I’d never been this close to a freshly dead body before. And I moved here from Florida for fuck’s sake.I should have known. Everyone was too nice; things were too perfect.
I guess it would be helpful if I backtracked a bit and explained. I need to do something to occupy my mind, and this is as good of an outlet as any. I’ll probably be too verbose, I might go off topic a few too many times. But unfortunately, you’re gonna have to bear with me on this. You’d be a little weird too if you’d just experienced what I did.
So as most of you already know, medicinal and recreational use of marijuana is legalized and available in most of the fifty states that make up the US. The state I happened to move to was not one of them. My medical card was all but useless here.
It’s not all bad though. I was able to snag a beautiful house in a quiet neighborhood for an amazing price. And compared to where I came from, that was a welcomed change. People wave at each other here and it’s not weird. The food seems fresher, the air cleaner. Sure, the no legal pot thing sucked. But everything has a trade-off. It was just what I needed- a town to start over in. A chance to grow as a person and have a shot at being the version of myself that I’ve always wanted to be.
However, I needed employment in order to do that. Sadly in a town like mine, there are only so many places to work, and call me spoiled if you want to but- not many of them were appealing. I’d never lived in such a quaint place before. I mean it was small- like everything is closed on Sundays except church small. Like -the police department is two towns over because there’s nothing to do here- small. Things seemed to be a decade or more behind the rest of the world. It reminded me of simpler times, when people were decent to each other just because. The universal fingers of hate and evil haven’t seemed to reach here just yet.
Now, I’m not getting soap-boxy. You guys know what I mean. You see it online everyday. It’s like a virus of the soul that no one seems to want to recognize let alone find a cure for. Except I did. Oh, I recognized it alright. It’s even gotten a hold of me a time or two more than I’d like to admit. It was when I began searching through strangers’ photographs on their pages desperately hoping to find something to report that I knew I was fucked up in the worst way. Priorities and lifestyles would have to be assessed, evaluated and changed.
Anyway, back to the heart of the matter: marijuana. Now I know that this likely seems a step backwards, especially given my previous sentence. But in the spirit of community, I decided to try my hand at not only finding my own source, but selling it to anyone who was interested. A little supply and demand situation if you will. Buying in bulk was easy here. You could get one quarter for a hundred bucks and it was only two hundred for an ounce. That’s like…. buy two - get two FREE. It seems a little back-asswards but hey, I don’t make the rules pal.
Luckily for me, weed’s been around since pretty much ever. So it didn’t matter how far back in time I seemed to be in association. One more strike of luck was that a bill was passed the month I moved here- deeming both medicinal and recreational use, growth and distribution possible. But that doesn’t make sense does it? Why would I consider something that would make what I had to offer becoming readily available to the public a good thing? Because the actual effects of the law plus the stores to sell it are still months to years away, even after the legalization process is complete. This makes consumers not only feel more comfortable buying, but also drives up the demand. Having something be entirely visible but still out of reach? A toy you can see but not play with? The dress in the window that would look great on you but isn’t in your closet? Stuff like that. So yeah, you bet I was excited. It was prime pickins, and I had money to make.
Also let’s get one thing out of the way right now. I’m more of an herbalist than a ‘drug dealer’, and more accidents have occurred from alcohol than from weed. So I’d appreciate you leaving the judgy stuff out of the comments okay? Just… be cool, will ya?
Anyway, that’s exactly what brought me out into her neck of the woods. I’d gotten a message from someone I didn’t recognize. It may seem ominous but was something all too common in my line of ‘work’. Now I wasn’t exactly busy, however I was in the middle of a lazy tv-binge day. I didn’t necessarily have to answer ‘the call’ so to speak. I considered ignoring it entirely actually. She’d still be wanting some the next day, and as ungrateful as it sounds I wasn’t exactly hurting financially at the moment. But she wanted two ounces, and who the fuck was I to turn down that kind of money even on a good day?
What happened next sealed the deal, even if it did make me extremely uncomfortable. My phone lit up with yet another unexpected message. She’d found me on social media and sent me the money in advance. Something I never recommend by the way. Let’s call it red flag number one. Cash is king. Let’s say you get seven people to put in orders and pay you online. Once you make over $600 the IRS gets in your business. And I didn’t exactly know how to fill out a 1099 for weed sales. Nevertheless, I gave her the benefit of the doubt because I still hadn’t fully figured out the vibe in this place other than that everyone was really polite.
