Chapter #14Grave Discoveries by: Seuzz   You slide the shovel into the dirt, push it with your foot, and turn over a spadeful of earth. A six-foot journey begins with a single thrust.
Time seems to pass slowly, an effect surely of the weary labor, the loathsomeness of the task, and your reluctance to reach its conclusion. The wind rustles dryly over the grass. The clouds lower. The earth, as you dig deeper, becomes wetter and stickier and clumpier.
And then, what feels like hours later, the blade strikes something solid. You shift and begin clearing out a wide patch.
Finally, the torch discloses that you have the entire top of the casket cleared away. You toss the shovel over the lip of the grave and bend down. You douse the flashlight as you press cold, stiff fingers under the edge of the lid and pry at it. It won't come loose.
Shit. If you've gone through all this work for nothing ...
With a groan you pull yourself from the trench and jog stiffly back to your truck, where you have a crowbar, which you clutch in a clawlike hand on the even more wearying jog back. You slide back into the grave. You lever the crowbar under the edge and worry at it with greater and greater force.
It slips, and you bite back a curse.
More carefully, you reinsert it, putting it firmly in place. You press, putting your weight onto it. With a cracking and splitting, the top of the casket comes loose.
Your heart hammers in your chest as you gingerly tug the top up. You try not to look directly into its contents, but you can't miss the dim outline of a figure. You grapple for the flashlight ...
No, you can't look. You're just going to have to put your hand onto its face.
You hope it's a face and not something horrifying.
Your fingertips run lightly over it: ridges and bumps. It feels like it's in one piece, and with gritted teeth you will yourself into believing that it's only a face that you grasp. It is very cold, and feels like clay to the touch. You grasp at what feels like its brow and nose, murmur, and pull.
!!! Something comes away in your hand.
Your jaw quivers, and you swallow heavily, forcing your heart back down. Your arm jerks as you draw your hand up, and you almost drop whatever it is you're holding. Through narrow eyes you peep at it.
It's a mask, and even in the dark pit of an empty cemetery under a moonless, starless sky, it glows with a faint blue light. You let out an exhalation of relief, and turn it over: SEAN JASON MITCHELL. So at least you know it's the right grave.
You pause. You came out only to get the mask. But what--or who--was it sitting on? Caleb was never very clear about those golem things, or about what happened to Sean. Your heart suddenly skips. You'd speculated that maybe Keith would be alive under Cameron's mask, down in Huber's grave. If Caleb trapped Sean under a mask of himself, the way you had trapped Cameron under a mask of yourself ... And if people (however remote the chance) can survive under a mask ...
You gulp down hard, flick on the flashlight, and turn its beam onto the thing in the casket.
* * * * *
"Well, it sounds like it turned him into a golem."
It's Sunday afternoon, and you're over at Caleb's, in his bedroom. He sits at his desk, looking at you with an expression that combines disgust and anger. "How?" you ask.
"Beats me," he says after a pause. "But you said his face was all white?" You nod. "Did you touch him?" Grimly, you nod again. "And he was all cold and stone-like?" Another nod. "Then that's what he is." He shrugs. "A perfect replica of himself, I guess, but turned into a stone-cold golem."
"But how?" you repeat.
"I don't know, Will, and frankly I'd rather not know. I'd really rather that you'd left things alone."
"I had to try," you insist.
"And look at the good it did you." He gives you a sidelong glance. "Did you have nightmares afterward?"
Actually, you haven't slept: there was hardly any night left after you'd put the dirt back and driven home and taken an early shower to get all the sweat and muck and grime off before your dad could catch you. Later that morning, in church, for the first time in your life you'd sent up fervent and sincere prayers. "But how did he turn into a golem?"
Caleb sighs. "Well, if I had to speculate--" He rubs his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'd say it was a consequence of his being inside the mask when he had the accident. There was a golem shell inside the mask, right?" You shrug; actually, you hadn't looked. "Well, maybe when he died the shell somehow enveloped him, turned him into a golem. That's the only thing that makes sense to me. The book isn't clear on what happens when, you know ..."
