a flash story by David G Shrock

The crank turned, ratchet clanking into place releasing an explosion of metal crashing throughout the cavern. Grinding over a massive wheel, chain rattled down the stone pit disappearing into darkness. The machine seemed better suited for an ancient torture device than a well. And whatever the chain held was heavy, far too heavy for a bucket of water.

Lifting the lantern, Sebastian held the light over the hole. The flame cast a shadow swirling against rectangular stone walls. Time had ripped at the mortar loosening stones, some sunken and others missing. Sebastian imagined at the bottom another wheel, wrecked by corrosion, held onto the chain. And no water. He suspected an old mine lay at the bottom.

Skewered through a big gear, the crank held opposing handles. The device required two average sized men turning the crank lifting whatever riches the ground once held. It was certainly not a well as Donner had called it.

Setting the lantern down, Sebastian gripped the handle with both hands. He stood hunched over, hat grazing the ceiling. His massive arms turned the crank, ratchet clanking, rumbling into his shoulders. A shape lumbered to the top, pungent odor wafting over the stone. Coal.

Sebastian glanced at the dark material piled inside a large metal bin hanging from the chain, and sat down. He wanted to please Donner and the kind citizens of Warton, but he felt as if he tip-toed at the edge of his knowledge. One misstep and he might plummet into rumor and superstition. And he did not want to let Father Gustav down. This was his first assignment, but he knew nothing of ghosts.

Was this how his father had spent his life? Chasing ghosts? He doubted it. Every job came with baggage. Somehow he had to find a way to put the people of Warton at ease.

Opening his satchel, Sebastian pulled out the book Father Gustav had given him without much explanation. Leafing through the pages touched by fine handwriting, he found sections on superstition and local folklore. Witchcraft seemed to be the most prevalent topic. And vampires. Finding nothing about ghosts, he flipped back to the page outlining general superstitions. Near the bottom of the page, he found a brief mention about lost souls.

The author advised reminding commoners that a lingering soul was complete rubbish. All spirits went to heaven or hell. And apparently those believing in silly superstitions were all destined for hell.

Putting the book away, Sebastian returned to the bucket of coal. Almost anything might explain strange sounds: a wind shooting up the shaft or scavenging critters. He needed proof. He tugged on the chain. It felt too strong to rattle for anything less than a storm. He listened. Peering around, he searched for tracks or droppings. Only his boot prints marked the sandy ground. He smashed his hand into the coal, digging.

His fingers touched something cold, narrow with a gritty texture. He snatched the object spilling coal onto the ground. Holding the slender thing before the light, he gazed at a brown bone covered in black specks and fibrous leather forming the unmistakable shape of a human hand.

The dead never made noise.

Without an explanation for the strange sounds, Sebastian hung his head in defeat and climbed the wood steps. Each groan, every creak beneath his great weight, echoed his failure. Reaching the top, he climbed into the storage shed, and headed for the open door. Ducking through the opening, he greeted the warm sunshine with a welcoming grin.

People clamored around the shed, their hopeful eyes peering up at the giant. Standing in front, Donner frowned at the bone in the big hand.

“Not a well,” said Sebastian. “An old coal mine is buried beneath.”

Glancing at each other, people nodded realizing this made more sense. A voice in the back shouted asking about the ghost. Nods turned to shakes, and all eyes peered up again.

Sebastian felt his grin fade. The air grew cold. He thought about warning against silly superstitions like the book advised, but without proof he had nothing to offer. He had no explanation, nothing at all, but an old arm from a forgotten miner.

“Here,” said Donner. The wrinkled face smoothed into a smile. Snatching the dead arm away, he faced the crowd and held the bone up like a trophy. “Here is the source of our troubles. Our haunt!”

The people of Warton gasped.

“We must put the remains at rest.” Lowering the bone, Donner held it to his chest and bowed his head. “Only then will the lost soul move on to the heavens.”

Looking around, Sebastian saw all the pleading eyes peering up at him, waiting for his approval. Even Donner looked up and waited. Although his book advised against it, and with nothing better to offer, he nodded.

The Warton residents seemed happy breaking into conversation. Donner smiled his approval. And Sebastian returned the smile feeling better if only by a little. With luck, moving the old crank might have killed the spooky sounds.

Let them have their ghost tale, Sebastian thought. Heaven had room for the superstitious.

Spotting a pair of men handling a broken wheel, the back of the wagon wobbling on its perch, he smiled at the job for a giant and marched across the road. “Allow me to hold that wagon.”

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To find all #FridayFlash stories about this character see tag: Sebastian Rhemus