She sent me to an address in an area just outside of town that I hadn’t been to before. I psyched myself into believing it would be a great opportunity for me to absorb and familiarize myself with more of the new surroundings and hit the road. I was already excited to get back home into my groove before I even left the driveway. Business is business though, and the sooner it was done the sooner I could return to the comfort of my chaise lounge and do just that.
If only it were that easy.
First my GPS completely lost signal three quarters of the way to her location. Then when I finally did get there the house I pulled up at looked completely empty. I waited in the idling vehicle for ten minutes, unsure of what to do. I got out of my car, noticing that the yard didn’t hold much to offer in terms of dropping it off for concealment. I have one guy who has me leave it in a garden gnome’s backpack every time. I open the tiny cloth flap, retrieve the cash and leave the bag. He doesn’t know what I look like, and I wouldn’t know him if he sideswiped me on the way to the grocery store. I wish they could all be like that, I thought wistfully.
I was about to leave, at least to go somewhere that had signal to message her and see what the deal was when I saw the front door crack open. A burst of bright red hair popped through the opening, framing a face that seemed too small to fit the waves of cascading hair it was attached to. A pale hand appeared under her chin, beckoning me to come inside. Then she disappeared back behind the door in a fluid motion.
Okay, firstly what the fuck? Why couldn’t she just come outside like a normal person? It’s not like she lived in a tight knit neighborhood where I had to act like I was visiting as a friend for appearances. She was the only house around for miles.
I sat there in silence as I contemplated all the things that could possibly go wrong if I went inside. There’s the fact that even if I don’t touch anything, I’ll still be thought of for the next few days every time something went missing in the house. Misplace her hairbrush? Ew, that creepy weed guy must have taken it. Funny smell? Must have been the weed guy. Can’t find the cat? The fuckin weed guy must have let her outside when he was here. You follow? And those are some of the more innocent scenarios.
Paranoid? Hell, maybe. But the last long term relationship I had (key word: had) was with a woman named Bethany. And as beautiful as she was, all she ever wanted to do (besides boink, smoke and eat) was watch true crime videos on YouTube. Try as I might to tune them out, some of that shit slipped in. People have been accused for less, and if you don’t have the money for a lawyer, sometimes it doesn’t even matter if you did it or not. Once you’re pinned, you’re pinned. And that’s that.
I decided that a compromise was in order and stopped at the top porch stair. The sooner I got this over with, the sooner I could go back to binge-watching with my bong. However by that point a feeling of unease bred with fear had seeped into my brain and body. I noticed my motions were slower, muted in a way.
“Hey!” I shouted politely, at least I tried to make it sound pleasant anyway. “I’m here.” No response came, even after several awkward moments. Then the door opened again. A feminine voice drifted through the air. Now don’t make fun of me, alright? I know I don’t sound like a woman but I’ll do my best to indicate when she spoke without mocking the feminine tone here. She said to me, “Come on in! My hands are kind of tied up right now.”
I kept my mind on the prize as I stepped through the door, closing it behind me: clear conscience, chaise lounge, leftovers in the fridge, The Good Doctor, and a half ounce of Member Berry.
I didn’t waste time looking around inside. That would end up with me spending more time there than necessary. All I needed was to hand it over and bounce. Maybe I should have though. I could have thrown it on a table nearby, yelled out where it was and been on my way. But we all know that’s not what happened. What is a horror story without a woulda, coulda, shoulda scenario anyway right?
Muffled sounds were coming from a side room, so I figured she must be in there. “Yo, I appreciate the business and all but I’m kinda in a hurry?” It came out like a question more than a statement. The doorway to the room was within arm’s reach. Let’s get this over with, I thought, pasting a smile on my face.
What I saw made me freeze midstep. The smile melted off my face like someone had thrown acid on my lips. Terrifying anxiety had robbed me of my ability to speak, blink, maybe even breathe.
