Raised Loose Dirt
“I said come here.” He searched for some lame excuse to make them come to him just like he wanted everyone else to. He would not go to them. “I need your help with… something, boys, come on.”
“Dad, we can’t,” said Bennet. “We can’t.”
“Get down here right now!” And he watched them move from fear to fear as they double-checked the earth and the raised lose dirt on it. Had they been digging? Convinced of his impending wrath, they climbed down from he scaffolding to the north side of the open lot beside The Shed.
There they began walking across the crunch of gravel and the swishing of unmoved grass tufts.
Halfway on their journey from the rusted steel scaffolding to the concrete front porch where Charlie stood, that raised loose dirt on the ground broke from some massive puncture wound and a mouth like the hole in a subway line and a body like some great leathered train following that gaping mouth came up before the boys. The drake under the earth swallowed both Bennet and Ivan in a moment, swallowed his greatest treasures, and then disappeared by the next moment into the sod, leaving behind a cavernous wound in the world.
It was minutes before Charlie moved and when he did, he threw that junky cap pistol through the glass of the front door and into the inner dark of his the dust and rust and crusty rubbers he’d treasured.
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