I have the right plot? I’m tempted to overturn every grave in the yard to find her.

With a deep breath, I take to my feet. Even if upheaving every casket from the earth would yield my mother’s misplaced corpse, this one grave was far more effort than I’d anticipated. Maybe I get 3 or 4 more before sunrise, then I’d be hauled away by guardsmen far before I ever find her. No, the only reasonable thing I can do at this point is bury the evidence of my transgressions.

Thankfully the dirt is much easier to replace than it was to disturb. After my hard work is undone, I’m left heaving dry breaths of frigid air. I pat the last soil down over the hole. Maybe the groundskeeper will have an explanation. I’m not fond of the idea of outing myself as a novice grave robber, but I fear the effect a lack of closure might have on my sanity. My body threatens to give out on me. It’s time to go home. I need the rest, and I’d much rather a late bed than an early grave.

My weary head hangs as I drag my heavy limbs through the cemetery gates. A hungry darkness swallows the trail ahead. A starless sky will make for a lonely stroll, but perhaps the cover of night will shield my sins from the eyes of the gods.

A yell tears my attention to a pair arguing just outside the gate. A woman, in a modest dress far too light for the ravenous winter air. The second is a man, wrapped in a dark winter coat, and carrying a shove- A beggar and a grave-robber, perhaps? I can’t hear what they are arguing but it turns violent. The woman throws her arms around the man’s neck. The two struggle for a moment before he pushes her off. The shovel raises into the air, then thuds against the woman’s skull, sending her to the ground. My heart stops. My blood runs cold while sweat freezes on my brow. Did I just witness a murder? The pounding in my chest entices the soles of my feet to beat against the road. First a grave robber, now a witness to murder. I fear a good man has died tonight.