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

a flash story by David G Shrock

Arranged in rows by color, gold up front and red by the picket fence, chrysanthemums lined the left side of the stone path. The rows of perfect bundles curved with the path around a big oak. Shivering in the breeze, green and yellow leaves sent wiggling shadows over the path and flowers. Brown leaves tumbled catching in the chrysanthemums.

Sebastian Rhemus stood on the path staring at a leaf caught within white bulbs, serenity dancing within green defiled by decay.  Another crisp leaf blew over the gold row and into the white. Somehow it appeared as though the dead leaves swarmed onto the white chrysanthemums ignoring the others.

Footsteps tapped stone. The cadence told Sebastian the feet belonged to his sister, Mary, the eldest child of the Rhemus family. He listened to the clicks, a shuffle, another click of her toe over the other foot, the way she always stood whenever she had something important to say.

Another brown leaf fluttered around the flowers and landed in the same white chrysanthemum bundle. The dead had a way of clinging onto the living.

Mary exhaled loudly.

Squatting, Sebastian reached out and plucked the dead leaves. Closing his hand, he felt the crisp edges breaking into smaller pieces. His opening palm released pieces fluttering onto dirt.

“Mum loved her mums,” said Mary. Hugging herself, she twisted at her hips sending her black dress swishing about her feet.

Looking over, Sebastian found his sister staring at the flowers. Even squatting, he still stood taller if only by a hair. At her height the world appeared different. Others hid their emotions by gazing down so that he only saw the tops of their heads often obstructed by hats. From down low he watched the long stare peering beyond the flowers into another world.

There was no need for an announcement, Sebastian read it on her face. Mary planned on taking their little brother to stay with their uncle. A smart idea while his studies kept him away.

Hearing the clomping of boots and jingle of spurs, Sebastian stood turning around. He found a face sagging with leathery folds and held out a hand. “Marshal Williams.”

The marshal’s hand felt frail in Sebastian’s massive grip.

Glancing towards the end of the path where the guests picked at a table full of snacks, the marshal nodded. “I thought the funeral was last month.”

Sebastian folded his arms and bowed his head. “Our mother.”

“Grief took her,” said Mary.

“My pardon.” Removing his hat, Marshal Williams placed it over his chest. “I didn’t know.”

Mary excused herself and rejoined the others. The marshal started to speak, but coughed into his fist instead. The wind gusted sending the oak limbs waving into a song, several yellow leaves flew over the chrysanthemums and through the fence.

The marshal coughed. The wind settled to a breeze.

“You found the rest,” said Sebastian referring to his father’s remains.

His mother had spent all her time thinking about her loss, more than her share it seemed. Everyone knew, his mother most of all, Rhemus the Giant had a dangerous job protecting the wilds between towns. His mother had always appeared strong, but it seemed she had hid her pain within a tough shell. Maybe she had placed her strength in the hands of her giant husband.

“Vermin did nasty damage,” Marshal Williams said, “but no mistaking that big skull of his.”

Now Sebastian was the giant. His siblings depended on him.

The marshal slapped Sebastian on the back. “Come,” he said. “This day is for your mother. Other business will wait.”

Walking through the open gate, Sebastian watched all eyes pulling away from the snacks turning his way. They looked up to him. He was the size of a giant, but he felt small, helpless. Even giants fell. They all depended on him.

Holding head high, Sebastian marched over to the far end of the table to a large ceramic pot. Taking a white chrysanthemum, he walked to the pair of graves where the casket held by ropes floated over the pit. On the left, his father rested beneath the pile of dirt. Mary took a flower and joined him. The others brought flowers forming a circle.

The priest gave a short eulogy. Tears flowed, but not on the giant’s face. Four men turned cranks lowering the casket.

Sebastian tossed the first chrysanthemum, and the others dropped theirs, white chrysanthemums swirling into the darkness.

Grabbing a shovel, Sebastian filled the pit while the others watched. Strength was the trait of a giant, and he shoveled dirt in great heaps, his face remaining somber. He knew that Mary wept on his behalf, and gained strength from this. Grave filled, he speared the shovel into the ground and stood tall.

The others crept back to the table of snacks. Only Mary remained at his side.

Sebastian gazed at the two graves, at his parents resting beneath the fading sky. He felt better knowing they were together. “They both loved her mums.”