Baby

hands, jumping into the grave to investigate himself. He immediately felt a change in temperature. Astonished at the quick chill, he rolled down the sleeves of his white linen shirt, surveying the tight space. As his men claimed, four holes carved darkness into the walls of the grave. Leaning down, he could feel a slight draft of frigid air, smelling a lot like sulfur. The holes were perfectly round, about two feet wide. The soil at the lip of the holes looked burnt and tightly compacted. As he reached down to dig at the compacted soil, his hand dipped into something soft and gooey. Springing back with a girlish scream, he frantically rubbed the substance on his pants. It dissipated, leaving no trace, not even a moist stain. He drew a hand to his heart, feeling it pummel his chest.
    Breathing deeply, he steadied his pulse before mustering the courage to peer into the holes again. Adjusting his eyes to the darkness, he located the gooey substance. It encompassed the entire circumference of the hole. The thick and viscous substance appeared to undulate. Ugh . Was it alive? Without warning, the substance contracted and withdrew into the hole like an arm being pulled through a sleeve. He lost his balance, falling on his butt on the dirt. He sat stunned. What the fuck did I just see? As his wits returned, he started to grasp the vulnerability of his precious butt. He currently sat at the bottom of a grave previously occupied by his murdered freak of a wife and her similarly dispatched nightmare of a pet. Scrambling, he stood, heedless of the cold soil still clinging to his normally impeccable attire.
    “Give me a hand, for Pete’s sake.” Extending his arm, they hoisted him up out of the empty grave.
    “What did you see down there, Robert? We heard you scream.” Sheriff Hudson brushed at the soil clinging to Robert’s pants.
    “Do you mind?” He slapped Hudson aside, his natural annoyance masking his reaction to the frightening discovery. “I did not see anything. The bodies are gone because one of you bastards stole them.” Deflecting from his own cowardly behavior, he went on the offense. He fixed them with one of his famous ill-tempered scowls. “I better not hear about this again. From anyone; is that understood? ” He watched as his macho thugs nodded slowly, confusion and fear unwilling companions. Satisfied, he wasted no more time. Pointing, he ordered, “I want this grave filled in, then get the sedan and let’s get the hell out of here. Eli, Hudson, let’s go.” Turning his back on everyone, he almost ran to the sedan, vowing to himself never to come near the farm again.
    The ride back to town took forever, the three men clearly burdened with individual thoughts regarding the mysteries of the produce and the empty grave. They left Hudson at his office with nary a word. Ten minutes from home, Robert turned to Eli.
    “I want you to take the whole crew and any equipment necessary back to the farm—this weekend. Cut down every tree in the orchard, down to the roots. Then burn them; every last one. Burn any berry bushes you find.” His expression impassive, he turned to Eli. “And burn the cabin while you’re at it.”
    “I got it boss, but the orchard? We might be able to make some good bucks off of that fruit. And the seeds could be really valuable if they matched the results she got. We could get a fancy penny for the new bakery if you throw in the orchard.” Eli’s homely mug revealed a spark of intelligence previously overlooked by Robert. Impressed, he strove to take a gentle tone. He clapped Eli softly on his mule-like shoulder.
    “Seeds, you say? Hmmm … how mindless of me. Search the outbuildings until you discover where her seeds are stored. And burn them. I want all evidence obliterated. When the job is complete, you may join me in the library for a brandy while you make your report. You do understand, don’t you, that we will never speak of my departed wife and her devilry again?”
    “Yeah, Boss. I get it.” As Eli turned into the gravel drive of Sunnydale, Robert admired the solid comfort and confidence of the magnificent mansion. As ostentatious as some may think it, his home represented the security and normal, quantifiable sanity of his life. Tipping the back of his hand to Eli as the sedan departed for the carriage house, he stepped into his elegant foyer. Its Waterford crystal chandelier swayed amiably, another welcoming affectation of his privileged life. Like a switch,