There’s Blood On My Dictionary!

by Will Novey

I drive up to the curb of 149 Clay St. in my beat up 93 Ford Ranger. The obtrusive yellow sun drapes my grubby front windshield baking my drenched face. The last half hour driving down highway 17 had been a torturous excursion ensuing in a steamy sweat stained white-T shirt.

The driver’s seat door, maroon from years of rust, squeaks as I open it allowing the smell of wet dog to waft out. My Black and Tan Coonhound, Loretta, wags her tail in a fast rhythm pounding back and fourth against the cracked back window.

Thump Thump Thump Thump.
“Calm down girl. I’m gonna let you out.” I say in a pleading voice, patting her dusty black back as I click the lever at the bottom of the drivers seat. The seat slides forward giving Loretta room to jump out. Immediately I reach for the black leather leash while she jumps out and scampers around wildly. I jerk the leash pulling her towards me.

“Down!” I hiss.

She immediately stops where she stands and sits innocently, leaning her football sized head against my knee and staring up at me with sad eyes.

“C’mon girl!” I holler closing the door and galloping out to the front fence. She wags her tail at my side as we approach the weathered gate.

The house looks tattered and unkempt. The old white fence is missing the majority of its paint giving it the appearance of a scratched brown rather than a faded white. Many of the pickets are cracked or bending in obscure angles like broken elderly teeth. Through the gaps I can see the arid grass lawn with arbitrary house-hold objects scattered around. An old Weber barbeque with a dirty black grate leaning against it sat on the grass. Pale wooden wire brush hanging from the handle. Across the seriously cracked cement pathway onto the other side of the lawn someones muddy soccer ball sits in muddy water. A black tire lies flat suffocating the grass. The tread is dirty and threadbare, probably from abusive employment on the road. A ring of dirty germ-infested water fills the inner segment of the donut. The amount of filth inhabiting that one tire alone is unsettling.

The one story home I’m sure was once covered in a healthy plastic white, but now it’s a faded brown much like the fence. The gutter’s broken and hanging delicately over the right side of the grass, dripping small beads of water into a Sierra Nevada beer bottle. The roof panels are battered, occasionally sticking out in menacing angles or simply falling off completely. Silver duck tape streaks across the roof holding broken and rotting panels together. To the right of the door is a large rectangular window covered in smudges and little designs where people fogged the glass and wrote with their fingers. A big smiley face welcomes both Loretta and me.

The wooden steps creak as I step up to the front door and knock. I stand there waiting for someone to open the door as Loretta whines impatiently giving her usual sad dog look. Her cheeks droop over her mouth so she always has a gloomy look to her. Her long flappy ears hang down to the base of her neck. Loretta is a bonified hillbilly hound dog, and my family and I love her to death, though she can be a handful at times.

Loretta turns her hazel eyes up towards me and lets out another whine that sounds more like the squeaking of rusty bicycle breaks. Her lips curve to form an O shape as she lets out a soft bay.

“What are you whining about?” I asked her in the usual baby talk which is saved for her, and my cat back home.

I knock on the door louder this time. After half a minute I get a reply.

“Who is it!” Yells my older brother. His voice sounds anxious and unsettling.

“Who do ya think?” I yell back.

Silence.

“David it’s Eli; let me in!” I yell pounding on the door. Loretta starts wagging her tail still looking up at me anxiously.

Still silence.

“David!’ I shout.

“One sec!” he barks immediately this time.

I wait there tapping my feet for three minutes before I hear him stumble to the door. He opens it quickly appearing exhausted like he just sprinted a mile. He doesn’t look at me right away. He pokes his head out the door glancing to his right then to his left. Then he turns his head to me.

“Hey man! What’s up!” I yell with a beam. I let Loretta bolt inside as I give my brother a big hug.

“Get in.” He slurs into one word, pulling me by the shoulder inside.

