Post by TheWalkinDude on Jul 15, 2009 10:49:43 GMT
Grave Robber Joe
By Ian Latham
Joe Prince was the type of guy everyone liked to know. He was smart, he was funny; he was even generous and good-looking. Joe was the type of person who’d help anyone in a jam. He would even give you his last five quid, had he been skint enough that is. Joe always seemed to have money but he never worked. This, though, was something people overlooked. Mostly because these days there were a lot of people rolling in dough without having to work, so no one ever asked him what he did to get the cash.
The answer to this particular piece of information was this: Joe Prince was a sociopath and a criminal. He wasn’t a fully-fledged nut case yet but he lacked the most important and fundamental piece of humanity that most people had.
Emotions.
Joe felt nothing, no fear and no empathy. No compassion and he certainly had no conscience.
Nothing.
He was pretty sure that he was supposed to feel something when he smashed old grannies over the head and took their handbags or mugged rich-looking businessmen. But as far as he was concerned feelings were reserved solely for those on the receiving end of a heavy object.
The smashee, so to speak, not the smasher.
So Joe went on about his business as usual and no one asked him any questions about what he was up to, which suited him just fine.
The only other thing he liked to do was dig up graves. He did this for no apparent reason other than it amused him. He was powerfully built because he spent most of his time at the gym; digging graves was a piece of cake. He would dig up the bodies and pose them around in rather amusing stances… well amusing to him at least. He had actually had a bit of media attention from his antics, which he kept in a small scrapbook of newspaper clippings.
On the particular night in question, Joe was walking through Parkhead on his way to the Eastern Necropolis. The Eastern Necropolis was the one of the biggest cemeteries in Glasgow and, just his luck; there had been a funeral that day. Joe was an avid reader of obituaries; he only liked to dig up fresh graves, although he had tried digging up older graves before. That had been pretty much a waste of time - he found the bodies were a bit soupy and not very pliable. Plus they were extremely smelly and sometimes kind of sticky. Mess and smells were neither of his favourite things.
He strolled up to the gates that were right on the Gallowgate, the main road that ran through the East End of Glasgow, past the Forge shopping Centre and eventually joined onto Tollcross road. Joe approached the gate to the Necropolis and stood looking at the padlock. He frowned for a moment, trying to remember whether or not he had noticed if any of the other cemeteries had been locked at night. Joe couldn’t remember so he ignored it and popped the lock open with his shovel. It went easy and he smiled at the night of digging that he was about to undertake.
No pun intended.
The night was a fairly mild one, being the middle of May so Joe wasn’t wearing a jacket, just a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt. On his feet he wore boots, no particular reason other than he didn’t want to get his good trainers dirty.
Joe wandered between the graves looking for the fresh pile of dirt that indicated that it was a new grave. A feeling was flooding his body, warm and exciting and he was vaguely aware that he was slightly aroused.
After a few more minutes of searching he had found a patch of fresh dirt that looked like it had only recently been filled. Joes smile widened as he stood over the grave and he placed the shovel on the grass in front of him. Swaying back and forth slightly as his ritual began. He was lost in his own little world, thinking about what he would do with the body, posing it as he did with a cigarette or a wineglass. He didn’t have either of those on this night so he was stuck for something to do. Eventually he decided he would dig up the body and think about exactly what to do with it when it was out of the coffin.
So Joe set out to work, digging away by the light of the moon and humming to himself.
After a few hours of digging Joe felt the shovel come down on something hard. He smiled to himself and thought Pay Dirt and then giggled to himself at his little Joke. He began scraping the dirt from the top of the coffin and he noticed that it wasn’t made from oak or mahogany or any other kind of wood. It was a steel box instead which was odd; it certainly was a new one in his book. But he shrugged and kept at it until the whole top was exposed. He then slid the shovel round the edges of the box, trying to clear as much dirt as he could.
