The Nightmare Twenties

Chapter 1-2

Nearly half an hour later, the shovels hit the cheap pine boards. All three of them, sweaty and tired as hell, took a break; they were taking risks, but they got the job done quite efficiently and quickly. They turned their faces to sky letting the cold rain cleanse their skin of sweat and soil. Adrien reached into the jute sack and pulled out a milk bottle full of amber liquid.

“Go ahead, I know a n****r who trades moonshine, we can trust him,” he grabbed the bottle and took a big gulp to confirm these words.

He made a wry up his face and passed the bottle on. The young man reluctantly took the drink and swallowed a little, grimacing and choking. The alcohol was electrifyingly strong, bitter and oily, with a strange metallic aftertaste, but it served its purpose. The other two laughed out loud at the sight of the choking kid.

“Alright, that is it, let us get the dead gal out and get on with that unlucky guy while it is still bearable,” concluded the driver, wiping his mouth when it was his turn. He was also the first to get up and jump down, with a crowbar in one hand and a hammer in the other. Once more he crossed himself, took out a rosary from his pocket and ran his finger over the beads. Then he pocketed it and skilfully slid the flattened metal rod between the boards.

He tapped once and again with the hammer on the right end. The wood crackled. Then the forcefully pulled nails rattled, the lid caved in, some earth and mud slipped from the walls of the pit, as the rain was getting heavier – their brief pause had some disastrous effects.

The young man struggled with the wood on the other side, glancing every now and then at his experienced friend. The last of the three, on the other hand, was on the lookout, with a lamp in his hand, illuminating the hole in the ground for his companions. With eyesight accustomed to the darkness and not affected by the bright light, he could easily spot the watchman or other similar "entrepreneurs". He knew his way around it. He did not even pay attention to the fact that the crackling of the wood and the noise of the landslide quickly stopped.

The sound of falling rain and the occasional murmurs of the thunder created an appropriately bleak background to this whole scene; you might think it was all taken out of the sick imagination of some pulp filmmaker. And this was not far from the truth.

“Holy Mary and Joseph...” whispered Steve, drawing Adrien's attention. The young man, panting heavily, stared absently at the open coffin, not believing his eyes. Inside, not counting, of course, sand and mud, laid a body; young, not yet bitten by the teeth of time, although a little blue and with sunken cheeks. The worker, disturbed by the behaviour of his companions, turned to the grave and leaned over it, shining his lamp. The box made of crooked pine boards did not look alarming at first glance.

The pregnant woman appeared to be the problem.

“What is it?” Adrien growled to the driver, climbing down into the pit. He did not mind the mud and stones; rather violently, he pushed the shocked young man away and crouched down, tearing off the few remaining planks. He saw that the grave contained a coffin with the body of a young, enceinte woman inside. The worker cursed under his breath, spat over his shoulder, and began muttering something inarticulate again.

As a prole toiling away at the port from day to night, he had a strong character and nerves of steel, but even he was disturbed by the sight of a pregnant woman lying in the grave. It was not the first and probably not the last time he was digging up and selling corpses, but it was the first time he witnessed such a case – he had stolen bodies of mothers, daughters, but he has never looked at the calm face of a woman in advanced pregnancy.

Her expanded belly hid the body of a child, who was ready to step into the world.

The little one's life ended before it began for good.

It was a real tragedy and probably the direct cause of Bob's sudden breakdown. Adrien glanced fleetingly at the paper-pale specky, who began crawling out of the pit in panic, smudging himself with mud and desperately grasping the ground with his hands. Another thunder rumbled, and lightning cut through the sky, illuminating the graveyard for one heartbeat with a ghostly white light.

“God!” cried out the young man, dropping to his knees and vomiting up the lousy contents of his stomach, majority of which was the alcohol. He rolled over onto his back, began coughing and trembling. This was his first time; he needed cash urgently, and there were not many options for making money at all.

He threw his glasses away and squeezed his eyelids tightly shut, allowing the cold rain to sober him up a little and calm him down. He struggled to keep himself from bursting out crying.

“Where’d you find that fella?” asked irritated Collins.

“I thought he’d do,” replied the driver tartly, but it did not really work out for him. “I ain’t getting any younger, I won’t last long, and someone must take my place, you know that the competition doesn’t sleep,” he spat again and began to move the boards and the ground away so that he could get to the body. He took the woman carefully and almost tenderly under her arms, and then began to lift her up from the coffin.

The worker did not hesitate and after a moment he grabbed the legs of the dead gal, belaying his companion as he climbed up the wet wall of the pit, crawling out and dragging the body with him. No one wasted any time. They immediately got to work and began to backfill the hole.

“Kid! Move your ass and come here!”

“Jesus, give him a minute,” Steve said furiously, leaning his hands on the shovel.

“I don’t give a damn, I'm not going to do all the work myself!” replied the worker in an equally aggressive tone, throwing another portion of dirt into a freshly dug grave.