He closes the door behind me, then takes a quick peek out the window. I take in my surroundings while standing on an ornate Indian rug. All the walls are white except the one to my right, which is completely covered in graffiti. Various messages are written in various colors. A lot of simple tags, a few pictures of people or places, phallic pictures of all kinds. I notice a drawing of what looks like a midget with three penises coming out of his head. It’s funny but poorly drawn so it loses some status. However a few feet away from it is a detailed picture of a buff goat man/woman holding a bong and breathing out smoke. I say man/woman because the goat contains both a penis with balls, and a set of breasts, along with a pentagram between its horns. I instantly assume the artist is David.

Chuckling I turn to look at my brother. He’s standing next to me, his head facing the ground but looking at nothing. Biting his nails nervously, from the looks of it, he’d been doing a serious number on them before I arrived.

“What the fuck’s with you?” I say with a slight chortle.

He looks at me with his head still hunched over, opens his mouth slightly as if to say something then turned back towards the ground, still chewing his nail.

I raise my eyebrows and look at him with anticipation, leaning my head in slightly to be level with his.

“Umm,” he says clearing his throat, “give me a sec.”

“Everything okay dude? You look a little freaked.”

“Just give me a sec!” he says aggressively, the end of a nail flying threw the air as his hand jerks down from his face. We both watch it fly through the air in slow motion then land on the rug.

…The awkward silence is interrupted by a loud howl from Loretta blown in from another room.

I can see every muscle in David’s body tense up as he slowly raises his head, revealing wide distant eyes and a slightly open mouth, just barely revealing his upper teeth.

“OOOOuuuuu!” Belches Loretta from the other room. David still paralyzed, Loretta runs into the living room carrying something in her mouth.

“Loretta! Come here!” I bark, hunched over waving my sweaty arms towards my chest. I can’t quite make out the object. She’s jumping around wagging her tail elatedly.

Loretta trots to my knees tail still wagging. I’m unaware of David standing next to me; he’s all but turned to stone.

“What you got there? I drool in my baby voice. “Ya got a bone, huh? What is it?” A little more excited.

I reach down to her mouth to try and pull whatever was there out. I grab the object firmly and quickly as she attempted to maneuver it out of my grasp.

“Drop it!” I shout authoritatively as if getting louder and angrier creates a better communication between the dog and me. I yank hard for Loretta to let loose but to no success. My family has never been decent with training her, my brother’s great at it, but he’s not around a lot. My dad just lets her do whatever she wants, whether it be tear up the couch or break his middle finger.
“What the hell is that?” Finally getting a closer look at the object. It looks like a small stick of some sort. It’s about three inches long and dark black. I hold Lorettas head as I take a closer look. My fingers press into the fat of her forehead and cheeks. There’s something gold on the object…a ring? I look closer at the design on the ring, it’s the money symbol covered in diamonds. Well, fake diamonds, what kind of idiot gets real diamonds in the shape of the money sign.

What a stupid ring? Who buys shit like this?

I jerk my head up quickly!

What the fuck!?

I can feel my eyes open wide and grow distant as I fade deep into my head.

“David?” I hear myself say, my voice lackluster.

“Yea?”

“Why is there a finger in Lorettas mouth?” I turn my head slowly without moving my torso, much like an owl, and stare into my brothers’ eyes.

“So…some shit happened in the last-“ he looks at his watch, “hour or so.” He says it in a hesitant voice, dragging out each syllable so as not to get to the point.

“And this shit that happened…in what way does it involve a finger?”

We both hear Loretta howling in the other room. I run into the other room to get her but then freeze, paralyzed in shock. I can feel all warmth leave my body as a wave of coldness rushes through my veins. It’s like my whole body fell asleep instantaneously. Loretta is still baying loudly as I stare with a dumbstruck face at the body on the carpet.