There she was, indeed with two hands full- of body. She shot me a desperate look as she struggled to drag him toward me. I knew right away he was dead. There wasn’t any blood, and he didn’t have any visible wounds. But his coloring was all wrong. He looked… grey. Like when they took E.T. to the hospital and he almost died? Remember how sickly pale the alien was? His eyes were closed, thank god. However it was more than obvious that the dead weight of this once living soul was too much for the smaller woman to handle.
She began speaking a million miles a minute- I’m sure trying to explain what had happened or justify the situation in her favor in some way. Truth be told, I didn’t hear most of it. The more information I knew, the more complicit I became anyway.
Politeness be damned, I was out. “Okay there. Well first off let me preface this by saying I didn’t see anything here and whatever you got going on is none of my business. I will stop by the fridge on my way out the door. I’m going to leave now.” I spoke slowly, enunciated my words with great care.
She thrust a wad of cash into my right hand as she grabbed the left to stop me from leaving, the corpse was completely abandoned on the floor by now. She already paid me, I thought. What was this? A help-me-hide-the-body bonus?
As much noise was in my head, her next words rang through loud and clear. “What are you gonna do? Call the cops? There’s just as much evidence here to indicate that it was your fault as it may have been mine. People have confessed to murders who weren’t even at the crime scene. What makes you more innocent than me circumstantially?”
And there we have it folks. One of the worst case scenarios of exactly why I didn’t want to come inside. All I wanted was to make some extra money, to pay my gas and power bill comfortably. Now here I was, accessory to a murder of a guy I didn‘t even know. She was right. You all know she was right. Once you’re pinned, you’re pinned. Thanks Bethany…
So this is how we got here: me with a pocket full of bagged weed and hands full of a dead man’s armpits. I did my best to make as many mental notes as I could. I looked for ligature marks, or tried to at least. There were no puncture wounds on his arms that I could see. It almost looked like he was sleeping- like some lady asked me to help drag her dead husband to bed after one hell of a bender. My first priority was to remain calm. If I acted like this was no big deal, maybe she would too. Maybe I’d be able to walk outta here and never have to think about this again. Stranger things have happened right?
We ‘escorted’ him to a patch of earth by the edge of the woods behind her house .It looked like she’d tried (and failed) to create a makeshift grave. Far be it from me to criticize anyone in her situation but truthfully, the damn hole was barely big enough to bury a dog in. Finally my back couldn’t take it anymore and I dropped him in the dirt, his head making a soft thunking sound upon impact that made me wince.
My unintentional partner in a crime that was not mine looked at me, then to a shovel on the ground, then back at me again. “No,” I muttered. “Nope. I helped you drag him and that’s way more involved than I wanted to be in the first place. I don’t care what happened. I don’t care how he died. What I do care about is getting back home safely to spend the rest of my day in peace.”
She held up her left hand, and there was noticeable swelling to her wrist. She complained that I caused her to injure herself when I dropped him when she wasn’t prepared for it. The balls on this woman… Still, not my problem. She could leave him out there for the bears and raccoons to eat for all I cared. Do raccoons eat people? Will they? I mean if the meat is rotting and smells really bad? They like garbage that smells really bad.
Focus.
At that moment a splintered wooden pole was shoved into my hand, at the end of which a shovelhead was attached. I know the handle was splintered because it cut my damn hand. I did my best to try to block out Bethany’s voice in my head warning me about DNA evidence and blood spatter analysis as I dug the pit to a more appropriate size. I hated every second of it, cringing as tiny flecks of dirt wedged beneath my fingernails. The soil was tough here, full of little pebbles and root heavy. She couldn’t have picked a worse spot if she tried. Once I was finished, I used energy I didn’t even know I had left to clamber out of the hole. A slow, satisfied smile bloomed across her lips, like a poisoned flower in the spring.
I’d done well enough of a job distracting myself until this point. I didn’t mind much digging the hole, digging in the dirt isn’t illegal. It’s this next part I had a problem with. Committing somebody to a dirt and gravel filled grave was another animal altogether. A muted groan of disgust drifted from my lungs as she began pushing him towards the hold with her foot. Yeah, I didn’t expect us to lay him down on rose petals with a silk pillow but kicking him just seemed to add insult to injury.