The specky laid still for a few frighteningly long moments. Only then did he awkwardly get on his knees and reached for his glasses. Still on his knees, he made the sign of the cross with his trembling hand and looked at the experienced robbers.

“I... I don’t think I can... I didn’t think... God, the stench and...” he repeated in a weak voice, as the tears mixed with the raindrops were running down his face. He lifted his head up and cast an apologetic glance until he finally caught sight of the dead woman's face. This was too much for him, he stood up and started speeding up his pace, and slipping on the mud, began to walk away.

“Hey, kid, come back!” cried the driver, sensing the worst.

“f**k, who have you taken with us!” shouted Adrien, throwing away the shovel and starting to chase the panicked lad. Robbing graves of bodies was neither an easy nor a pleasant thing to do, but such panic was probably not expected by anyone. He quickly caught up with the man, slapped his face with an open palm and was about to do it again when the young man raised his hands in a hopeless, submissive gesture. Adrien froze, with his hand ready to strike.

“Please!”

“Please what!”

“I... I can’t, really! Mr Collins, please!”

“Because of you, you stupid son of a b***h, we are wasting time and risking everything!”

“I’m sorry!”

“And I don’t give a f**k about your apologies! You either take the shovel and work with us, or you get to the f*****g car and wait for us, and if you run away somewhere, then remember that I’ll find you and I know where the empty coffins are” he howled, tugging at the young specky before finally letting him go. The young man wobbled and fell to the mud, where he stayed for a moment paralyzed with fear.

Finally, he nodded his head and slowly moved back towards the dug-up grave. Adrien, annoyed and tired, went back to his friend and they finished their work in – nomen omen – deadly mood. A few minutes later it was all over. Had it not been for the trampled ground and the countless footprints imprinted in the wet sand and mud, nobody would probably have suspected that a grave had been dug up.

The robbers left the unlucky spot and, sighing heavily, they went back to work.

“Must there necessarily be a man and a woman? Can't they just be whichever bodies we dug up first? We're already screwed anyway,” Adrien mumbled quietly as he was the first to dig in.

“He's paying us for recently deceased man and woman,” the driver commented grimly, tossing away another shovel full of soil. He also secretly glanced towards the specky, who was on the verge of a breakdown. The threat made by the burly dock worker was an assurance, for grave robbing was not Adrien's only occupation. Steve knew this, but the young boy could only guess.

Finally, the shovel hit the boards of another coffin.

Once, twice. Third time.

And once more. The lid squeaked under the pressure of the metal shovel, finally letting go and collapsing inwards – there was no time to play with the crowbar, simple brute force was used. The robbers immediately reacted, knowing what could happen for both them and the body. Adrien even jumped back, because if he hadn’t, the shovel could have hit the body and damaged it, and nobody wanted that. The professor was not paying for damaged goods, he was paying for fresh ones. In good condition, whole, suitable for research or whatever he was doing there.

The worker slammed his back against the muddy wall of the pit. Wet soil and mud slipped, which helped the young man to sober up and calm down. He was panting heavily, and his heart was rumbling in his chest like a factory machine. The specky immediately began to crawl out of the pit, not even bothering to look at the body.

“I need a drink,” burbled Adrien, staring at the coffin and the smashed boards.

“Wise words,” confirmed the driver, rubbing his wet forehead. “Young man, make yourself useful and give me a bottle,” he shouted more loudly to the specky. The rain was coming down in waves now. It did not gain or lose strength; it was at most burdensome.

As they reached the coffin they took a short break. Alcohol helped in such situations – it suppressed fears and anxiety, anesthetized, and covered the body and soul with a pleasant blanket of indifference. Digging and transporting the body could be done by two men, though it would be a little more difficult. They could no longer count on the help of the youngest; if he touched the body, he would probably faint.

After a short while – they were not going to risk more than it was necessary – they returned to their work. They stripped the rest of the boards from the coffin, looked at the body of a grown, mature man with sideburns and they exchanged meaningful glances.

This was someone they would, in good conscience, get a pile of money for.

“A heavy bastard, I wouldn’t expect that!” groaned Adrien, laying the corpse on a large piece of tarp, without a doubt, stolen from the port. Steve, with the skill of an experienced gravedigger, wrapped the body and laid the rosary on the head of the dead for one moment, then he straightened up and pressed his hands against his back. It was late, the rain was falling steadily, but at least the storm had passed sideways. The distant thunder and lightning were encouraging.

That was the only positive thing about that cursed night.

“Are we going back already?” asked the specky quietly.

“We are going back, and if you say anything to anyone, you’ll end up in that grave” growled the worker, backfilling the grave quickly, carelessly. When the pile of soil took the right shape, he gasped and reached for the bodies. The corpse of a fat and elegantly dressed man, was thrown over his shoulder with great skill.

The corpse of the pregnant woman was assigned to the other two. The driver spat in his hands and lifted the tarp-wrapped body, waiting for the young boy to do the same. He cleared his throat, standing in the pouring spring rain, and it only took a moment for the specky to lift the dead man. With disgust painted on his pale face, he began to straggle towards the wall.