Chorus of the Dead

Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Mad from life's history,

Glad to death's mystery,

The town was asleep with scarcely enough light to navigate the streets. Once in the graveyard their anxiety rose. They carried no lanterns, lit candles or any other source of light that may have given their presence away. They did, however, have a shovel each swung over their shoulder and a cache of candles stashed in their jacket pockets.

"Do you think we could come back in summer when it is a bit warmer?" Jonas asked, warily.

"I hardly think it would be as useful to us by then," Ainsley answered. He led the way through the sizable burial grounds, weaving between headstones and grave markers, with only the haphazard light of the moon to guide him.

"Ow!"

Ainsley turned, ready to admonish his friend for calling out so loudly, when he saw that Jonas had walked into a headstone and broken it in half. "For Pete's sake!" Ainsley retraced his steps and helped him lift the stone. They leaned the broken half against the base and quickly moved on.

Ainsley reached into his pocket and pulled out his flask. "Here, this will help keep us warm."

A few moments later they had found Josephine's grave. The fresh mound of dirt used to cover her coffin had settled somewhat during the recent rainfall. Ainsley stood for a moment looking at the headstone. The clouds thinned partially, allowing the moon's glow to light their work and they began, slicing into the dirt with their shovels. Their pile of overturned gravel grew larger and larger as they worked silently. They soon forgot the cold, their hard labour warmed their bodies and eventually they threw their jackets over a nearby gravestone before continuing.

The work was intense, slightly more so than Ainsley remembered. The palms of his hands began to burn as the shovel's wooden handle rubbed his soft, privileged hands. He remembered what had been appealing about grave robbing, and surgery, in the first place. He loved the work, the physical act of completing a task, something that was so rare amongst his class whose work revolved predominately around the pushing of paper and pens behind a striking mahogany desk, if they were required to work at all. While Ainsley didn't want to be required to labour like this all the time, he saw value in it, perhaps more so than his peers.

The pile beside the grave grew high and the pair sank deeper and deeper into the ground. Their shovels worked in unison, slicing into the somewhat compact dirt before heaving it over their shoulders in one fell movement. Neither one dared to stop, though Ainsley was tempted to many times. His arms ached and his hands burned but he knew if he stopped it would be harder to get moving again.

Finally he felt the tip of his shovel hit wood, the top of Josephine's delicately made coffin. Gingerly they scraped the rest of the dirt from the top of the coffin and then threw their shovels up to the grass level.

"I'll give you the honours," Jonas said, making a retreat from the grave. Once on top, he pulled out the candles they had stashed in their jackets and wedged them in the dirt that made the walls of the grave. Ainsley pulled out a box of matches and struck one, and used it to light the hole in which he was required to work. He saw Jonas above him, laying on his stomach in the grass, his head over the edge to watch. He reached out to warm his hands on the tiny candle flames.

"Do you think this will be enough light?"

Ainsley looked up and saw Jonas's breath as he spoke. "Has to be, I have nothing else."

With the wax dripping from the lit candles, Ainsley pulled at the lid of the coffin. It wouldn't move. Using a shovel, he was able to pry it open, the creaking wood sending involuntary shivers through his body. It was loud, which made him cringe at the thought of someone discovering them. The coffin lid came off its hinges. He passed it to Jonas while he straddled the walls of the coffin ensuring he did not disturb the body.