The man must be about 6-2, maybe 210-220 lbs. black dreads, and really fucking dead. He‘s lying face down, his right arm making a right angle, hand pointing towards his head. On the end of the right hand I can make out two fingers missing, the middle and ring fingers. The two fingers are cut off right after the middle joint so there are still two one-inch nubs. The ends of the nubs are interesting looking to say the least. The wound’s pretty fresh, so the skin’s not completely dead yet. The epidermis creates an ashen ring, so pale that it’s white like printer paper. Then moving inwards is a very dark red dermis, mushy like a cherry cobbler. There’s a small waterfall of yellowish green pus oozing down from the center of the wound towards the floor. The coloring and texture of the pus really resembles a long stream of snot, as if the finger had let out some syrupy sneeze. Dead in the center of the finger is a tiny sallow circle that I can only assume to be the bone. It’s easy to make out, glistening from the exposure of mucus liquids flowing over its surface. All in all, the finger looks a little bit like an archery target, except with a few less colors. The left arm is in a similar shape with a 100 or so degree angle but pointing towards his left foot. His left leg is pointing straight out and the right leg is bent slightly. For a brief moment I picture a chalk outline in my head, like the ones they do at crime scenes on T.V.

The dead man is wearing a large letterman jacket made by LRG. His jeans are black with white faded sections on the back of his calves. The two back pockets are the colors of the Jamaican flag. I can’t see the mans face. His head is completely face down into the carpet. He’s got dreadlocks going in every direction that are thick and short, maybe three inches or so each. There’s a dark pool of blood surrounding his neck, but his face is down so I can’t see where the wound is. The blood is almost black it’s so dark, and it’s created a puddle that’s gone well beyond his head. I can’t help but imagine him drowning in his own blood the way it covers his face, and for a moment I consider turning him over.

My brother walks in with his hands in the air as if he’s gripping an invisible ball.

“So…I kinda killed someone.” He says apologetically. His eye brows lower making his forehead wrinkle, he raises his cheeks and reveals his teeth but not in a smile, just an awkward cringe.

“Oh…you-you kinda killed someone.” I spit. “S-so he’s kinda dead?” “Oh man that’s a relief cause I thought he was hella dead.” David is just looking at me upset that I’m being so condescending.

“ So is he- is he half dead?” I quiz David. My brother sputters out some “W-w-well” and “I uh..” while I continue nagging him. “Tell me David, what makes him KINDA dead. Huh?! Is he undead? Is he a fucking zombie?” My voice elevates quickly as I shout, “Why the fuck, is this guy kinda dead, and not motherfucking one-hundred percent stone cold never gonna breath again DEAD!?”

I finish by placing my arms up in the air, lifting my eyebrows, tilting my head and putting on a silly confused half open smile.

David just looks at me with an expression of boredom, then says,

“I know you like being dramatic, but what good do you think it’s gonna do in this situation?”

I give him an exasperated sigh.

“Yes, I am being very dramatic.” I say very slowly, “I come over here, expecting to find you and some friends sitting on the couch, like smoking pot or something, not you and some big ass dead guy bleeding all over your floor. Now, do you think I have a legitimate reason to be just a little dramatic?”

He ponders it for a moment. I interrupt his train of thought.

“Dude how the fuck did this happen?” I whine the words.

“Well, I wanted to get some shit for tonight-“

“What shit?”

“Some coke. And I was gonna buy it from this guy.” He says pointing his finger down at the body.

“And things didn’t go the way you wanted them to?”

“Lemme explain.” His hand movements are all over the place as he dives into his not-so-short anecdote. “I wanted to get some coke for tonight and my boy Robert was out. So he told me to hit up this man Melvin.” Finger pointed at the ground.

“Melvin?” I ask with a smirk.

“Yea, Melvin. What?”

I look at the guy on the floor wearing LRG, Jordan’s, and where there should be a nice money sign ring.

“I-I don’t know, just not what I expected.” I half laugh.

“What there something funny about a black guy named Melvin?”

“No no no it’s just…he doesn’t really look like a Melvin to me is all, ya know? I normally picture a Melvin as some, like nerdy looking kid with big rim glasses.” I put my fingers around my eyes to make pretend glasses, “Like that show Dexter’s Lab, you know what I’m talking about?”

He gives me a look of disgust.

“What makes you think this guy’s not really nerdy? Huh? For all you know he could have a fucking P.H.D. in astrophysics. Did you ever consider that?”

