Putting Lem Marsh in the ground is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in my thirty-two years as Sheriff of this little podunk town. I’ve buried people before, don’t get me wrong, but Lem was different.
For starters, he was a true friend. That man would give you the shirt off his back if’n he thought you needed it more than he did. I couldn’t tell you how many times he talked me down when I was moments away from just leaving this place and heading for greener pastures. But, that was Lem. Always eager to help.
It nearly killed me the day his wife and son went missing. I mean, Darla could’ve been my sister-in-law for all the time me and her old man spent shooting the breeze and playing Rummy on their front porch. She used to come out with trays of fresh lemonade, always wearing a big, beautifully warm smile. And, little Jack, he was like the son I never had.
I couldn’t believe it the day that Lem called me out to his place to file a missing persons report. He insisted up and down that Darla had taken Jack and run for her sister’s place in Tallahassee. That idea never sat right with me, though. Darla was many things, but a deserter wasn’t one of them.
Then again, what were we supposed to think when she and Jack had stayed gone? Weeks went by with not a single sign of them. The weeks turned into months, which gave over to years. No matter how many days went by, there was just no sign of them. Not so much as a phone call, or letter.
The day before Lem died… I… he called me that morning in tears. I kept him talking until I could get in my dusty old Jeep and make my way out to his place. By the time I got there, he was a sobbing pile of grief, all curled up on his front porch. When I asked him what was wrong, he looked at me like I’d grown an extra head.
“Look at this place, Sheriff!” He screamed at me. “Look at it!”
I knew precisely what he meant, I’d simply chosen to ignore it. Lem Marsh was a class A hoarder. That man had every inch of his house and property piled high with unnecessary and useless odds and ends. I’d often wondered if his hoarding had something to do with Darla and Jack’s disappearance, but I never could have said that to Lem. How could I tell him that it was all his own fault? That he’d chosen a pile of worthless junk over his family? He was already so broken… I didn’t have the heart to hurt him any further.
And I thank God that Lem passed away a few weeks ago. If the cancer hadn’t taken him, then… I shudder to think what he might have done to himself.
You see, after Lem died, his property was left to the state. There was no one else to take it. And, of course, the state can’t sell a property that is essentially an illegal landfill. So, they sent in a clean up crew and asked yours truly to oversee it. Everything was going according to plan, that is, until we got to the room that used to be Lem’s kitchen.
It had never occurred to me that a massive hoard like Lem’s would be the perfect environment to mummify a human corpse, but that’s how we found them. Poor Darla and little Jack. No one really knows what happened. Closest we can figure is that little Jack had found something he wanted out of the pile and brought the whole damn thing crashing down on himself and his mother when he tried to pull it free.
Like I said before, it’s a good thing Lem had already passed, because the sad truth of this discovery would have killed him anyway.