It was as he was doing this that he felt the shovel snag on something. It was stuck but Joe twisted it back and forth until it gave. There was a loud Clunk that gave him a slight start, he was never afraid but he was surprised by the sound. He pulled the shovel back and stared down at the top of the box, wondering what exactly was going on here. Then came a new sound.
Click – a – click – a – click
It was like some kind of slow ticking sound, or at least that was about as close as he could come to describing what he was hearing. Joe cocked his head to one side and listened to the steady rhythm of the sound.
Click-a-click-a-click-a
He noticed that the sound was speeding up, ticking faster and faster as he stood there listening. Wondering what kind of coffin was made of steel and, better yet, why it was ticking at him.
Click-a-click-a-click-a
The box went and it begun to occur to Joe that maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t be standing here while the box was making the noise with increasing speed.
Clickaclickaclickaclicka
Joe turned and, just in time, jumped for the edge of the grave. There was a very loud snick and then the sound of squealing hinges as the box opened. Joe pulled himself up easily and turned and squinted back into the grave. As far as he could see there was the box with its lid opened wide. But there was no body in the box, just an empty square of darkness that led god-knows-where below.
Joe frowned into the darkness at the bottom of the grave. What kind of grave had no body in it? He didn’t know, as far as he was concerned this was another new one by him. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small flashlight, twisted the top and shined it into the grave. The darkness at the bottom of the grave swallowed the light hungrily, so Joe knelt and pushed his arm into the grave but to no avail. His torch was too weak to illuminate more than a few feet.
It was at this point that the tentacle whipped out of the hole.
It moved at such a speed that Joe didn’t have time to be surprised until it fastened itself round his wrist in a vice-like grip. It was black and shiny, like oil and it felt terribly cold. Joe was never afraid of anything, but this was not your normal situation and fear pierced his heart like an arrow. There was an instant of jagged pain and then he felt his hand go numb at the wrist. Joe screamed and tried to pull his arm back but the tentacle was too strong. It pulled him forward and he nearly tumbled head first into the grave, but Joe was also strong and he managed to keep his balance after only a moment.
He swung his fist at the tentacle and hit it right where it had knotted itself round his wrist. There was a strange keening sound from the darkness below as the tentacle let go. Joe fell backwards and landed heavily on his ass. He noticed that there were quill like spikes stuck in the skin of his wrist. He pulled them out and felt feeling begin to come back into his hand and arm. He thought that maybe there was some kind of toxin in the quills that was supposed to paralyse him, had there been enough to fill his entire body. Who knows what would have happened then. That tentacle would have probably dragged him numbly into the darkness to what ever waited below.
Joe decided that enough was enough; he turned from the grave and made to leave as fast as his legs would carry him. As he made his way across the stretch of grass Joe felt the same jagged pain in his lower leg. He looked down as another tentacle had fastened itself round his left ankle, which was already going numb, and jerked his foot backwards.
Joe fell onto his front and rolled over, there were about seven of them now, sleek and black. Waving around in the air, the light form the street lamps shone sickly on the weaving black trunks. So far they had not pulled him right into the grave so Joe was able to scrabble around for purchase. Trying his hardest to grip anything that would allow him to stop his impending doom.
While he was waving his hands around and moaning like a child Joes hands fell onto the wooden handle of the shovel. His heart leapt as he grabbed at it and rolled onto his back again. He was only a few feet from the grave and soon those horrifying things would all reach for him and he would be finished.
Joe raised the shovel and brought it down edge first onto the tentacle that held him, it cut cleanly through its mottled black skin, severing it just below his ankle. Thick black fluid gushed from the damaged limb and it began to wave around, spraying him with the horrible stuff.
Again Joe heard that strange keening sound come from the grave, but he was free from the things grasp and at this moment could not give two f*cks about its pain. He instantly rolled back onto his front and began to crawl away form the grave as fast as he could and he didn’t stop until he was a good distance from the grave.