I pause for a moment to look at the body one more time.

“No David, it never crossed my mind. I should have known that most astrophysicists spend their free time selling drugs to college students. My bad.” I roll my eyes in conclusion.

“Well I think what you said is kinda racist” he points out.

“Hey, you’re the one who fucking killed him.”

David sighs at this comment, obviously through with the topic.

“Anyways let me finish.” He dives back in. “So I call Melvin and we work out for him to come here with an ounce. No. We were not gonna do all of it tonight. I was gonna slang some of it. Anyways, he gets here and acts all nice and friendly and shit, so I don’t mind inviting him in. We go back to my room; I get the money out and show him that it’s all good ya know? Then he asks for the money straight out. Now, I’m smart enough to know not to just hand over the money without getting the shit first. You’ll just get jacked that way. So I ask him to show me the yola ya know? But then he just looks at me with nasty mug on his face and is all like “First lemme count the money.” At this point I’m just like what the fuck? So I start getting hella suspicious and shit. I tell him that I first want the shit before I give him the money ya know? I mean who the fuck just hands over hella money. So after that he just goes fucking nuts on me! He pulls out a fucking butterfly knife and starts twirling it around in the air like some fucking Bruce Lee or some shit.”

“I don’t remember any butterfly knife in a Bruce Lee movie”

“You know what I fucking mean. So anyways he’s got this fucking knife and is all like “Gimmie the fucking money!” and I’m all like Fuck that! So I jump over-no I leap over to my bed, do a fucking tumble in the process and grab my machete from under it. I flip over hella fast, back down on the fucking ground right now. I shoot my legs into the air hard enough so that I fucking land on my feet, ready, in fucking knife fighter position. Fucker’s way ahead of me though. He’s already crouched down, hands waving around with his knife, snarling at me. I mean fucking snarling like BRlAAAUGH!”

I lean my head back a bit as my brother spits out a string of obnoxious noises.

“So there we are, in the room, fucking circling each other like that scene in Kill Bill where those two chicks fight it out. I mean I got a fucking machete, and you know I fucking train with this shit. Anyways, I can feel my heart just pounding like mad ya know, like my whole body is just one big heart beat. I mean I’m not even thinking at this point, it’s just all instincts.”

I’m just staring at him with an empty incredulous expression.

“So this motherfucker…” he is showing an unnecessary amount of expression with his words, “starts mumbling some fucking voodoo lingo. Like “Hasa la masa casa deem!!” and I’m just like What the FUCK is going on. Ya know? So I’m hunched over fucking freaking out over what he’s saying, I mean I thought my head was about to fucking explode or some shit, and then he just fucking pounces at me like rabid hyeena or something. He’s swinging in every fucking direction and I just step backwards on to my bed. The springs on the bed give in to my weight, and I aint ready for this shit, so I just fall backwards but not before swinging that fucking machete as hard as I can.”

“At that very moment he was going in for a jab, and my blade fucking hits his knife sending it flying into the wall. Now he’s got no weapon, so I just give him a hard front kick with my heel sending him flying into the wall. I mean this is like some DBZ shit or something. I fucking jump up and just swing the machete for his neck, thinking I might just cut his fucking head off or something. He puts his hand up to defend himself, as if his hand is gonna stop the blade, and the machete just cuts through his fingers, those go flying, and then I cut clean through his fucking neck. I’m standing there holding the machete, who knows what kinda look is on my face, and this douche bag has a slit in his neck, but he’s still fucking standing up! At first I thought I might have to swing again, ya know, but he’s just standing there with a completely blank, lifeless you could say, expression on his face. Dark ass blood I mean dark, starts oozing from his neck, like some fucking Evil Dead Two shit, ya know, and then finally he falls over, face first forming that weird fucking posture he’s got right now. Bam! He’s dead, I’m fucking freaked and there’s blood leaking all over my god damn rug.”

He finishes the story almost breathless, like it just happened all over again. I look up at him, my eyes wide…speechless. There is a good pause where we are just standing there lost in our thoughts. I can hear him take in every breath with effort. Meanwhile Loretta has long stopped barking and has plopped on the bed licking her lips, ready to take a nap. Obviously David’s story doesn’t impress her.

