FLASHed

26. Pound for a Pound

The hole was deep by the time the rooster crowed. Josh had almost missed the sunrise call, the cock-a-doodle muffled by beeps and buzzes in the earphones connected to his metal detector. He was hoping to find more of the gold hoard in the unmarked graves at the lost cemetery site. Only a little more and he'd be able to afford the '70 Camaro Z28 he'd had his eye on for weeks; it was an SS variant that would trash Zed's Charger, and, if he was lucky, Amie Sanders would like the car enough to go for a ride.

Josh poked his head up out of the hole to confirm that all was quiet from the farmhouse up the hill. He wasn't supposed to be here; the landowner, a prickly old farmer named Chuck Coffar, was known to shoot trespassers on sight, who knew what he'd do if he caught someone stealing treasure from his ancestors.

The detector sounded a sharp beep-beep. Josh's heart stopped; the high pitch meant gold or silver. He tossed his metal detector out of the hole and armed himself with his small scoop and target pin pointer. He placed his torch down and dug around with his fingers, feeling the object before he saw it. He could judge by the weight that he'd found more gold. He smeared away the sweet smelling dirt to reveal a broach with a hammered rosette design in a style that oozed age and value.

The remainder of the hole came up empty, although he might have only hit half of the grave. The rooster crowed again, and Josh looked up to see the open sky overhead had lightened. He quickly gathered his things. The farmer would open his shed every day at first light, without fail, and Josh still had to fill in the hole without being seen.

With the hole filled, Josh waited to be sure that the farmer was still inside before sneaking with his gear back into the woods and to his pickup.

* * *

That morning Josh was weighing his finds on the kitchen table when his grandfather came in from his sunny spot on the porch. He took a look at the loot and opened one big eye on his grandson. "What kind'a hell-damned mischief have you been into, boy?"

"Nothin' to worry about Grandpa, just found an abandoned old cellar hole out the back of Apple Tree Hollow. Looks like these folk was loaded up with some real good money. It's legit, I swear.

Grandpa sat down and cursed under his breath as he pushed his finger about the small mound of treasure. "Yer dicing with the Devil is what yer doin'. How much?"

"About twenty-five grand."

"I means by weight."

"Fifteen ounces."

"Thank the Lord it ain't no full troy pound, or you'd be tossin' in a round of snake eyes!"

"Pa, you got to admit, it's one helluva week's work. I can swap that Camaro for cash with this lot."

"It's not the gold, it's where you got it from that troubles me. You think all them stories round the fire is some horseshit fer scarin' you youngsters?" He hit the table with the pad of his fist, causing the gold to hop. "Wrong. Them tales was your learning."

Josh had fond memories of the ballads told with the banjo beside the moonshine still. "The one about the smith, the pound for a pound blacksmith? Steal a pound of his iron and his ghost will pound your bones--"

"Then return the loot with yer skull and a pound of bone meal." Cut in Grandpa. "Replace black metal for gold, old family, cursed gold, and yer playing a dangerous game."

Goosebumps rose on Josh's arms.

"Listen to me good. Take that there gold and bury it back where you found it." A wiry old arm darted out, grabbing Josh by his shirt and pulling the boy close. With morning whiskey breath, Grandpa whispered, "Do it, or this'll be the last game you ever play."

* * *

Josh spent the morning worried more by his grandfather's problem with hard liquor than the old man's words; he'd looked up to his grandpa, but there was no such thing as too much crazy. By lunch, he'd filled the truck with gas and planned to drive out and sell his finds at Newport and buy the car, first thing tomorrow morning, after one more pre-dawn dig.

* * *

Two hours before first light, the mist rolled in. Josh had started digging in the crisp clear night, and he hadn't noticed the weather change until he'd got down five feet. He climbed up out of the hole to retrieve his detector. The moist air drifted through still and silent darkness.

Happy that the fog would give him extra cover, Josh jumped back in and found a new target almost as soon as he turned on the machine. He pushed his hand into the loose dirt to clear a way for the coil when he recoiled with pain. Investigating, he suspected a shard of glass had pricked his finger, but was surprised to find it was a bone splinter. Something was not right. Due to the antiquity of the graves and damp, acidic earth, any bones should have long since disintegrated. Josh dug further and pulled out more grisly splinters. Then, he uncovered the undamaged skull and, nestled inside the mandible, the thickest gold coin he'd ever seen. Now would have been a good time for Josh to run had he been given a chance. Instead, when he stood, the light from his torch flashed on a grizzled face staring out of the fog, its expression as grim as the big lump of iron held low. Farmer Coffar grunted as he hefted the heavy hammer over his head and swung. The strike hit Josh on the shoulder with a crack. Another smash, a crunch as the Coffar fulfilled his familial duty: pounding bone.

Fin.

(937 words)

<◕.◕> Well, weren't that a grizzly ol' tale set in the Roanoke State of 'The Reborn' and 'The Secret Hate of Sandy Holecroft'