Maybe it was self defense. Maybe this guy was a stone cold criminal with utter disregard for human life himself. I might’ve known if I paid attention to the hysterical speech she’d given earlier. But as I said before, the less I knew the better. I began lifting him up to place him in a more dignified way when she grabbed my shoulder to stop me. “Face down. We need to put him face down.” She pleaded.
My stomach filled with something akin to cold frying oil and I knew I had to puke. I don’t know if it was the physical exertion, leftover adrenaline or just the situation as a whole catching up to me. But I managed to keep it down. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth, I mentally chanted until it passed completely. A sharp pain in the palm of my hand brought me out of my intestinal mind’s eye and back to reality. The fucking splinter.
Enough of it was visible to where it should have been able to be removed by hand. What I did next was stupid. I knew it then and I know it now. I eased the splinter up and out of my palm before throwing the scrap of wood into the open grave. Regret filled me the moment it left my fingertips, but not enough to send me into the hole after it.
An epiphany hit me like a heavyweight fighter, starting at the tips of my hair and traveling to my toes. I didn’t have to be here. I’ve done more than help, I’ve exonerated her from any improper disposal of a deceased human body charges. Or whatever they were called. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the bag and handed it to her, determined to make my arm appear as still as possible. She looked at me bewildered and shook her head. “Hey. You called me out here for this. Two ounces just like you wanted. Take it.” She gently pushed my arm back towards me, without taking the bag I might add. Then she turned away, attempting to fill the hole back up with dirt.
The walk back to my car was agonizing. I felt like I was being hunted like prey with every step I took. My whole body shook in anticipation of hearing a gunshot or some other implement of my own destruction. But one never came.
Before I knew it, I was back on the road, putting as much distance between myself and one of the creepiest events of my life as possible. If I wanted to have experiences like this I would have stayed in fucking Florida. My hands had stopped shaking for the most part by the time I got back to the heart of town.
My phone sputtered a cacophony of alerts, indicating that my signal had returned with a vengeance. It was the same person that had contacted me before- the person I assumed lived in the house I had just left. However, they acted like we had never even met and asked me where I was like a dozen times. I decided to ignore the messages until I was back inside my house safely with the doors locked and the blinds lowered.
With the greatest trepidation (terrified trepidations I might add), I hit the call button on the message- fully intending to play dumb to whoever answered on the other line. I had the entire story solidified in my head. I’d apologize for the miscommunication, tell her I sent a friend instead because I had a last minute obligation. It was totally plausible, and I’d rather be seen as lazy than a threat. Unfortunately for me, no one answered. Most people these days aren’t vocal talkers.
Exhaustion had regrettably gotten the best of me, pretty much ruining my initial plans for the evening. There was no desire to space out in front of the television, eating and smoking myself to a better state of mind. I didn’t care what time it was. All I wanted to do was curl up and shut everything out for a while. So that’s what I did.
Sleep must have overtaken me, because the next thing I knew, I was staring up at bright blue sky. The roof above me had vanished, replaced with clouds and soaring birds. The scent of petrichor enveloped my senses, making my already nervous stomach churn. It wasn’t long before I noticed that I had limited mobility in my arms and almost none in my legs. I didn’t need to be claustrophobic to be extremely uncomfortable with what was happening.
Dirt, tall, dank and high surrounded me on all sides. A shower of soil poured over me as I tried to claw the sides of the pit with my fingers. Flecks entered my eyes and mouth as I tried to scream, peppering my airway. In the process. Then, a bell began to ring.
I shot up in bed, relieved to be awoken from my hellish nightmare. My phone was ringing, but not the normal call tone. It was higher pitched and tinny- a messenger call. Fear robbed every bit of moisture from my mouth and throat as I recognized who it was. Nevertheless, I wearily answered the phone- not expecting to hear a voice completely unfamiliar to me.
As fate would have it, the conversation was not at all what I expected. Apparently because of the signal drop I had gone to the wrong house completely. Business is business, but I still thought it was kind of rude when she told me she found the same amount for a better price and asked if I could match it. Normally my anxiety would have gnawed at me until I gave an answer I wasn’t comfortable with. But now I was all too happy to politely tell her that I’d send her money back right away and apologize for wasting her time. My voice calmed as I told her I didn’t blame her for her choice, even tossing in a half hearted comment about how she’d be the first to know if my pricing changed. The only way she could have found it cheaper is if someone grew it themselves to sell, and I can’t compete with the growers. Nor do I want to.
