It wasn’t hard to kill someone. Hell, it wasn’t hard to get rid of the evidence and hide the body, either.
… Well.
There may have been one mistake in hiding it, but lesson learned: don’t ever try to bury a body in a bog. No matter how deep you bury them – or how many times for that matter – it will do you no good. As it turns out, they will all float back up. They always float back up.
Noted.
I set myself to the awkward task of dragging the corpse back into the old shed just a few football field lengths away. No one was around, I knew no one was. I made sure of it six times, and yet I couldn’t help but feel like someone was watching, or that there were other eyes on me. When I listened closely, there was only silence. Not even so much as the chirp of a lonely cricket.
“You’ve made quite the mess of things,” I said to the corpse occupying the shed, propped up neatly against the wall, sitting with its back against it. “What am I supposed to do with you now? You were supposed to be sleeping, but here you go again, making a mess of things and getting out of your bed too early.”
The corpse stared back at me vacantly, as if bored with what I had to say.
“That’s a little rude, don’t you think? Don’t just look at me like that, say something.”
The corpse was infuriatingly still and just kept staring at me, daring me to do something about it. It was only a matter of seconds later that I realized the thick smell of bog and decay had taken over the shed. He was trying to stink me out, that much was clear. My jaw clenched in frustration as I suppressed a gag and tried to ignore the stench.
“Listen here, Riley. If all you’re going to do is work against me, we’re gonna have a bigger problem.” I took a quick gander around the shed. It was small, sure, but had various odds and ends that would no doubt prove useful for certain… Tasks. Eyeing the different tools at my grasp I began to grin, considering the possibilities.
Running my fingers over a rusty hacksaw, I considered the possibility of cutting him into pieces and burying him in Miranda’s garden. It’d be a suiting end since he stole her from me, after all. That would be laborious though; Riley was not worth that amount of effort, no. He was hardly worth digging the first two holes he’d been buried in.
He deserved to rot, exposed to the world in his shame. To feel the humiliation and anger that I felt, to wallow in his misery and hate of all that he’d lost. He deserved for the gasses of decay in his belly to cause him to burst.
But not everyone shares such passion and rational thought. No, nowadays everyone is about protecting all life and not seeing logic or reason. Step on an ant and you’re bloodthirsty with no regard for the importance of all living things. Kill a human? That’s entirely different territory, especially when the person deserved it. The human could be evil and beyond the point of no return, sick in all manners, and humanity will still try to protect them and take their side. Turn the other cheek, they’ll say, and then blabber about how revenge is never the answer. Then they’ll leave them to live, get back out of prison and as soon as they’re able, continue their disgusting deeds of torment, murder… Then society tops it all off by remembering the names of heinous criminals, but never the victims.
Never the victims…
I realized my whole body had stiffened. My grin had vanished, and I felt the muscles in my face had contorted into a deep and tense glower. I spoke through my clenched jaw, “As long as it don’t affect ‘em directly, they don’t give a flyin’ fuck.” Turning to look at the corpse again, I spat in disgust. “Let a psychopath live only to cause others to die at their hand.”
In a sudden fit of anger I grabbed a ratchet off of a shelf and whipped it across the small shed. It bounced off the sturdy wooden wall and bumped the corpse’s shoulder with just enough force to send him slumping sideways to the floor. The impact to the wall had left a small dent, but what was hanging beside it was what caught my attention: a burlap sack. I stepped toward it, felt the roughness of it in my hands. The grin, although small, started to return. I felt my body relax.
Now with a plan, I took another glance around the shed and spotted a bundle of rope, as well as some nails on the small workbench. I unhooked the burlap sack from the wall, carelessly emptied its contents to the floor, and tossed it and the bundle of rope onto the corpse. From the workbench, I grabbed a handful of the old nails and carefully tucked them into one of my pockets, and tossed a nearby hanging hammer over onto the corpse as well. Then, I began rifling through the drawers of the work bench and a broken cupboard off to the side.
The only other thing I found that would be useful was a pair of coveralls, which I held up to myself to gauge the size. With a nod of approval, I tossed the clothing at the corpse as well. For a spare moment I considered the pile of things, nodded a second time, then shut off the light. I grabbed the corpse by the ankles and exited the shed and the movement caused a couple of chosen objects to gently topple to the floor. Without a second thought I piled the dropped tools on top of the torso, and locked the shed door behind myself. There was work to be done, the shed was unfortunately missing a couple of the things I needed so a different workshop was in order.
My decisions weighed on me as I dragged the corpse over the short distance to the barn, still ensuring none of the supplies fell off along the way. While I knew my logic was sound and my actions were perfectly rational, a part of me still felt that I had stooped to the same level as Riley, and had become no better than the monster I grew to hate so much.
