A Place I Will Avoid On Halloween

30 September 2015

Story #787

R. Linda:

It came to my attention, as I drove the back roads to avoid traffic on the highway due to road construction, that something was amiss at a crossroads in the village I had come upon. It was the end of the day, and I was on me way home and was none too happy to see a stop coming. As I pulled up to the crossroad, I realised I hadn't avoided the road construction after all. There was a man in a day-glow hard hat and what looked like a day-glow space suit, with a sign that said 'STOP.' With his hand raised in my direction, I had to, of course, stop.

See here 

I sat there looking at the mess in front of me. From what I could glean, a heavy dump truck loaded with topsoil had caved in part of the road shoulder just outside the old town cemetery. It looked like I was going to have to back up and go another way, but I had a line of motors behind me and construction trucks now in the way, so I would have nothing better to do than sit and wait. I watched the road crew try to push the truck out of the hole, all the while trying not to fall into it, but of course, that didn't work. I got out as another driver had arrived, and we stood there chatting about a course of action to get the truck out of the hole, but it was all beyond our power to do much about the problem.

A line-up of construction trucks waiting to figure out what to do

I walked over to the man with the STOP sign and asked (because I be a nosey Parker) what had happened as if the obvious wasn't obvious. He told me what I told you, but added that they were awaiting the town bucket loader. This giant thing arrived just as I was about to go ask the other drivers to back up so I could get out, but being a man, when I saw that bucket loader, well, I wanted to watch! 

It took some time for a discussion to go on before the big machinery was set up to pull the truck out. I  should mention that while they awaited the bucket loader's arrival, several workmen had climbed onto the dump truck and were shovelling the topsoil over the side. In contrast, another contingent below shovelled it into a large pile next to the cemetery wall. It seemed that after the brutal winter we had last year, a significant number of ancient graves had sunk. Consequently, the town elders ordered topsoil to fill in the indentations, which led to the stuck dump truck bearing too much weight and the road shoulder cave-in.

I, along with the other driver, was curious about what the workman, dump truck operator, and a few of the ground-floor shovellers were pointing at below the tyres of the truck. We casually walked over and looked down to see a few old pine caskets below the tyres. This was undoubtedly a dilemma! They had to remove the truck from there before it sank further and broke the pine tops, exposing the occupants and incurring more expense than was already apparent.

We were asked if we saw what they saw and when we concurred, there was a pull of bandannas out of pockets, a wipe of the brow and then a look that said, "OH SHITE!" It was discussed with our help (for they seemed to think that we wearing business suits were idea men) would have to first gently and carefully raise the dump truck (unloaded of its topsoil), then get some granite slabs that were left over from another road job, bring them in and lay them gently on top of the exposed caskets and then use some of the topsoil to fill that hole. One of the men volunteered to be as far away from all this as possible by going to the local nursery for sod to lay over the topsoil. One must only think this guy had a tale to tell at the nursery!

As the bucket loader eased the dump truck out of its hole, painfully slowly, the pastor from the church across the way came over. I suppose he saw all this from his office window and was curious about what was happening in town. He had only to look down into the hole before he gleaned the situation. His mouth formed a great O as he looked from exposed caskets to the ground crew. He was told what was going to happen next, and he nixed that in the bud. 

"No, no, we must say words over the poor souls down there before anything is done." 

Meanwhile, by coincidence, another motor joined our line of halted vehicles, and from it emerged a man dressed as a priest. He saw the pastor and waved as he came on.

"Oh no," the pastor murmured, "we are in for an ecumenical service now!"

And he was right; as soon as the priest from the next town over looked at the hole, he took a step back and, with a broad smile, declared it a "witches' hole" that required an exorcism.

As you can imagine, the words "witches hole" made everyone uncomfortable, the urge now was to just cover it up fast and get the hell out of there, as everyone, and I mean everyone, who had been on the edge of the hole looking down, moved back in unison.

"You can see the caskets are buried outside the cemetery wall, and can rightly assume these folks were not permitted entrance to sacred burial within the walls. Therefore, we can rightly assume they were witches, murderers, or worse." Father Patrick declared with (I will admit) a fair amount of joy in his voice. And there I be, thinking what is worse than a murderer? 

For the life of me, I could not think what was worse than being a witch or a murderer, but OK. The truck driver asked him what was to be done next, but not before the priest informed him that granite slabs were being dispatched as they spoke, sod was on the way, and they had enough extra topsoil to fill in the hole (he thought). 

"Well," Father Patrick said, looking at the pastor, "John, I know there is a full moon tonight, be perfect for an exorcism and once I put on that show, you can give the blessings to the departed, cleansed souls, and the slabs can be put on and everything tidied up."

