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  “Over here!”

  They had found the spot underneath the porch. They would be here in a matter of a minute! He hobbled over to the casket. The lid was not nailed down, because it was empty. It was made just for this purpose! They would never catch him, not alive anyway. By the time the caskets were all opened, he would be dead and they will have failed! He opened it. It gaped at him and for a moment he hesitated, but then put his coat in for a small pillow and started to climb in.

  The casket rocked on the sawhorses and almost fell. He may not be able to make it in there! He had to! He went over to the sawhorse and used it to steady his attempt and slowly, using every ounce of strength in his frame he crawled up into it.

  The cellar door rattled loudly.

  He turned and laid himself in place. He then reached up and grasped the lid and eased it down upon top of him as quietly as he could.

  The darkness enveloped him like inky water.

  Immediately, he began to question his decision. His heart was pounding and his breath still came in ragged gasps. The air was stale in here. There wasn’t even any air to breathe he felt. His mind started swirling; he was seeing bright flashes at the edge of his vision.

  The cellar door banged loudly again, like it was being hammered by someone’s shoulder.

  He had made it though! They would never know who was who or what had happened! He had won in the end!

  His heart began to beat irregularly in his chest. Now, a pain was shooting through his back and around to his left side.

  ***

  A shot rang out, followed by several more. At this the faithful sheepdog ran to a small hole that it had dug to gain access to this very cellar on hot summer days, crawled through it and ran for the safety of trees frightened beyond loyalty – he had never heard a gunshot. The cellar door was shoved once more and this time it gave. The men poured through the small doorway, coming off of their hands and knees to stand nearly at their full height. When they all filed into the room they stood stock still. Their flashlight beams moving slowly about and taking in the scene bit by bit.

  They were in total shock. They didn’t know what to think about any of this. The leader’s explanation didn’t cover what they now saw.

  Several of the men began to whisper prayers beneath their breath, but still none of them moved.

  ***

  He stood there in the lead of Element 1. The sweat was coming back, his eyes would not focus, and then he started trembling again. He tried to tense himself so that it would not show and shut his eyes. It helped . . . momentarily.

  Then it happened!

  ***

  The old man didn’t realize it, but he was having a severe heart attack. The night had been too much for him and now he was dying. He could feel the icy fingers of death as they began to squeeze his heart and chest tighter and tighter. He could not breathe! Then he began to hear the voices. Voices of his childhood, his past, his family, his father and his mother. They were all whispering for him to come, but there was no peace in their voice; there was pain and fear.

  Suddenly, he didn’t want it to end this way! Let justice be served! Let him pay for his deeds, let the sentence be as severe as it must and the punishment meted without mercy, but let him pay, now! Not after death!

  He wriggled his arms from his sides and tried to get his palms against the lid.

  He would face them! He would let them take him to the hospital and then wherever they might, but he didn’t want to go where the voices were calling from. It was a place of danger and fear, he knew it!

  He tried to lift the lid. He didn’t budge it! It was too heavy for him to lift and certainly it could not be done by a man under a severe heart attack, but he didn’t know this. He had to! Finally, realizing he couldn’t lift it he balled up his fists and did the last thing he wanted to do!

  He cried out for help! His words were muffled and indistinguishable and only issued beyond the casket’s confines as a moaning. Then he pounded with his fists, though he couldn’t with much force.

  ***

  The lights all turned toward the casket and held there. The frightened man’s mouth fell open and he no longer could hold back the trembling. The flashlight beam shook and swayed with his shaking limbs.

  They heard it again.

  ***

  The voices were growing louder now and in desperation he screamed out.

  “Help! They are coming!”

  ***

  This did not reach the ears of the armed men in their dark suits entirely intact, but came as muffled words, surreal as well as full of fear.

  ***

  It was the last straw for him. The temporary lead man screamed and turned around and pushed his way through the men, knocking them into each other, one against the wall and one to the ground. They tried to stop him, but he was crazed with an animal fear. He dove out of the cellar and scurried out beneath the porch and jumped to his feet. Again, he screamed. He ran around the house and to the cars. He jerked open the driver’s door and dug for the keys in his pocket. The keys were rammed into the ignition and turned almost instantly. The motor roared to life and he jammed the car into drive and floored the accelerator. Gravel and then grass were flung up into the air and scattered about the yard as he weaved in a spin towards the road. The other car was peppered with sprayed rock as his tires caught finally and flung the car in motion away from the house.

  ***

  The old man was desperate now. Even though he had not been able to see, still he knew that he could see, for he saw the light ebbing through the space between the lid and the casket. Then it all started going black. He quit breathing, but still he could hear them men. He had heard one of them scream and then banging and curses. The voices were sounding in his ears now and he could not longer cry out for help.

  ***

  “He is taking the car!” One of the men shouted as he heard the roar of the motor at full throttle and the tires peeling gravel all over.

  “He has lost his mind!” The leader spun and ran for the cellar door. “We have got to catch him!”

  They all dashed out through the opening and from under the porch.