No, I’m nothing like Riley. What I did was justified – necessary, even. What he did was at random, torturing and murdering innocents. Riley was no innocent, not even close. I did what everyone else was too weak to do, what the police and judge were too afraid to do because of backlash. I did what no one cared to do, because Riley’s actions and crimes weren’t their problem. He did nothing to directly affect them.
But what he did sure as hell affected me.
I unceremoniously dropped the corpse’s feet to the barn floor and strode to my bags of grass cuttings and dragged one back over to the soon-to-be work space, then retrieved two different in length, sturdy pieces of lumber. Meticulously, I took the pile of assorted items and placed them in a neat line, noting that there were a couple of things I still needed. Those could wait, though. What I had there was more than enough to start with.
Rather than bothering to remove the corpse's clothes for an easier process, I attempted working him into the oversized coveralls. The friction was a hassle but with enough shimmying and a little bit of force, it worked out just fine.
I moved to the two pieces of wood over to the corpse and, after taking a moment to judge their size and strength, I turned the corpse onto its stomach and slid the shorter of the two pieces through one of its sleeves, wriggled it across the upper back, then through the other sleeve of the coveralls. The longer piece of wood had ends that were carved to a crude point, almost like a stake; I arranged it to create the shape of a cross with the other one, dug some nails out of my pocket, and fixed it in place. Granted, using a hammer at that time of the night wasn't quiet business, but it would blend into the night better than the sound of a drill. I then lifted and turned the corpse back onto its back,proceeded to stuff the coveralls with dry grass, zipped up the coveralls, and pulled the burlap sack over its head.
Standing up, I took a good look at the work-in-progress and considered whether or not the burlap needed some eyeholes cut into it, but very quickly decided against it. No, that asshole didn't deserve to see the world. He didn't deserve to be in it.
He should be left in the dark just like he left the others in the dark. How he left Miranda in the dark.
In another sudden surge of rage I abruptly kicked him in the side, then drew in a deep breath. Riley wasn't going to hurt anybody anymore. Even if he got any bright ideas and tried to escape again – because he was crafty for a dead guy – I'd make sure he went nowhere. I’d personally see to it that he never hurt anybody again. It wasn't enough to kill him, I needed to kill his soul, too.
My skin pricked; I could feel him glowering at me through the sack, sizing me up, searching for weakness. He wasn't subtle about wanting to gut me. This is the kind of dumb shit I was talking about earlier, Riley would plot and go to great lengths to get what he wanted.
"S'alright, Riley, i've got another gift for you that'll make you feel even better. Just hang tight, got one more thing to do before I go grab that for ya."
I grabbed the rope, tied a slipknot, and gave Riley a little rope necklace. I secured the tail of the noose around the top of the cross first, then around his torso, and around his shoulders to keep him fixed in place. He wasn’t going anywhere.
With a quick glance outside, I saw that dawn was approaching. Dark enough to still be the middle of the night, but the light was coming. It was just barely lighter than it had been since I had entered the barn, and that just wouldn't do. I needed to act quickly, even if the chances of being seen were low.
I considered the corpse for a moment; the size of the project, the weight, the awkwardness, then nodded to myself. The wheelbarrow would be necessary. I rolled it over to the corpse, lifted Riley up to arrange him in the wheelbarrow. As I pushed him out of the barn, I grabbed a straw hat hanging near the doorway on the way out, and threw it over his torso without missing a beat.
It was dark, and there wasn’t much light, but I knew my land like the back of my hand. Of all places, I rolled him into the cornfield. At this point the stalks were fairly dense and of moderate height, but careful rows made for much easier maneuvering. I ventured further, up until the point I could just barely see the barn if I looked for it.
“Welcome to your new home, Riley,” I said, dumping him out of the wheelbarrow like a sack of potatoes. “I do wonder if you’ll get along with your new roommates.”
I awkwardly stood my little DIY project up, and forced the bottom end of it into the soft ground. Sure, a mallet would have helped things along, but I simply used some wiggling, twisting, and the weight of both the corpse and myself to force it down enough. It wasn’t until this point in time that I picked the straw hat up from the ground, briefly dusted it off and slapped it into Riley’s head.
I took a step back and admired my work. Then I looked further into the field to see Marcus. Further still, I could see Jimmy. William. Patrick. The rest were out of sight, but I could feel them looking toward me, I could feel their fear. Their anger. Each and every one of ‘em deserved it too. Especially Riley. Speaking of which, I turned my attention to the newest addition, and I could almost see that same red glow come to his eyes as the others. The rage of a trapped, malevolent spirit.
They’d certainly keep my crop free of crows, with that attitude.
I began walking back home, whistling the tune of Hush, Hush, Hush, Here Comes the Bogey Man.