Once I was off the phone and more alert, I noticed a minute pain in my left eye. It increased to a throb by the time I got to the bathroom. My finger flicked the light on, and that’s when I noticed a slight streak of brown on the panel underneath. I was surprised to see that my fingernails were absolutely filthy. It wasn’t like me not to wash them once I got home, especially after such a dirty activity. The mirror revealed a speck of soil in the corner of the affected eye, and I realized I must have rubbed it in my sleep. That’s just a stye waiting to happen, I thought fretfully.
Still, it was enough of an eerie coincidence that I was in no hurry to go back to sleep. In my carelessness, I’d gotten some dirt on my bed sheet. So I changed everything out before taking one of the hottest showers of my life. I wanted it all clean, everything that had ever occurred from that day. Out of sight, out of mind. I kept reminding myself that I wasn’t the one that killed him, further justifying things by knowing that since I went to the wrong house, she had no way to contact or implicate me.
An internal struggle consumed me for what seemed like all day. Do I go to the cops? Maybe if I told them what she’d threatened to say it would ultimately cover my ass. Still though, what were the chances of me just walking into someone’s house at random after they’d just ended someone’s life. I mean even if I said I was there on a weed run I’m sure I wouldn’t get in too much trouble. Not enough to where it would keep me from reporting the crime anyway. Murder trumps weed dealing any time and day of the week by miles.
And if she didn’t confess it would lead to a trial I would more than certainly get subpoenaed for meaning days of reliving the event from every angle and on repeat. That’s not exactly the best way to start a life over, definitely not the mulligan I’d choose. Honestly at this point I kinda started to take it personally. I felt like the King Midas of shit. It just follows me everywhere that I go. I shouldn’t feel too sorry for myself. I could have been the poor fella in the hole, I thought to myself solemnly.
Tortuous visions of my nightmare chased me throughout my entire day, no matter what I did to try to forget. And the continued burning in my left eye did not help. I swear if I get a fucking stye… A weakness lingered like a bad cold inside of my muscles. Anyway, some bummers, not even pot can fix I guess. If anything it almost made me paranoid, ultraware. That was the last thing I needed or wanted. Considering the day a defeat overall, I resigned myself to bed earlier than usual. I’d been up since before the sun rose anyway.
However the trauma didn’t stop. I tossed and turned, adjusting the frozen eye mask every minute or so to sit perfectly over my injured eye. It was the most nagging pain imaginable. Not that it really hurt all that much. But the intensity of the pain isn’t what drives ya crazy. It’s the frequency and duration of it. Sometimes you can get used to it, but not when it’s your fucking eye. Just when I thought I was comfortable enough to nod off, the mask would slip again.
My fingers accidentally scratched the bottom of my forehead as I tore it off of my face, went to throw it to the side of me and my arm crashed painfully into a wall of dirt. The action was so violent that for a second I was afraid I’d broken my wrist. I didn’t remember falling asleep, but here I was again. The pit represented all of the guilt, fear and mortality that I possessed, and I was belly up on the bottom of it.
The walls seemed so much higher now, and it was almost impossible to move my legs. They were tightly encased with soil, like a human plant growing the wrong way in one really fucked up garden. Panic wasn’t even close to what I was feeling. The surroundings (what I could see of them) were a bit different this time. Blue sky was covered in gray, depressed clouds. Then the rain fell, fat and heavy. It hit the sides of the pit, causing it to bleed mud around me. The only thing I could think to do was to try to claw my legs free a bit, which was easier said than done. All I really ended up doing was covering my front half as well, essentially helping further bury myself.
A gag forced me awake, and I was almost relieved to be back in the world I belonged in. Until another gag came, sending me flying to my bathroom sink. My lungs and throat felt shaky, like when I used to get bronchitis. A spurt of what looked like dark chocolate milk escaped from my mouth and spattered to the sink. There was plenty more behind it also. I was mortified as it got thicker with each hacking cough, until I was merely spitting up tiny flecks… of dirt. Brushing and rinsing my mouth repeatedly did little to remove the earthen taste, but at least I could breathe clearly again. What in the hell was going on?