"Don't you need the Bishop and Pope's approval for that?" Pastor John asked.

"Well, this is a dire situation, and I think we can forego all that." Father Patrick said with some authority.

Sounded to me and my fellow drivers, who were now all out of their motors, that we would be stuck here until the moon was up! But before any of us could protest, the town clerk appeared with questions and legalities galore. This person declared it wasn't a church problem, it was a TOWN PROBLEM! Oh yes, that opened a discussion that got most heated between the clergy and the clerk. The work crew joined in, citing overtime. Then they were informed that there would be no overtime because they were the cause of the event, and soon after, we drivers were included in the discussion. As all this was going on, a large earthbreaker tractor had pulled up behind the line of cars, and guess what? It had broken down (the operator had left the motor running the entire time, and it ran out of diesel, with no diesel available in the two towns over, and it would require a tanker to fill up the earth mover, I tell ya!). No vehicle could go forward or backwards to get out of the line of motors now parked on the small road. GREAT!

Too much time was spent with arguments going on all around the dead in the hole, and people who lived on the common were coming out of their houses to see what the chatter was about. This brought more chatter and the attention of the Baptist minister who heard the sound, thinking a town meeting had broken out without his knowledge, and of course, he scooted down the road to find out what the subject was, and if he had any dealings in it, and well you know he did. When he heard the clerical show that was going to go on once the moon rose, he wanted in!

Well, this led to the two main officiants saying no, because that meant they would have to ask the Methodist minister, the Unitarians, the Jehovah's Witnesses, the Christian Scientists, and whoever was left from a religious denomination to join in and my God we'd all be there until the middle of next week!

That was enough for all of us to join in the fray and inform the Baptist minister that he could not utter a word; the other two had it by a vote of all there, and basically, to seal his lips and stop shaking his head, it was so ordained, and that was that.

Meanwhile, the town clerk was on the phone, the selectmen had arrived with the town lawyer and oh R. Linda, it was awful the shouting at the holy people, the work crew defending the clergy (because they wanted out of there and they knew the town lawyer would get an injunction and we'd all be there until the new year if he did that.

By this time, the day was setting, and the moon was just starting to shine over the Congregational Church across the way. The priest had called someone at his church to bring the necessary vestments and holy water, and so he was all set, town lawyer, injunction or no. The pastor of the Congregational Church had only to run across the way for his glasses and Bible, and well, the religious part was ready. The slabs had arrived, the sod was there, the towns folk had made sandwiches and lemonade for all bystanders and witnesses to the SHOW because that was really what it was, about to be performed for the entertainment and awe of all standing around, and possibly to actually bless the poor exposed dead in their caskets and damn the town clerk and her assembly. 

I called home after texting about me situation an hour prior, and no one was there. Of course, they wouldn't be; I wouldn't have believed me either. They were all for driving over to see for themselves if Gabriel was telling the truth or not. I told them not to, we'd never get out of that village with the number of gawkers who were arriving with lawn chairs, thermoses of coffee and hot chocolate; all we needed was a campfire and marshmallows. Geez, small-towners!

So, I, along with many people I didn't know and still don't, was subject to watching the moon rise as the Catholic priest did his thing. Then the pastor did his, followed by all of us helping to get those slabs in place, filling in the hole (balloon lights were brought in), and cutting and placing sod over the top. All this while the town clerk muttered about it being illegal and that the caskets should have been dug up and put inside the cemetery walls. Of course, she was told that those below were witches or murderers or what have you, but she argued they'd had an exorcism against their will and were supposedly cleansed. Then she was told by the road crew they were probably Satanists and the whole affair wouldn't mean a damn to them, and on this went until a tanker arrived with diesel for the earth mover and we could all go home.

I haven't heard a word since. No one wrote about this but me! I won't mention the village or anyone's name in case they decide they want to throw me in that hole. But what a way to spend the end of a work day!

I had arrived home full of dirt, with pieces of grass on me jacket and a sweaty shirt filled with stains of all kinds, including holy water, which, because I was standing too close to the hole, had sprayed me. I was at the edge of the crowd who came to witness, and because I had been there first on the scene, I thought I deserved a front-row view. I am lucky I wasn't pushed over the side and down into the grave. I'll tell you this, I won't be driving that way anytime soon. Call me superstitious, but come Halloween, I have a feeling those spirits will rise out of that hole and come looking for those who disturbed them and made a spectacle of spectres who only wanted eternal rest outside or inside the walls of that cemetery, I don't think it really mattered which side to them. Or witch. 

Just in front of the wall -- a witch hole?

Gabe

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