The Grave Digger

 Old Bill was a grave digger. He was a small, quiet man missing a few front teeth and a lot of his hair but he was the man to call when a three foot by eight foot hole had to be dug six feet deep.

No one knew much about him and didn’t get much more than a toothless smile if one happened to walk through the graveyard when he was busy at work.

The graveyard surrounded the white framed church and although the church members had a secure final resting spot, Old Bill was willing and able to accommodate community members with no affiliation to the church.

Sometimes it felt that Old Bill was lurking in the shabby shed on the edge of the property. The shed was well shaded by old mature maple trees. It stood in those dark shadows. The shed looked older than the maple trees and the siding was flaked. Large chunks had fallen off revealing old barn boards with gaps that let the little bit of light come through the shadows. The door hung from a single hinge. The other hinge was rusted and broken. The padlock hung on the door but had seized up years before. Old Bill had no security concerns so he never did fix it.

Bill’s dark and ratty coat blended well into the shadows where he could watch the three young sisters cut through the cemetery on their way to school.

On a particular late October day, the sisters were startled by the sound of metal hitting stone. Moving slowly towards the sound, they crawled to the edge of the hole. Old Bill was hidden completely as he dug out the last shovel fulls of dirt because he was shorter than six feet.

With a weak voice, the nervous middle sister asked, “What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” toothless Bill grinned.

Not really wanting to think it through, the little girls hurried to the safety of their school.

“Where does old Bill get the bodies?” the sisters wondered. “He can’t put live people in the hole! Where is the body?” It left them with an uneasy feeling all day.

That evening, it was junior choir practice at the church. Once again they had to cut through the cemetery but this time it was dark. Armed with a flashlight, the three held hands and tip-toed towards the hole. It was EMPTY! The flashlight created shadows around the ancient grave markers. The barren maple trees made huge shadows that looked like arms that were ready to grab one, two or all three of the sisters.

Then they saw it….a line of light streaming from between the boards of the shed.

There was just enough wind to bang the door of the old shed. The lock clinked and the door banged again.

Why was the light on, they wondered. Was Old Bill lurking in the dark? Was the body in the shed? Should they scream or should they run?

With shaking bodies and holding each other tightly, they approached the old shed. Very gently, they pulled the door open a crack to reveal a dim light bulb without a cover. It hung in the room gently swaying back and forth with the wind and casting shadows on the walls and dirt floor.

There in the corner of the shed stood a shovel, not Old Bill and not a body. Old Bill forgot to turn the light off!