Joe stopped and sat looking at his ankle. He didn’t think it was broken but nearly his entire left leg was numb. He pulled the piece of tentacle off his leg and then removed the quills. Again he felt the feeling almost instantly return to his foot and slowly return to his leg. But it was a long way from being okay. Without any further thought he stood and began limping back towards the gate as fast as his legs, busted one and all, would carry him.
About fifteen minutes later Joe found himself at the gate, he would have moved quicker had his leg not still felt numb but there wasn’t much he could do about it. As he went to walk out into the street he almost walked right into a police officer.
“Whoa there big guy,” the officer said “where’s the fire?” Joe observed that there were two of them so he decided to play it safe. He didn’t want to spend the night in a cell awaiting a court hearing as well as almost being eaten by whatever the hell was in that grave.
“Officers, you have to help me.” He said with an innocent look on his face. “I saw the gate was open and I decided to see what was going on. What with all they grave robberies and all.” Joe nodded his head in the direction he had just come from. “I saw an open grave and when I got close something tried to grab me.”
The two police exchanged a look and turned back to Joe.
“What exactly did you see son?” the other one asked.
“Tentacles.”
“Tentacles?”
Joe rolled his eyes and waved his arms frantically.
“Did I f*cking stutter? Tentacles! I saw f*cking tentacles!”
The police officers were clearly unimpressed with Joes frantic arm waving and exchanged another look. This time they smirked at each other and then turned back to Joe.
“Okay, okay. Where did you see these... tentacles?” the first one asked. Joe turned and pointed back the way he came. He was about to answer when the cops truncheon came down on the back of his skull.
Then it was dark.
Joe wasn’t out for very long, actually it was only a few minutes before consciousness began to filter back in. he heard voices but they were distant, like hearing voices from the end of a tunnel. Joe couldn’t make out what they were saying but he was becoming more and more alert and the voices seemed to be coming closer and closer. Joe opened his eyes and found himself near the grave he had just run from. He also found that his arms and legs were handcuffed and he was gagged with a piece of duct tape. He tried to move but it was impossible with his hands cuffed behind his back.
“Yep it looks like we caught that son-of-a-bitch that keeps digging up graves.” The voice was one of the cops. He could see them kneeling by the grave he had just left.
“Yup.”
“Promotion?”
“Yup.”
The two cops looked at each other and burst out laughing. The clapped each other on the back and Joe wondered what was so funny. A few moments later the cop’s laughter had subsided and they looked around a bit.
“Looks like he hurt him, though” Cop number one said.
“Yeah I saw the blood. Must have used the shovel.” They panned their flashlights around a bit more when one of them turned back to the grave.
“Oh, look.” the cop pointed into the grave as the tentacles began to creep out. They moved slower than before, almost timidly. Joe felt fear fill his throat and his bladder let go, spilling urine in a hot gush down his legs.
“Its okay,” the first cop said putting his hand out “your not gonna get hurt again.” One of the tentacles came closer and began to caress the hand of the cop. “its okay,” he said again in a lower, soothing voice.
“Well two in one night aint’ bad, eh?” the second cop said. The first cop didn’t seem to hear him for a moment and then straightened.
“No, two in one night aint’ bad at all. Should keep him happy for a couple of days.”
The two cops turned and looked at Joe who lay watching this whole bizarre tableau with a horrified expression on his face. The cops moved towards him and he began to struggle, runners of snot were running freely over the tape that bound his lips together and tears streamed down his face.
“Easy there, big guy,” cop number one said, “I don’t wanna have to bash ye again.” He had laid his hand on his truncheon and Joe stopped squirming. Being beaten to death was not something that he wanted, and surely the cops weren’t going to feed him to the tentacles.
Were they?
“Good boy.” Cop number two said. Going into fresh giggles again.
They stooped and rolled Joe over onto his back and picked him up and carried him closer to the grave. Joe struggled more fiercely this time but it was no good. He couldn’t do anything other than wriggle. And the cops had a good grip on his limbs. He moaned and sobbed as they moved to the edge but the duct tape muffled any please he may have had.
“Unlucky, mate.” One of them said, “He usually gets ones that are already dead.”
