The Dig
"I know the McClaritys dug up a goat skeleton when they were putting in their pool. This whole area used to be nothing but ranches and Indians and shit. I bet it's a goat skeleton." Sam's pale, freckled face stared apprehensively into the hole his dad was paying him and Cameron to dig-- something about planting an apricot tree during bare-root season. "It's not a fucking goat skeleton! Tool. This has, like, fingers. I'm serious, this is bad. We should call the cops or something." "I don't think that's a 911 call. That's maybe a 411 call an' you ask the operator who you're supposed to call when you find a goat skeleton. Don't be such a pussy. Let's just dig it out. It'd be fucking tits to have a goat skull in my room." "Cam, you're messed up." Sam continued to scrape the dirt away from the scattered, buried bones. "I've seen stuff like this on TV.
And when I was eight, my family took this lame trip to Montana to dig for fossils. They're super fragile."
The boys quietly surveyed the area for several minutes before Sam pointed at a spot in the soil where what looked like oddly shaped white pebbles and KFC drumstick bones were splayed fan-like and suspended in the dirt. "Check it out, this is totally a foot." "It looks like a seal flipper." Said Cameron. "It's a human foot. I swear to God, check it out." They continued to dig through the heavy, clay soil for another few hours. It was boring as hell and the chilled, moist air and gray-flannel skies made the work even more damp and tedious.
Then they found it, and all the work was worth it. The smooth, dome-shaped top of a human skull appeared
in the shallow hole. It wasn't clean like the skulls on TV. It was caked with filth. It seemed to be part of the earth itself, but now they were pulling it back into human reality. "Holy shit." Cameron said. "Your house is built on a fucking Indian burial ground." "Shut up! Douche. This is serious. This was a person" Sam replied. "I am serious. There was a story on the news about those new houses they built last year on the hill. Nobody wants to live in them `cuz they dug up a bunch of Indian bones when they were laying the foundations. It was like a cemetery or something." Sam fixated on a spot in the depression. "Check it out. It's wearing a ring." He was no archaeologist, "Sorry, Cam, I don't know shit about dead people, but that is not ancient and it is not Indian. It looks like the crap in the mall window."
The ring was suspended by caked dirt around bits of bone Sam imagined was once a finger. The creepy, pointed phalanges were almost elegantly arranged. "Dude. No offense, but just because your mom is missing or dead does not make you some kind of expert on bodies." "That's fucked up." Sam grew momentarily quiet. Cameron stuck his hands into the hole and grabbed the exposed head. He pressed it from side to side trying to loosen it. "Let's get it out, it will look even cooler than a goat head in my room." "Shut the fuck up." Said Sam, pushing Cameron back from the edge. "Sam. Chill. I'm sorry about the mom comment. But seriously? What do we do now?" After a short pause, they heard the answer they all knew was coming... "I think it's time to call the cops." Sam said.
~~~OOO~~~
The police came, the forensic archaeologist removed the bones, reporters snapped pictures, and within a week all was quiet again.
~~~OOO~~~
They slogged home with their after school Cokes, dragging their backpacks up Sam's front steps. "Would you seriously have kept that skull in your room?" Sam asked. "Hell no, I don't think I would even have kept a real goat skull in my room. My grandma had a cattle skull in her rock garden and I thought that was cool. I probably would have done something like that with the goat head." "Why?" Sam asked, "wouldn't it freak you out?"
"Have you ever seen that show True Crimes? Fucked up people get off on fucked up things. They keep souvenirs to remind them of the fucked up shit that gets them off. It's sick, you know?" "Yeah, I know." Sam replied. "Are you going to practice later?" Cam asked. "Yeah. I missed Monday so I can't miss again today or Coach won't play me in the tournament this weekend." "Cool. I'll see you there. But, I'm gonna go kick back and play some Xbox before. Wanna come?" "No thanks. I have some shit to do." Sam replied. Sam ascended the stairs to his room and searched the back of his top drawer. He found the small jewelry box that held the Rosary his grandparents gave him for Confirmation the previous year.
The Rosary itself lay in a tangled heap on the bottom of the drawer, half covered by boxer shorts. Inside the
box sat a one-inch piece of human phalange and a wide gold band. Sam stared for a long time, stroked it gently with his index finger, then snapped the spring-loaded lid closed and carefully placed it back in the hollow corner of the dresser.
He walked to the kitchen, fed the dog, and went out to the backyard. There, he entered a small shed nestled against the hillside. Once inside, he shut and bolted the door. The unassuming structure belied the vast space of the interior--the room stretched back into the hillside and into the earth itself. The only available light creaked through cracks in the wood planks, though a few black candles backlit a figure in the adjacent room.
Sam smiled and walked toward the light. A goat's skull hung above the door to the room before him, a blood-
red pentagonal shape carved between its black eye- holes. Words dripped below it in black lettering;
Left-Hand Path / Indulgence / Vengeance
More words were painted with a lighter hand;
Self-Deceit / Herd Conformity / Stupidity.
The adjacent room was brightly lit and fully furnished. Refrigerators hummed and gurgled on both walls. Sam opened one. Inside, he gingerly retrieved two human fingers from the bevy of body parts within. He stared at the back wall. A portrait of Baphomet, The Sabbatic Goat, hung near the ceiling.
A woman lay below it in chains, dried blood on her fallow lips. She raised her fingerless hands as if imitating a Christ-posture. "Hello, Mother," Sam sneered, holding up the fingers in his hand, "hungry?"