A Psalm of Greed
A map of West Virginia hung on the wall, the six locations clearly marked. Carl Hunter didn’t bother to stifle his yawn.
“Get on with it, Woodrow. I can read a damned map,” he said irritably. Woodrow ignored him and continued his briefing.
“The graves are in these six areas. They can be located with precision using this scanner. Not every grave will have a clear and readable headstone, so it is imperative that you check the instrument before going into the graveyard. The less time you spend looking for a headstone, the less chance of an unwelcome surprise.”
“Fine,” said Carl, snatching the scanner. “I go from site to site. I use this scanner thing. I find a grave. I soak the ground with the stuff in the flask if nothing’s wrong. Otherwise, I whip out my shotgun.”
“You must do your best to get to the gravesites before there are any problems,” Woodrow said. “Otherwise you must notify us immediately.”
“Then cut the chatter and let me get out of here.”
***
Carl trudged through the dirt toward the fourth grave, scowling as he took another swig of whiskey. He regretted getting involved in this bullshit.
Woodrow’s organization had hired Carl to stop six men from crawling out of their graves. The rumor was they’d worshipped demons when they were alive, and those demons would revive them in the next 24 hours.
Carl found the entire idea ridiculous. He had almost walked out of the briefing room when Woodrow started talking about treating graves with a magical flask. What had stopped him was greed. Everybody knew that these men had been incredibly wealthy, and that was the only reason he’d answered Woodrow’s ad. If a rich man truly believed he was going to come back from the dead, surely he’d ignore the old saying “You can’t take it with you.”
The first grave had nothing of value in it, but it was shallow, so he knew that if he hurried he might have time to look in the other five. But so far, he’d had no luck in discovering anything.
Carl approached the fourth gravesite. It looked expensive and was very ornate. The name on the headstone was “Doctor David Langer”, and Carl hoped this meant a doctor’s salary was waiting for him. Hastily he began digging.
When he finally reached the casket he could barely believe it–the colors, the symbols, the designs were so intense they made his eyes hurt. None of the other caskets had been like this.
He opened the casket and once again, there was no money or jewels. He also found no body.
***
Doctor Langer’s anger grew as the intruder opened his casket. This man’s desecration had already prevented three of his brothers from returning for the final ritual. He would not allow him to jeopardize the other two.
He couldn’t summon anything large; his energy would not fully regenerate until it was time for the final rite. However, he could summon a smaller demon that would possess more than enough strength to crush bone.
He’d let the intruder regenerate tomorrow, just like everybody else.