And they both threw him into the grave.
The End
By Ian Latham
Joe Prince was the type of guy everyone liked to know. He was smart, he was funny; he was even generous and good-looking. Joe was the type of person who’d help anyone in a jam. He would even give you his last five quid, had he been skint enough that is. Joe always seemed to have money but he never worked. This, though, was something people overlooked. Mostly because these days there were a lot of people rolling in dough without having to work, so no one ever asked him what he did to get the cash.
The answer to this particular piece of information was this: Joe Prince was a sociopath and a criminal. He wasn’t a fully-fledged nut case yet but he lacked the most important and fundamental piece of humanity that most people had.
Emotions.
Joe felt nothing, no fear and no empathy. No compassion and he certainly had no conscience.
Nothing.
He was pretty sure that he was supposed to feel something when he smashed old grannies over the head and took their handbags or mugged rich-looking businessmen. But as far as he was concerned feelings were reserved solely for those on the receiving end of a heavy object.
The smashee, so to speak, not the smasher.
So Joe went on about his business as usual and no one asked him any questions about what he was up to, which suited him just fine.
The only other thing he liked to do was dig up graves. He did this for no apparent reason other than it amused him. He was powerfully built because he spent most of his time at the gym; digging graves was a piece of cake. He would dig up the bodies and pose them around in rather amusing stances… well amusing to him at least. He had actually had a bit of media attention from his antics, which he kept in a small scrapbook of newspaper clippings.
On the particular night in question, Joe was walking through Parkhead on his way to the Eastern Necropolis. The Eastern Necropolis was the one of the biggest cemeteries in Glasgow and, just his luck; there had been a funeral that day. Joe was an avid reader of obituaries; he only liked to dig up fresh graves, although he had tried digging up older graves before. That had been pretty much a waste of time - he found the bodies were a bit soupy and not very pliable. Plus they were extremely smelly and sometimes kind of sticky. Mess and smells were neither of his favourite things.
He strolled up to the gates that were right on the Gallowgate, the main road that ran through the East End of Glasgow, past the Forge shopping Centre and eventually joined onto Tollcross road. Joe approached the gate to the Necropolis and stood looking at the padlock. He frowned for a moment, trying to remember whether or not he had noticed if any of the other cemeteries had been locked at night. Joe couldn’t remember so he ignored it and popped the lock open with his shovel. It went easy and he smiled at the night of digging that he was about to undertake.
No pun intended.
The night was a fairly mild one, being the middle of May so Joe wasn’t wearing a jacket, just a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt. On his feet he wore boots, no particular reason other than he didn’t want to get his good trainers dirty.
Joe wandered between the graves looking for the fresh pile of dirt that indicated that it was a new grave. A feeling was flooding his body, warm and exciting and he was vaguely aware that he was slightly aroused.
After a few more minutes of searching he had found a patch of fresh dirt that looked like it had only recently been filled. Joes smile widened as he stood over the grave and he placed the shovel on the grass in front of him. Swaying back and forth slightly as his ritual began. He was lost in his own little world, thinking about what he would do with the body, posing it as he did with a cigarette or a wineglass. He didn’t have either of those on this night so he was stuck for something to do. Eventually he decided he would dig up the body and think about exactly what to do with it when it was out of the coffin.
So Joe set out to work, digging away by the light of the moon and humming to himself.
After a few hours of digging Joe felt the shovel come down on something hard. He smiled to himself and thought Pay Dirt and then giggled to himself at his little Joke. He began scraping the dirt from the top of the coffin and he noticed that it wasn’t made from oak or mahogany or any other kind of wood. It was a steel box instead which was odd; it certainly was a new one in his book. But he shrugged and kept at it until the whole top was exposed. He then slid the shovel round the edges of the box, trying to clear as much dirt as he could.
It was as he was doing this that he felt the shovel snag on something. It was stuck but Joe twisted it back and forth until it gave. There was a loud Clunk that gave him a slight start, he was never afraid but he was surprised by the sound. He pulled the shovel back and stared down at the top of the box, wondering what exactly was going on here. Then came a new sound.