My actions were almost automatic as I dressed myself and entered my car. The left eye was unfortunately swollen at this point but I decided I could see well enough to drive- especially in a town this slow. I’d probably see what- two, maybe three other cars on the road for the entire trip if traffic was especially ‘crazy’? I had to do it. I had to get out of the house and get out of my head.
I can try to pretend that it wasn’t intentional but who can say? All I know is I ended up driving the same path out of town that I took the day of the incident. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to find the house again, but I had to try. What would I even say? Hey there lady I’ve been having some issues sleeping since I helped you bury a body. Do you think you can dig him up and rebury him yourself so I’m off the hook morally?
Several miles, radio stations and too many cigarettes later and I still hadn’t found the house. I traveled the road I remembered and several that I didn’t just to be safe to no avail. The more time I spent driving, the more I remembered what an awful idea it was in the first place. So I headed home, feeling equal parts dejected and relieved.
My urge to smoke had returned in small increments throughout the day, thank god. Unfortunately for me the week had been so eventful, I soon found myself exhausted. The last thing I needed was a first person view of being buried alive again. I’d already been slamming cokes and coffees to extend my waking periods.
The nightmare came for its mental attack, of course it did and worse than ever this time. As much as the immersion would be neat for the sake of the story, it’s repetitive. The way I woke up was far more interesting,and ominous. Usual aches and pains caused by the immobility of sleep plagues me as they did more mornings than not. However the dull in my damn eye seemed much worse.
Soil colored specks danced down my cheeks as I attempted to rub my eyes free of sleep sand. And as much as I didn’t look forward to getting on my feet for the day, my bladder had other plans. So without much ado I trudged to the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the light as I went inside.
The silhouette in my periphery gave me great pause as I attempted to leave the room. My mother always said I had an oddly shaped head but it wasn’t something I’d had the privilege of noticing until that very moment. My facial shadow was all wrong, distorted and the like. Trepidation weighed on my hands as heavy as dumbbells, yet I knew I had to turn on the light.
As I approached the mirror, I was at first relieved that the bottom of my face was without remark. The top half however was a different animal entirely. It looked like I was on the losing end of a heavyweight fight. The upper lid of my left eye was rendered so swollen that it was all but shut. It pulsated, sending waves of pain throughout my face with every beat.
This wasn’t a regular old stye- this was like an elephantitis level stye. The comfort of heat and ice wasn’t much help, but it was enough to reduce the swelling ever so slightly. I’d washed my hands previously, less than surprised at how much new earth was jammed in the beds of my fingers, and was about to attend to my eye when I doubled over in pain.
A spasm, slight at first, twitched through my left eye, sending spikes of pain throughout my face. The unnaturalness of it was disturbing enough, but what it represented was far more unsettling. This was going on too long to be a fluke; this was a curse. My nightmares had slowly begun to manifest, taking a toll on my body and mind. A myriad of thoughts swirled in my brain like blood down a sink drain as I brought my fingers to my eye. Searing agony coursed through my face as the pressure made my skin pop.
Then everything went black- for a moment at least.
Thick, wet heat consumed my body. My mind began to race as I recognized the familiar paralyzation of my legs, only now I could hardly move at all. I was suffocating, my breath being robbed from my lungs before I had a chance for full exhalation. A shudder wracked through my nervous system, frustrated it couldn’t manifest itself to the outside of my body as insects skittered in and out of my hairline.
Screams that I hardly recognized as my own brought me back to my current state, only now there was blood- and a lot of it. The mirror revealed a large gash on my forehead where I must have hit the counter upon passing out. And something else was there too. A shining trail of yellow sludge leaked from under my left eye and down my cheek. Horror filled my stomach as I noticed slight movement from just under the surface. I frantically wiped at it with toilet tissue, not nearly as worried about the cut than what came out of my eye. That’s what I saw them- two tiny maggots writhing in the puddle of infectious juice that I’d captured on the paper.
Not bothering to clean myself up the rest of the way, I grabbed my keys and headed out the front door. I’m fully prepared to tell them everything- just as long as they don’t put me to sleep.