My musings were interrupted by something new, the hollow sound of a spade hitting a coffin. I sent the workers out of the hole and jumped in. Brushing away the loose dirt with my hands, I found the brass plate which read: “Beloved, John Murray.” It started raining, a little drizzle. The sky had been grey and dark all day, and it was no surprise to feel the falling mist and hear the distant drone of a storm. Hurry, I thought to myself. I called for a cat’s paw and began to wrench the crying nails from the oaken chest.
Drabble Series: The Exhumation
Tale Told 