The Witching Hour

[Part 1] A Grave Discovery

It was late October when the local contractors could finally break ground on the long-awaited project to build a new town hall, which had, unfortunately, been delayed due to an unexpected bout of storms that rolled in at the tail end of monsoon season. The date was fitting, considering that the property they were building it on was rumored to be haunted. To lay the foundation for the new building, the workers first had the task of removing the old, abandoned hut which had, at one point, been hidden away on the outskirts of the old town. No one really knew when it was built or who had lived in it, but it remained empty for years. The only ones brave enough to set foot on the haunted property were vandals and thrill-seeking, mischievous kids.

Rick, although he was only in his late twenties, was among the more experienced workers of the group, so he wasn't surprised when Kent Gibson, the foreman, gave him the responsibility of operating the excavator to tear down the house. Any other time, Rick would be rearing to go and tear anything down with heavy equipment. This time, however, he felt an odd sense of dread as he stood amidst his coworkers. A cold breeze blew across the flat desert ground sending shivers up his spine. He zipped up his Carhart jacket, and blew a couple warm breaths onto his fingers, noticing the frozen clouds escape his lips. 

The cold settled in overnight. He wasn't likely to see anymore warm mornings for the rest of the work season. He wondered if it was just the biting cold that was making him so anxious, or perhaps it was something more. As Kent went on with the same repetitive safety speech he gives before they begin working a new project, Rick gazed at the mud house and let the grim memory replay in his mind; the memory of when he, himself, was a young, mischievous kid, sneaking in with his friends. The terror he felt upon seeing the cellar door rise and fall on its own and the gritty, raspy voice whispering his name was permanently etched into his memory. He couldn't sleep through the night for weeks afterward, and kept a flashlight and a pocket knife under his pillow just in case his closet door decided to open on its own.

It never did.

Rick never told any of the other boys what happened. He was afraid no one would believe him, or worse, they would believe him and then force him to return to the haunted house to investigate the matter. The only person he ever told was his wife, back when they were just newly dating. Ironically enough, she was immediately hell-bent on seeing the haunted cabin for herself, and Rick, a high-school boy, desperate to impress her, regrettably obliged. They ended up getting much more than they bargained for that night.

Rick forced his attention back to the meeting, trying to shake the chills that raised all the hair on his body. He couldn't let himself think about that night. Not right now.

When Kent finally wrapped up his lecture, he let the men get to work. Rick pushed all the memories he had of the old house to the back of his mind and climbed into the excavator, grateful to be the one to bring an end to the horror. He first went to work tearing into the roof and bringing down the walls, which proved to be more frustrating than he'd anticipated. The clay, straw, and rocks were poorly sealed together. As a result, he couldn't grab big slabs of wall, instead, he had to break it off bit by crumbling bit. Somehow, he managed to make quick work of it despite the challenge. Once the walls were removed, it was time to move on to ripping out the storm cellar structure.

He careened the excavator closer to his target, but unfortunately, the weight of the machine proved to be too much on the freshly soaked ground. As he lifted a full bucket of plank flooring from above the cellar hole, the shift in weight caused the ground underneath one of the outriggers, to give way. This immediately threw off the balance of the equipment and sent it plummeting downward, smashing through the floorboards and into the basement.

"Ah!" Rick yelled squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself for impact against the windows of the cab.

The excavator made an awful grinding sound as it landed. Crash! The landing jeered Rick forward, but his seatbelt held fast, violently whipping him backward again. Then all the sudden, everything stopped. Rick remained still, his heart pounding in his chest, as the equipment stabilized. He prepared himself for the worst as he opened his eyes again.

He was surprised to find that, even though he was hanging down inside the hole, the excavator bucket still gripped the ground above, as if holding on for dear life. Thinking fast, and trying not to panick, Rick thought it might be best to try to lift himself and the excavator out with the arm and bucket. On the other hand though, he knew that with the dirt being as soft as it was, the ground could collapse again under the arm and he could burry not only a two hundred thousand dollar piece of equipment, but also himself. He had to decide quickly.

He closed his eyes again briefly, and muttered a quick prayer, then he took a deep breath and opened them again. Just as he was reaching for the controls, something on the ground caught his attention. It was white and smooth and mostly covered in debris and dirt. He leaned forward and blinked a few times in disbelief. But, sure enough, there staring back at him were two empty eye sockets. 

"Oh God- "His voice broke and his throat suddenly went dry.

"Rick!" The familiar voice reminded him of his still perilous predicament, "Are you okay, Rick?"

"Y-Yeah!" He coughed and cleared his throat, "I'm gonna try to get out of here."

"Okay. Everyone stay back!" Kent yelled, and motioned for all the other men to back up, "Be careful."

Kent knew that Rick was more than capable of handling the situation, but even still, it was his neck that was on the line of Rick screwed up again or, God forbid, some idiot got in the way.

Once everyone was clear, Rick, shaking in fear, slowly lifted the excavator up, using the arm. Then, once it was safely back on more solid ground, he retracted the outriggers again so the equipment could roll back to a safe distance. A wave of relief swept over everyone when he brought the equipment to a halt a few yards away from the hole.

Rick didn't hesitate long. He quickly wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead, then unbuckled and climbed out of the cab. Everyone crowded around him at once, but he pushed past them and peered down into the hole. The new fallen dirt had covered what he was sure he saw just moments before.

"Are you okay, man?" Brian, his close childhood friend asked, concerned about the sickening look in his eyes.

Rick didn't answer right away. instead, he grabbed a hand shovel that was laying on the ground nearby, and carefully climbed down the loose mud and dirt to the bottom of the cellar.

"Just what do you think you're doin' Rick?" Kent asked, growing frustrated now.

"I think there's something in here." Rick finally answered as he dug into the loose dirt.

"What's in there?" Brian asked.

Rick, again, was silent as he grimly threw aside a few scoops of dirt and rubble.

"There ain't nothin' in there." Kent grumbled, furiously, then turning to one of his men continued, "He's just trying to take our attention off of what he just almost did to this equipment. These ain't cheap." He muttered, cursing and huffing.

He plucked a cigar out of his front jacket pocket, and popped it into his mouth, then fumbled around for his lighter. He cursed again.

"Does anyone have a light-"

"Boss," Carlos, one of the men interrupted him, "Look."

Kent followed Carlos's gaze back to the hole where Rick was standing holding up a shovel full of dirt...

and a decaying human skull.