Click – a – click – a – click
It was like some kind of slow ticking sound, or at least that was about as close as he could come to describing what he was hearing. Joe cocked his head to one side and listened to the steady rhythm of the sound.
Click-a-click-a-click-a
He noticed that the sound was speeding up, ticking faster and faster as he stood there listening. Wondering what kind of coffin was made of steel and, better yet, why it was ticking at him.
Click-a-click-a-click-a
The box went and it begun to occur to Joe that maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t be standing here while the box was making the noise with increasing speed.
Clickaclickaclickaclicka
Joe turned and, just in time, jumped for the edge of the grave. There was a very loud snick and then the sound of squealing hinges as the box opened. Joe pulled himself up easily and turned and squinted back into the grave. As far as he could see there was the box with its lid opened wide. But there was no body in the box, just an empty square of darkness that led god-knows-where below.
Joe frowned into the darkness at the bottom of the grave. What kind of grave had no body in it? He didn’t know, as far as he was concerned this was another new one by him. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small flashlight, twisted the top and shined it into the grave. The darkness at the bottom of the grave swallowed the light hungrily, so Joe knelt and pushed his arm into the grave but to no avail. His torch was too weak to illuminate more than a few feet.
It was at this point that the tentacle whipped out of the hole.
It moved at such a speed that Joe didn’t have time to be surprised until it fastened itself round his wrist in a vice-like grip. It was black and shiny, like oil and it felt terribly cold. Joe was never afraid of anything, but this was not your normal situation and fear pierced his heart like an arrow. There was an instant of jagged pain and then he felt his hand go numb at the wrist. Joe screamed and tried to pull his arm back but the tentacle was too strong. It pulled him forward and he nearly tumbled head first into the grave, but Joe was also strong and he managed to keep his balance after only a moment.
He swung his fist at the tentacle and hit it right where it had knotted itself round his wrist. There was a strange keening sound from the darkness below as the tentacle let go. Joe fell backwards and landed heavily on his ass. He noticed that there were quill like spikes stuck in the skin of his wrist. He pulled them out and felt feeling begin to come back into his hand and arm. He thought that maybe there was some kind of toxin in the quills that was supposed to paralyse him, had there been enough to fill his entire body. Who knows what would have happened then. That tentacle would have probably dragged him numbly into the darkness to what ever waited below.
Joe decided that enough was enough; he turned from the grave and made to leave as fast as his legs would carry him. As he made his way across the stretch of grass Joe felt the same jagged pain in his lower leg. He looked down as another tentacle had fastened itself round his left ankle, which was already going numb, and jerked his foot backwards.
Joe fell onto his front and rolled over, there were about seven of them now, sleek and black. Waving around in the air, the light form the street lamps shone sickly on the weaving black trunks. So far they had not pulled him right into the grave so Joe was able to scrabble around for purchase. Trying his hardest to grip anything that would allow him to stop his impending doom.
While he was waving his hands around and moaning like a child Joes hands fell onto the wooden handle of the shovel. His heart leapt as he grabbed at it and rolled onto his back again. He was only a few feet from the grave and soon those horrifying things would all reach for him and he would be finished.
Joe raised the shovel and brought it down edge first onto the tentacle that held him, it cut cleanly through its mottled black skin, severing it just below his ankle. Thick black fluid gushed from the damaged limb and it began to wave around, spraying him with the horrible stuff.
Again Joe heard that strange keening sound come from the grave, but he was free from the things grasp and at this moment could not give two f*cks about its pain. He instantly rolled back onto his front and began to crawl away form the grave as fast as he could and he didn’t stop until he was a good distance from the grave.
Joe stopped and sat looking at his ankle. He didn’t think it was broken but nearly his entire left leg was numb. He pulled the piece of tentacle off his leg and then removed the quills. Again he felt the feeling almost instantly return to his foot and slowly return to his leg. But it was a long way from being okay. Without any further thought he stood and began limping back towards the gate as fast as his legs, busted one and all, would carry him.