  ***

  The old man tried to cry out, but no sound came. He tried to ask for help. He tried to say, ‘Please, come back, don’t leave me!’, but he could not. They wouldn’t have heard him at this point any way as they were already in the other car speeding off down the old abandoned road. His heart quit beating, he could feel it. Strange how he knew that he was dead and yet, was still alive to know it. Then he could hear nothing except the voices. They were right outside of his casket; he heard the cries and sobs. They were calling his name.

  ***

  The taillights of the car faded into the darkness and finally winked out of view, forever.

  THE END

  Thank you for reading my short story! Your interest is flattering. Quite honestly, this story was taken from a dream I had in 2008; one of the most vivid dreams I have ever experienced. This is my first published work (officially), yet I have been writing for many years. I have a full length book [medieval-historical-fiction] that is complete and nearing the final stages of preparation for publishing. Watch for it soon! Below you will find a small excerpt.

  I am a lifelong resident of the northwest United States. I have a beautiful wife, three wonderful children, one dog, and 2 cats. I have worked a wide variety of jobs, traveled the continental U.S. extensively, and been involved in several professional and non-professional capacities through the years, as a teacher, principal, P.E. instructor, bus driver, public speaker, truck driver, machinist, and mechanic; currently a business owner and President of a non-profit corporation. Oh, did I mention…I love to write!

  Excerpt from…

  The Two Schillings

  Chapter X

  We return to April 1413 . . . Sir Chavelle readied his mount for the surprise attack. He would only need the
horse until he was ready to strike, then he would take to foot. He checked the sword again. It was safely in its place. The handle had been disguised by wrapping cloth on it. He had covered the blade with the wet soot from the fire pit and hoped it would keep it from shining in the morning sun once it was pulled from its scabbard. His job done he would return to France for his pay and promised position in the House of Cousteau in Chaumont.

  The signal was given. He climbed into the saddle and motioned for Philippe, as well as the rest of his flank command to follow him. They began to move nearly without further preparation or sound toward the southwest, away from the opposite camp at a near right angle. The plan was to come around in the small wood, post the men on the edge and await the signal to attack. When the signal came they were to climb along the ridge-back of the small hill and take the camp from the west.

  Chavelle walked his horse over to Philippe. “You are ready lad?”

  “I am sir.” Philippe felt a bit nervous about the whole ordeal, but he knew that he was ready to go through with it. “Just let me know when you are ready.”

  “Good, I will.” With that Chavelle tapped his horse into a fast walk and rode to the front of the men, hooves kicking up little clouds dust with a quiet thumping. He led them down into a low wash, then along it for about forty yards, then back out again. They were hidden from view of the prince's camp and began to make their way into the wood. After slipping through the underbrush on the outskirts the men spread out on the soft pad of earth and the previous autumn's fallen leaves. No sound was made but for the occasional whisper of movement or men. As the forty men neared the opposite side of the wood they slowed and began to take positions of concealment.

  They could just see the southwest side of the camp from where they waited. Activity was very low and there seemed to be a lack of concern for another attack. The air was beginning to warm and the shade felt good to the men.

  Sir Chavelle called Philippe to him as he dismounted. He left his horse to stand and they walked a little ways off where they could talk privately. When Chavelle felt that they were out of earshot of the rest of the men he stopped.

  “I want to go over it with you again, Philippe, in a more detailed manner now that we are ready to begin. Now, I will lead the charge and you are to remain with me at all times. When the two sides come together and all elements are involved it will give us the opportunity that we need. At my signal you will take command of our flank, I will dismount, making it look as though I was knocked off, and you will mount on my horse. Before that happens though, we must locate Sir Gilbert. Once he is located I will press our men in that direction then I will give you the signal. Once I do and I dismount your job is to make as much distraction as possible so that I can do what I must with minimal detection. Are you with me so far?” Sir Chavelle inquired in a hushed voice.

  “Yes, sir, I understand that I will stay with you, wait for your signal, mount your horse, take command and create distraction.” Philippe dutifully and accurately repeated back to him.

  “Good, now another thing. After I finish with Gilbert I am going to signal you as best as I can. You are to come to me as quickly as possible and we will change positions again. Also, there is one more item of business besides that.” Chavelle reached into the large leather bag at his side and pulled out a long surcoat identical to the one that he was wearing. There were no markings on either of them, but they were unique enough in design and cut to be noticed and identifiable. “You are to put this on right now. When I feign falling off the horse I will take mine off immediately, and stow it in my bag. I have another set of clothes on underneath which are nondescript. I will not be noticed when I give the blow to Sir Gilbert. When we meet again I will replace the surcoat and you will dismount, then take yours off. It shall work beautifully.” Chavelle's voice grew low and seemed to growl out a sadistic pleasure at the end of his instructions. Philippe face looked as though he were looking at a genius of stratagem and a divine being. His expression showed a glow of admiration that bordered on worship of Sir Chavelle.

  “Yes, Sir! You are brilliant, if I might say such of you.”

  Chavelle was not flattered, but accepted the praise as though he were. “You may say such any time that you wish.” He slapped Philippe on the back loudly as they walked back to the rest of the men.