“Ok…” I begin. “So you’re telling me, this mother fucker here, came into your house to sell you coke, then wanted to mug you with a butterfly knife. You grabbed your machete after leaping across the room, and instinctively got into a knife stance position. Then Melvin, this douche bag bleeding on your carpet as we speak, started speaking in a voodoo language, I believe you called it, then attacked you where you then, fell backwards and got a lucky swing at his knife making it fly into the wall?”

“Yea it’s right there!” He says pointing to the wall opposite his bed. I look over incredulously. Sure enough there it is, literally penetrating the wall and sticking straight out like something out of a stupid movie. I lower one eyebrow and open my mouth slightly as to say are you fucking kidding me?

I look around the room for a moment to try and assess the validity of his story. The body’s on the ground, blood centering around the neck. David’s machete is laid flat on the carpet at the foot of his bed, a little bit of blood can be seen along the edge. On his desk is a fat stack of cash, probably somewhere around $1500. There’s no backpack or anything that Melvin brought in, something’s missing though.

“Well where’s the coke?” I ask.

He looks up at me.
“I defenestrated it.” He says calmly.

I pause for a moment repeating the words in my head.

“You what?”

He takes a breath in then repeats,

“I defenestrated it.”

“Defenestrate?”

“yea”

“what the fuck does that mean?”

“Defenestrate?”

“Yea, defenestrate, what the fuck does that mean? That even a word?”

“Yea,” he says straightening out, lowering his shoulders taking a more relaxed posture. “It means to throw out a window.”

“To throw out a window?!”

“Yea, defenestrate.”

“I’ve never fucking heard that before. You sure?”

“Yea, I’m sure!” He says in a commanding manner.

“Where’d you hear it?”

“I don’t know but I know it’s a word. Fucking look it up!”

“Do you have a dictionary?”

“What!?”

“A dictionary! I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t fucking believe you! We’re not fucking playing Scrabble here where you have to challenge my words.” He shouts aggressively clawing the sides of his head. “This motherfucker is bleeding all over my fucking floor and you wanna look up this fucking word?!”

“I just wanna see if it’s really a word.”

“Fine! We’ll look it up.”

David goes over to his desk to grab his dictionary. I stand there patiently with my arms folded looking at the body.

“De-fen-e-strate!” He enunciates standing up straight. “The act of throwing someone or something out of a window. “The term was coined around the time of an incident in Prague Castle in the year of 1618. The word comes from the Latin de, from; out of, and fenestra; window or opening.”

“Huh so it’s Latin.”

“Yea. It’s Latin.” He mocks.

“Where the hell did you find that word? Do you spend your free time browsing ObscureWords.com or something?”

“No I just happened to know the word and you didn’t.”

“Where the fuck am I going to learn a word with such a precise definition. It’s not just to throw out; it’s to throw out a goddamn window. Who fucking creates these words?”

“I was able to use it in a practical way.”

“Please, you probably spent the time between Melvin dying and me getting here to figure out some pretentious way of explaining this fiasco to me.”

“Look this is not going to help the situation.”

“Well no shit it’s not gonna help the situation. What is gonna help the situation? I don’t know what the fuck to do with a dead body. And honestly, I’m surprised you got rid-…defenestrated all that blow.”

“It’s fucking evidence. I don’t wanna have anything linking me, to this fucking drug dealer. Got it?”

I hesitate.

“Yea I guess.”

“Ok so what are we gonna do?”

Silence.

We both just stand there holding our chins, contemplating solutions.

“Dude I have no fucking clue what to do.” I say anxiously.

“Well we gotta think of something.”

“Well lets google it.”

“What?” He says incredulously.

“Dude, there has gotta be some useful information on getting rid of dead bodies on the Internet.”

He consideres it for a moment, with a slightly open mouth, like he’s going to sneeze, then closes it and nods his head in agreement.

“Ok lets check it out.”