"Where is the book?"
He purses his lips. "I got rid of it. It's bad news."
"Jesus! You said it didn't have anything to do with-- With the accident!"
"I don't think it did. I hope not. But I don't wanna take any chances. Do you?"
"Well, no. But what did you do with it?"
"The less you know, the better. But I put it where idiots like us won't get ahold of it again."
You sit on the edge of the bed. Getting rid of it is probably for the best. But as for what you do now ... "So Sean was under a mask of himself, huh?"
"Yup."
"But when you were being Sean--"
"I was switching back and forth, like you switched back and forth with Cameron. Sometimes I shoved Sean under my mask. He'd disappear the way Cameron did." He peers at you. "What did you do with the mask after you, uh--"
"I've still got it."
His eyes narrow. "You should give it to me so I can get rid of it."
"But maybe we can use it to--"
"Put that out of your head, Will, the idea of using it to bring Sean back. He had a very public accident, got a very public burial. We'd never be able to explain how he got back. Besides--" He raises his voice over your objection. "Think about it. The mask was sitting on a golem. Was he alive?" You shake your head. "There you go, then. The mask is dead too. If we put it on a golem we'd just get a dead body. We'd look like grave robbers." He smiles sourly. "Not that appearances would be deceiving in your case."
"Oh, fuck you. I never should have gotten mixed up in this."
"No you shouldn't," he says to your surprise. "Neither should I. That's why we need to put this behind us, pretend it never happened."
You look down into your hands. Ninety percent of wisdom comes after you've screwed up, your dad has often had occasion to tell you. One of these days maybe you'll have accumulated enough screw ups to realize he's right. "Well, I guess I should go," you say heavily. "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."
"Just get that mask to me," Caleb says. He turns back to his computer with a snort.
* * * * *
Actually, Sean's mask is still sitting in your truck; detritus from last night. You examine it after you've slid in. Its inner surface is blue, like its outer surface. The mask Caleb made of you was grey on the inside. You frown, then shake your head. You don't understand these things.
You'd prefer to dispose of it than give it to Caleb, and decide to return it to Sean's grave. But you won't open the pit up again; you can just shove it into the dirt pile. And yet, as you drive toward the cemetery, you find yourself thinking that maybe you should put it on first. There are things going on that you don't understand, and maybe a glimpse into Sean's head will help.
Unless Caleb is right, and it turns you into Sean's corpse.
These thoughts are driven from your head as you enter the graveyard: ahead, next to the Mitchell plot, are three figures: Scott Bickelmeier and those two guys from Eastman. The fuck? You crouch behind a thick tree trunk until the Eastman guys depart, leaving Scott behind.
He nods vacantly as you come up to him. "Sean's popular today, isn't he?" he says satirically.
"Paying your respects too?"
"More like making sure he's gone."
Whoa. That's cold. "I thought you guys were friends."
"I was friends with his brother, Taylor."
"I didn't know he had a brother."
"Yeah. That's him laying next to Sean." He indicates the other mound of dirt, and your blood chills. "What are the odds, right?"
Scott's tone isn't brutal, but it seems oddly bright, as though he's discussing a nifty movie with interesting plot twists. "Doesn't it ... bother you ... that they're both gone?"
He looks over at you, and seems to see you for the first time. A peculiar gleam comes into his eye. "Actually," he says with a soft and malicious grin. "It feels rather ... freeing."
* * * * *
You leave Scott after that, taking the mask with you. It's sitting on your desk, with Sean's ghostly image gazing blindly back at you, when your cell phone rings.
At least Lisa has been good to you over the past week. She's noticed you've been in a bad state, and has been gentle and comforting. So you're happy to see her number on the caller ID. Unfortunately, she has more bad news.
There's been another car wreck. Fatalities: James Lamont and Carson Ioeger.  | Members who added to this interactive
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