By J.M. Whitmohr
The body in the bushes had been there a long time, out Fannie Mc Dougal’s back door and to the side of her stairs, beyond the garbage can. But, it was a foul odor that finally led her to it.
One morning she opened the door into her walk-though pantry leading to her screened-in porch and the smell of death hit her in the face. She knew that smell.
“Dead mouse,” she said with conviction to nobody and spun around, retreating to fetch the Lysol air freshener from under the kitchen sink. Living in an old Victorian house in rural Cloverton, Fannie knew mice
After spraying the air she began the task of removing every can, box and package from the pantry, shelf by shelf. By the end of the day she hadn’t found a single mouse carcass or dropping.
The next morning the foul odor was as thick as ever and after opening all the windows she began moving every box, bag and tool stashed on the porch from one side to the other. It was when she went to transport her large potted fig tree that she almost gagged.
There it was, cousin to Dead Man’s Fingers fungi. A foul, four-inch fleshy Stinkhorn with its crimson tip thrust up out of the potting-mix at the base of her favorite tree. It was emitting the fragrance of death. She backed away.
It took her only a few squeamish minutes with a trowel, plastic bags and gloves to pull it out and seal it in a garbage bag, along with a big shovelful of its surrounding soil. Grimacing she rushed the bag outside to the garbage can, which because it was empty and she was in a hurry, fell over. And that’s when she discovered the body—as she went into the bushes to right the can.
“What is that?” she said aloud peering through the leaves at a dirty red jacket. But she knew what it was. He was decades older than she was and missing an arm.
Why and how he got there, Fannie had no idea. But Fannie knew she needed a cup of tea and a cookie to crystalize the situation and went inside. There are some things 37 years of teaching English and Shakespeare to middle-schoolers doesn’t teach you. Getting rid of a body is one of them. Here was another Saturday chore. She wanted him out of her garden, and she was certain the garbage service wouldn’t take him.
Fannie didn’t have the muscle to drag him out of the rhododendrons. But she didn’t want to ask for help from the boys at the firehouse or the police. Former students all, they were always rushing in to rescue her. It was embarrassing.
By the time she finished her tea, Fannie had a plan.
“To do a great right, do a little wrong,” she quoted aloud from Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice. She’d simply tow him out with her car and bury him over by the woods. All she needed was a good, strong rope from Hanson’s Hardware and she knew exactly who to see—her former student, the owner.
“Bobbie Hanson,” she called out waving at a man about to disappear into his office. “I need some help.
“Good morning, Raymond, Junior,” said Maggie quickly maneuvering around a boy counting out nails in the middle of the aisle, a Snickers bar in his mouth. “Is that breakfast?” He shifted, pushing himself up. And before the door was closed behind her, he heard Ms. McDougal say quite clearly, “I found a body in the bushes and I need a rope . . .”
No 11-year-old boy is going to leave it at that. Ray J tiptoed over to the door leaving the nails forgotten. It was ajar. A sliver of light betrayed any privacy and Ray J leaned in to listen.
“I’ll get you that rope and if you need any help burying the body,” chuckled Mr. Hanson, “you give me a call.”
Ray J backed up mouth agape just as the door began to open and he turned away quickly, pretending to examine the boxes of screws on the wall.
“You finding what you’re looking for, son?” asked Mr. Hanson walking by with Ms. McDougal in tow.
“Yes, Sir,” said Ray J and he thought, “Wait ‘til I tell Dad!”
Back home Fannie discovered the new rope was nearly worthless. The body was too stiff and heavy to roll over. She couldn’t get a rope under it. Exhausted from trying she sat down on her back steps, glaring at it and thinking, “Toil and trouble.”
Leaving the hardware store Ray J jumped on his bike and pedaled home. His dad was still on the garage roof repairing shingles.
“Dad. Dad,” he called puffing up the ladder. “You’ll never guess what?”
“You forgot the nails?” his dad teased.
“Oh. The nails! I forgot. But Dad, listen. Ms. McDougal found a body in her bushes and she’s going to tie it up and bury it.” He stopped to take a deep breath.
“What? Where did you hear that nonsense, Ray? Didn’t we have a talk about rumors?”
“Dad no. It’s not a rumor. I heard her tell Mr. Hanson at the Hardware store. She said body and bury. That’s what she wanted the rope for.” He looked at his dad expectantly.
Raymond Preston Senior, put down the hammer and scratched his left ear. “Ray, if Ms. McDougal found a body, don’t you think she would have called the police? And don’t you think the police would have called me, as the mayor of Cloverton?”
“Yeah, I guess so, but she said body.”
“So maybe it was the body of a skunk . . . and she didn’t want to get close to it and needed a rope to lasso it.”
“Can she do that,” Ray J asked.