We walk over to the computer, making sure to step around the pool of blood.

“How to get rid of a dead body?” my brother says as he types it into google. Instantly we have a number of links, the first one being “ways to get rid of dead bodies - Mafia - tribe.net”.

“Click on that one.” I say pointing to the link. My brother hits the link but it just leads to a bunch of books for sale.

“Not useful.” My brother moans disdainfully. He hits the back button. The next link down just says “How to get rid of a dead body”.

“I bet that ones good.” I say cheerfully.

He clicks on the link. There’s a loading screen, and then some flash cartoon comes up. The cartoon’s of a bunch of mob guys feeding someone to a pig. It’s a joke.

I let out a disappointed sigh.

“Well I take it you don’t have a pig farm near by.”

“No unfortunately there is no pig farm in my back yard.” He answers, obviously getting more annoyed.

There are a few youtube videos available but I’m tired of short movies on the subject. A link below leads to a forum where people give ideas. Here we find suggestions such as cutting up the body, rolling it in a rug, dumping it in the sea, burning…etc. All these seem pretty difficult in our situation.

“Lets try ask.com?” My brother suggests. So we type in ask.com in google and click on the link. Again, my brother types in “How to get rid of a body”.

We then click on a link saying “how to get rid of a corpse” at Evilhow.com.

The sight is a bit creepy. It has a whole evil theme, which if I were just browsing the net for fun I might be into, but it tries to explain everything in a creepy dialect. The first and best way to get rid of a corpse, the site says, is to disintegrate it with acid. Unfortunately my brother and I do not have a large supply stored away so that options out of the picture. The next option is to burn the body, which is more appealing and manageable, but the site says you need to hit at least 600 degrees Fahrenheit in order to truly get rid of any evidence. That would be hard, but it is an option.

The next option is to shoot the corpse into space with a rocket, which only annoys the both of us. After that the site talks about digging a grave, stating that a six-foot grave is more than deep enough to hide the scent from dogs and other search devices.

David and I read further into it and decide digging a very deep grave, dumping the body into it, burning the body inside the pit, than pouring all the dirt on top is our best bet.

I look back at the corpse. Loretta is standing over it sniffing around the hand.

“Loretta shoe!” My brother yells waving his arms at her. She scurries away, then sits down looking innocently at us.

“Ok now what are we gonna do with the rug and all the shit that has blood on it?” I ask as if it were a math problem.

“Dude, we can just burn it all with the body.” My brother points out gleefully.

“Alright. We got this.” I say encouragingly.

Luckily David’s rug is not installed; it’s just a dirty old Indian rug with cool geometric designs on it. We roll the rug up around Melvin so that he is completely encased. We store everything we can find that has a little bit of blood on it and wrap it with the carpet. Loretta is fast asleep on the bed having doggy dreams. David and I go outside and find a nice part of the back yard that we can dig deep into. There is a tall wooden fence giving us plenty of privacy. Only an hour or so has passed by since I arrived at 149 Clay Street and I find it strangely shocking to discover that everything is the same outside.

We take turns digging since we only have one shovel, and the intense heat makes us fatigue easily. I find a big orange container of gasoline sitting near my brothers’ roommates red Kawasaki Ninja. Loretta must have woken up at some point because she runs outside to join us in the activity. She sprints around the yard chasing random object I throw to her, then digs holes and buries them in the yard. Meanwhile David keeps digging. We’ve become a family of diggers.

The dig is slow and tiresome, but eventually David and I get a circular pit about six and a half feet deep. We’re covered with dirt and grass and reek of body odor.

We pull the rug out of the house and throw it into the pit. It lands upright, so we have to jump in and position it so that it’s as low as possible. The hand that was cut is sticking out of the rug, and I can see the nubs are now turning black from infection and clotting.

“Hey David, did you ever put the fingers with the body when we were wrapping it up?” I say in a whisper.

“I put one in, I figured you got the other.”

“Which one did you put in?”

“What do you mean which one? I didn’t take the time to identify it, or fucking place it back on like a puzzle piece.”