About fifteen minutes later Joe found himself at the gate, he would have moved quicker had his leg not still felt numb but there wasn’t much he could do about it. As he went to walk out into the street he almost walked right into a police officer.
“Whoa there big guy,” the officer said “where’s the fire?” Joe observed that there were two of them so he decided to play it safe. He didn’t want to spend the night in a cell awaiting a court hearing as well as almost being eaten by whatever the hell was in that grave.
“Officers, you have to help me.” He said with an innocent look on his face. “I saw the gate was open and I decided to see what was going on. What with all they grave robberies and all.” Joe nodded his head in the direction he had just come from. “I saw an open grave and when I got close something tried to grab me.”
The two police exchanged a look and turned back to Joe.
“What exactly did you see son?” the other one asked.
“Tentacles.”
“Tentacles?”
Joe rolled his eyes and waved his arms frantically.
“Did I f*cking stutter? Tentacles! I saw f*cking tentacles!”
The police officers were clearly unimpressed with Joes frantic arm waving and exchanged another look. This time they smirked at each other and then turned back to Joe.
“Okay, okay. Where did you see these... tentacles?” the first one asked. Joe turned and pointed back the way he came. He was about to answer when the cops truncheon came down on the back of his skull.
Then it was dark.
Joe wasn’t out for very long, actually it was only a few minutes before consciousness began to filter back in. he heard voices but they were distant, like hearing voices from the end of a tunnel. Joe couldn’t make out what they were saying but he was becoming more and more alert and the voices seemed to be coming closer and closer. Joe opened his eyes and found himself near the grave he had just run from. He also found that his arms and legs were handcuffed and he was gagged with a piece of duct tape. He tried to move but it was impossible with his hands cuffed behind his back.
“Yep it looks like we caught that son-of-a-bitch that keeps digging up graves.” The voice was one of the cops. He could see them kneeling by the grave he had just left.
“Yup.”
“Promotion?”
“Yup.”
The two cops looked at each other and burst out laughing. The clapped each other on the back and Joe wondered what was so funny. A few moments later the cop’s laughter had subsided and they looked around a bit.
“Looks like he hurt him, though” Cop number one said.
“Yeah I saw the blood. Must have used the shovel.” They panned their flashlights around a bit more when one of them turned back to the grave.
“Oh, look.” the cop pointed into the grave as the tentacles began to creep out. They moved slower than before, almost timidly. Joe felt fear fill his throat and his bladder let go, spilling urine in a hot gush down his legs.
“Its okay,” the first cop said putting his hand out “your not gonna get hurt again.” One of the tentacles came closer and began to caress the hand of the cop. “its okay,” he said again in a lower, soothing voice.
“Well two in one night aint’ bad, eh?” the second cop said. The first cop didn’t seem to hear him for a moment and then straightened.
“No, two in one night aint’ bad at all. Should keep him happy for a couple of days.”
The two cops turned and looked at Joe who lay watching this whole bizarre tableau with a horrified expression on his face. The cops moved towards him and he began to struggle, runners of snot were running freely over the tape that bound his lips together and tears streamed down his face.
“Easy there, big guy,” cop number one said, “I don’t wanna have to bash ye again.” He had laid his hand on his truncheon and Joe stopped squirming. Being beaten to death was not something that he wanted, and surely the cops weren’t going to feed him to the tentacles.
Were they?
“Good boy.” Cop number two said. Going into fresh giggles again.
They stooped and rolled Joe over onto his back and picked him up and carried him closer to the grave. Joe struggled more fiercely this time but it was no good. He couldn’t do anything other than wriggle. And the cops had a good grip on his limbs. He moaned and sobbed as they moved to the edge but the duct tape muffled any please he may have had.
“Unlucky, mate.” One of them said, “He usually gets ones that are already dead.”
And they both threw him into the grave.
The End