“I don’t know, Ray. Ms. Mc Dougal can do a lot of things. I need you to go back to the store and get me those nails, now. I need them. Go.”
Thinking on his Dad’s words, but not quite wanting to believe them, Ray J climbed back down the ladder.
Fannie spent the afternoon digging under the body and inch-by-inch wiggling a huge garbage bag over it. Lengths of rope encircled it and were tied off. Finally she ran a rope the length of it tying it to every other rope it crossed. Finished, she stood back. She almost laughed. She had created a nice tight package that looked something like a mummy coffin that should slide easily across the yard behind her car to a burial site.
Needing a break and a sandwich before digging the hole, she went into the house smiling. This was becoming an adventure.
By the time Ray J went back to Hanson’s for the nails, delivered them to his dad, ate lunch, finished his chores and escaped to track down his best friend, Lenny, it was pushing dinnertime. He told Lenny what he heard Ms. McDougal tell Mr. Hanson, adding some embellishment, and was thoroughly satisfied with his friend’s stunned reaction. They agreed to meet after dinner for reconnaissance.
Darkness was moving in as they parked their bikes a block behind Fannie’s house and began sneaking through the woods toward her backyard. Hiding behind a big Oak, about 60 feet from Fannie’s back door, Ray J raised the binoculars hanging around his neck and scanned the property.
“Oh, God . . . I see it. I see it, by the steps. It’s a body.”
“Let me see,” said Lennie jerking the binoculars from him. “You were right.” Lennie gasped lowering the glasses, his eyes wide. “What now?”
“We wait,” said Ray J seriously. “We’ll let her almost bury the evidence and then call the police. She’ll be caught with the goods . . . just like on TV.”
Fannie had fallen asleep on the sofa after lunch and woke to a grey world.
“Darn,” she chided herself. ”I wanted to get this done.” Putting on a jacket she took the car keys from the kitchen and went outside. The sun had set.
The kids watched her circle the house and then return driving her car across the lawn. She backed in toward the body and it was only minutes before she was towing it toward the woods and the oak tree where the kids were hiding. She passed within 20 feet as they drew back. She thought she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, but when she looked, there was nothing.
“This should do it,” she said aloud pulling up next to a small ravine where she knew the soil was softer and had fewer rocks. She was only going to bury him a foot deep. Her plan was to dig the hole in front of the car, then straddling it drive straight ahead pulling her package forward until it dropped into the hole.
“A fitting resting place for an unknown soul,” she thought grabbing the shovel. She still wondered how he came to her. Had he simply resurfaced during winter’s thaw, like the rocks in New England’s historic fields, or had someone dropped him off for some reason? But that seemed crazy. Fannie kept digging and the boys moved in to watch.
When she finally pulled forward in the car two things happened. The body dropped nicely into the hole and the car’s front wheels sank into soft dirt on the edge of the swale.
“Oh, dandelions! Not now,” Fannie moaned getting out of her car. One look and she knew that she was truly, deeply stuck. Back in her car, she reluctantly called the boys at the firehouse on her cellphone.
“Evening, Ms. McDougal, what can we do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Brian. I hope the family is fine. My car is stuck in the dirt at the edge of the woods bordering my backyard. I don’t know what to do.”
“Not a problem. We could use a little practice. Keep your headlights on so we can see you. And stay with your vehicle.” He hung up and the town alarm went off calling all volunteers.
Fannie went back and cut the tow rope and pulled it into the car. She picked up the shovel and began filling in the hole. Ray J picked up his cell phone and called 911.
“What is your emergency?”
“This is Raymond Preston Junior. Someone is burying a body at the edge of the woods by Ms. McDougal’s.”
“Ray J? What are you saying? Who put you up to this? Making a false report is dangerous and against the law.”
“This is not a false report, Miss Sarah. Lennie Pritchard and I are in the woods watching it. Send the police. Hurry!”
“Don’t you move. Stay on the line and out of sight. We’re coming.” Ray J gave Lennie a high-five and they hunkered down. Within minutes sirens were heard speeding through the neighborhood. Suddenly lights converged into Ms. McDougal’s backyard from every direction as an army of fire trucks and police vehicles moved in across her back lawn, racing toward the woods followed by an ambulance and George Shehee’s tow truck.
By the time it was all sorted out, the body was unearthed and unwrapped revealing a cement man in a red painted jacket with one arm broken off. He weighed approximated 200 pounds. The grave Fannie dug was on her property as she owned the entire woods. No laws were broken. George towed out Fannie’s car. The volunteer firemen got practice and the police had a good laugh. Lennie and Ray J were delivered to their fathers by squad car to face the appropriate consequences of over-active imaginations. Both were grounded and Ray J was denied Snickers bars for a month. But how the body ended up in Fannie McDougal’s rhododendrons remains a mystery.
Writer's Bloc: Best of EWML Writers' Club 