“ok ok, did it have a ring on it?”

“A ring?”

“Yea, a ring with a money sign on it.”

“No…I didn’t see a ring.”

“Oh fuck!”

“I didn’t see it anywhere inside…”

“Loretta had it in her mouth when I came in.”

We both turn and look at Loretta. She’s rolling around in the grass playfully.

“Oh fuck man, we gotta find that finger.” I say anxiously.

We both run inside and begin desperately searching for the missing finger. Under the bed, on the desk, behind posters but through all our attempts we come up with nothing.

“Fuck man, where the hell could it be?!” Shouts my brother.

“Maybe we put it with the body and we don’t even know it?”
“Maybe.” My brother obviously not convinced.

We walk outside and look in the pit, but we can’t see it outside the rug, and we’re not about to roll the body out at this point.

We both look over at Loretta who was just finishing burying something in a hole.

“Oh fuck man, I bet she buried it somewhere in the yard.” I say confidently.

“Aw dude she made so many holes all over the fucking place.”

“Wait, this might be ok, if she did burry it, then it will decay in time and become just a few scrawny bones. I don’t think we need to worry about it.”

“You think?”

“Yea man, in a way she was just helping us out.”

“Yea I guess so.” My brother says in a brighter tone. “Ok then, lets burn all this shit and get this over with.”

I take the gasoline and start pouring it all over the rug, till it’s soaked in the stuff, then light a match and toss it in.

Immediately the flames begin to spread around the rug till the whole cylinder is encompassed in a blaze.

“Awwwww…fuck that smells bad!” I manage to gag out. On one hand I can make out a combination of what smells like beef on a frying pan, and clumps of pork fat on a grill. There is a coppery metallic smell combined with a charcoal like smell and a sulfurous odor probably from the smoldering dreads. I knew the smell would sit with me for the rest of my life.

“Oh dude, that is fucking foul.”

“Oh my god, I feel like puking. It fucking reeks!”

We both cover our noses and watch as the whole thing begins to decay. The rug gradually turns black and wrinkled from the heat. Dark black smoke billows in large plumes from the pit rising high into the air.

“Damn people are gonna see that smoke.” I shout at David.

“Yea I know, that could be an issue. How bout I grab the barbeque and get it going just incase.”

The barbeque is easily rolled out to the pit, and then David lights the coals and gets it going. It’s the best façade we have.

Soon the rug burns away revealing the body underneath. It’s a grotesque sight, but we both stare in awe as the corpse melts away. First the skin just wrinkles and folds turning from brown to black like a dried prune. Spots of flesh burst open revealing yellowish pus boiling on the bloody bone. Melvin’s chest becomes a wrinkly black surface with craters of yellow and red lava oozing out. Occasionally a thick pus bubble explodes like a volcanic eruption sending fiery balls in every direction. Only the teeth sustain some of their whiteness while all the other bones become coated in a thick layer of burnt red and black meat.

I can feel my stomach turn as it becomes a bit much my brother and me to handle. We both agree that enough biomass is destroyed so we start pouring the dirt on.

The dirt drowns the flames but the stench is still pretty bad. Loretta doesn’t seem to mind, any kind of unusual smell just gets her excited. We kick as much dirt as we can to try and cover it all up fast.

The corpse has a solid layer of dirt on top of it now so I jump into the pit and start stomping the dirt down…compressing it. It takes us only maybe thirty minutes to completely get rid of all the traces of the body and get the dirt back to looking normal. In fact, it looks the same as it did before except the soil is just a little bit looser.

Both of us let out long sighs of relief as we sit down and stare absent-mindedly at the patch of dirt. What a day.

Just as we’re getting ready to go inside we hear a fire truck pull up to front of the house.

“Oh shit!” I whisper to my brother as we exchange panicky glances. He instantly dashes inside leaving me out back next to the barbeque. I begin to freak out in my head. My body numbs as all the feeling drains out of my limbs leaving a cold chill in my bones. I don’t know what to do, nor what David is doing. I just stand there pathetically. Then David jets back outside holding a pack of smoked chicken apple sausages. At the same time I hear a knock on the front door.

