SEPTEMBER 9, 2020

How to Get a Head

“How to Get a Head” is my story for the 98th episode of The Word Count Podcast based on the image below.

This podcast begins the “Human” trilogy of shows. Remember, there are only three more episodes left! The theme was “humans of the past” and was supposed to touch on time travel as well.

STORY INSPIRATION: I struggled with this image, not knowing what it was initially—a picture of rock? My visual perception was playing a trick on me. It’s the old “figure-ground” distinction.

Where I saw only rock, others saw a skull. It took me awhile to see it, but then once I did, I could not unsee it.

My husband inspired the story when he directed me to a news item. It was about a certain animal that digs up cemeteries. I spun fiction into truth, and this is the result.

You can also listen to me reading “How to Get a Head” on episode 98 of R.B. Wood’s podcast.

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Jane Bale stood over her father’s casket. Exhumed only hours earlier, the oak box rested atop a metal table in the old farmhouse where she used to live with her parents. Small town, nearby burial ground, and a sizeable donation to the mayor’s re-election campaign helped Jane cut through the bureaucracy of a lengthy excavation order.

She surveyed the ornate casket and noticed the areas of decay in the wood. “Is this normal?” She pointed to metal handles on the side of the container that were missing.

“I’ve seen worse,” said Neil Green, the town’s elderly funeral director. “The wood’s eroded around those areas, so they’ve likely broken off.”

“I see,” Jane said.

The Police Chief and a young undertaker were also in attendance.

Forty years ago, Robert Bale died from a gun shot wound to the head while cleaning his rifle, or so the story goes. Jane’s mother never believed it. She insisted her husband was too careful a man to kill himself in such a stupid way. Jane was not even a teenager when her father died, but their family name was well known. Her father owned land, lots of it, much of it passed down from generations. They held properties in two adjacent counties and were one of the wealthiest families in the state.

Around the time of her father’s death, the rumour was that one of the townships wanted to expropriate a parcel of his land to build a cemetery. He refused to give up any of it. It wasn’t long after that he died, and her mother was forced to sell at a much reduced price. Jane never forgot her mother’s final words to her: “They stole your inheritance,” she said.

“Jane … Jane …?” The funeral director’s voice brought her back to the present. “Your father and I were friends, and it broke my heart when he died so tragically, but what are you expecting to find?”

“I don’t believe my father died as the reports say. There was never an investigation.”

The Police Chief nodded. “It was an accident, no reason to investigate.”

“That was then,” Jane scoffed. “Now the case has been reclassified to homicide.” She took a breath and covered her face with a cloth. “Can you please open the casket, Neil?”

Along with his apprentice, he lifted the lid.

A collective gasp filled the room as they peered into the casket. Robert Bale’s cotton suit had disintegrated around the skeletal frame. The fossilized bones lay in perfect order, seemingly undisturbed. That is, except for the skull … which was missing.

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A month earlier …

I love burrowing in cemeteries. They’re peaceful and quiet, creating the coziest of homes during the winter months. I’ve dug tunnels that extend long distances. They’ve allowed me to set up multiple exits and several chambers. There’s the bathroom where I go to defecate. There’s the room where I sleep, and there’s another room I’ll use as a nursery when the time comes.

They call me nature’s underground architect. I think that’s a pretty accurate description and quite flattering.

Creating tunnels is not difficult except for the occasional obstacles. I’ve had to push metal pieces out of my path. And sometimes, I’ve hit up against hard surfaces that I must chew through. Wood is no match for my powerful teeth, but metal can be a challenge.

I’m not sure what I might kick up when I burrow down the earth. I know I’ve pitched up human remains. Why, just last week, I had to drag out a clavicle because it was blocking my path, or was it a humerus?

The weather is cooling off, and my den is almost finished. It’s been an exhausting season. I must’ve excavated over 700 pounds of dirt to build all these tunnels. I’m headed below for a three-month well-deserved snooze. By the end of it, I should be ready to stick my head out of the ground again.

Oh, I almost forgot to tell you! I dug out pieces of a skull today—that’s a first. I’m using the skull as a marker for one of the secondary entrances. It’s got a little peephole up at the top that allows me to check for predators before I head out—a real find!

See you in February!