Ghosts of Christmas Present: A Dead Detective Short Story (The Dead Detective) by Rain J.R. & Kierkegaard Jr Rod

Author:Rain, J.R. & Kierkegaard Jr, Rod [Rain, J.R.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781620071311
Publisher: Curiosity Quills Press
Published: 2014-12-07T16:00:00+00:00

t was Tommy’s stupid idea to go to the cemetery on Christmas Eve.

Me? I like to keep a healthy distance from cemeteries. Just thinking about all those dead bodies beneath my feet gives me the heebee-jeebees.

I said as much to Tommy on the way over to Oak Park Cemetery. We were driving in his old Ford Explorer past the disgustingly festive displays that I was certain—damn certain—would pick tonight to break down in the middle of the goddamn cemetery. I said that, too.

“Jesus, Bill… have you always been such a worry wart? Good God, man, live a little!”

“By hanging out with the dead?”

“Exactly! It’s called irony. They’re dead. We’re alive. It’s a beautiful thing!”

Tommy took a right down a side street, away from all the boozy merriment, past lines of cold, lifeless fence around a local military base. It wasn’t far now. The cemetery on the hill was coming up on the right. That it was coming up wasn’t exactly good news. Then again, maybe Tommy was right. Maybe I was a worrywart. It was just a cemetery, after all. The dead were dead. The place was usually empty at night, anyway, as far as I could tell. Meaning, I drive past it often at night and I never see any lights on. Once or twice I’ve heard about kids from our high school partying in the cemetery, but that doesn’t happen very often. But this was Christmas, and the odds of meeting another dumbass dwindled to… zilch.

You see, we came here tonight because we’re idiots.

And we were also bored. Not to mention, neither of us had girlfriends. In fact, I’m certain it’s a universal equation:

Bored + idiots - girlfriends = jail time.

Anyway, Tommy slowed, then made a right into the dark cemetery. Oh, joy. He killed the headlights about halfway up the hill; headlights, after all, could have been seen for miles around. At least from the cemetery. Yes, we might be idiots, but we weren’t stupid. Okay, maybe a little stupid. Still, we didn’t want the sheriff sniffing around.

Now driving in the dark with only the December moonlight guiding our way, we hit some rough ground, the Explorer juddered.

“I think you veered off the main road,” I said.

“There is no main road; it’s all dirt.”

“There’s a dirt main road, and then there’s grass. I think you’re on the grass.”

“I think I would know, Billy. I’m the one driving. Besides, there’s a lot of moonlight—”

He stopped when the truck went over something big. I bounced in the passenger seat. I looked back and saw it lying flat in the grass, gleaming in the faint moonlight. By it, I meant—

“Jesus, Tommy. You knocked over a tombstone!”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” I said. “We have to go back.”

“Forget it. Those things weigh like a ton.”

“We have to do something. We can’t, you know, desecrate a grave.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Tommy. “I didn’t shit on no grave.”

“That’s defecate and a double negative and you’re an idiot.”

“Whatever. We’ll leave a note and say we’re sorry.

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