David tosses the sausages at me then runs back inside. He doesn’t need to tell me what to do. My hopeless trance is immediately broken by optimism and desperateness as I tear open the package and throw the sausages on the barbeque.

At first I just stand there looking at them blankly, but then all sorts of images on how to look casual pop in my head. Words are no longer part of my train of thought, just random symbols and images. I see the shovel and fling it to another corner of the yard, then grab a rusty fold out lawn chair and try and compose myself.

The fireman walks out into the backyard with my brother following him.

“Yea I’d just like to check things out back here, make sure there’s nothing to be concerned about.” The fireman says casually as he walks through the door in his big yellow suit. I get a quick glance at my brother behind the fireman. His eyes are wide. He’s crossing his arms back and fourth mouthing what looks “kill”. A huge stream of crazy thoughts race through my mind, trying to imagine how I could kill this man and why it would be a good idea. Maybe he knows something? Maybe my options are only kill this man or go to jail? What could I kill him with!?

I give my brother a lowered eyebrow in question and he keeps mouthing the same thing. “Kill, Kill, Kill.”

Sweat is beading out of my dirt-covered pores. I’m completely lost in thought as I gaze incredulously at my brother. He can see that I’m freaked. Something isn’t right.

“Eli just chill.” My brother says to me calmly. “He’s just checking out where the smoke came from.”

Chill…. phew.

The air is thrust out my lungs as I let out an emotional sigh of relief.
“Hey, watcha got cooking there?” The fireman asks with a grin.

It takes me a moment to collect my thoughts and I literally shake my head a few times before replying, “Some chicken apple sausage. Want some?”

“Oh man you bet I do,” He says chuckling to himself, “but I can’t. Trying ta cut back on dum fatty foods ya know.” He’s bending slightly backwards patting his belly while he says this.
“Oh you sure? We got plenty” I’ve got an uncontrollable smile on at the moment. Things seemed so bleak a few seconds ago and now it looks like we’ll pull through. I’m still nervous as hell, but I’ve got some warmth back in my bones from seeing this guy act so casual.

“Oh you tempting me alright, but uhh…” He’s holding his chin shaking his head weighing his options. “No.” he blurts out turning his face away from the sausage like it’s an addictive drug. “But thanks for the offer.”

David and I exchange optimistic smiles.

“Call said the smoke was thirty feet high…” I feel my stomach drop, “aw…but there’s a lot of nuts round here.” Giving both of us a big grin. “Well I’d say it all looks good round here. Ya’ll take care now.” He says with a wave.

David and me just wave back gleefully. As we do so Loretta runs up letting out a howl.

“Oh well hello there hound doggy.” The fireman says patting Loretta on her belly as she nudges her head all over his legs. “Well she is a beauty! Is this a coon hound?” he has a big goofy smile.

“Yea, a Black and Tan.” My brother answers.

“Well I aint seen ah coon hound in years! I grew up wit em back in Tennessee. God she is just beautiful! What’s her name?”

“Loretta” both of us say simultaneously.

“Loretta!?.” He says excitedly. “That is just perfect! Well hello Loretta.” His voice is in dog dribble now so it’s hard to distinguish between words and obscure squeaky noises.

“Hey what’s wrong girl?” He says standing straight up looking down at Loretta. Loretta’s standing on all fours, slowly bobbing her head back and fourth like a chicken,

“Loretta?” David asks worriedly.

She keeps bobbing her head back and fourth like a chicken, but now you can make out raspy coughing noises from her throat.

She tilts her head down, now bobbing up and down, up and down, up and-

“Awwww” all three of us moan out as she vomits on the ground. The vomit is beige and slimy, but there’s a little black stick or something, and some shiny object to. Like glitter or something.

I freeze.

I look at the vomit sitting there glistening. I look at the firefighter who is looking at the vomit with an outraged expression. I look at Loretta who is looking at the fireman wagging her tail. I look at David who is looking back at me with a terrified expression.

“Bad dog!”