Dig

The soft sound of the shovel scraping in the damp earth was the only thing heard for miles. The noises of the night held their tongue in the late Autumn chill as the man worked, utterly alone in the dark of the woods. His heavy breathing and the relentless sound of the shovel in dirt were as loud as a million motorways for all he could tell, and all the while his heart thumped in his chest. There was no one around to hear, he reminded himself, wiping the ever-present sweat from his forehead. If it was nervous sweat or work sweat he didn’t know anymore. He didn’t care. The work had to be done tonight. The shovel continued on, and the man’s tired hands continued with it. The work had to be done.

He sighed, exhausted, and leaned backwards against the wall of the deepening pit. It wasn’t done. He had to take a break. His body shivered. The night was cold, but not as cold as the events of it had been. Those were the truly chilling things. He wiped his forehead again, and tensed his hand around the shovel’s grip. It was almost done. He looked up at the sudden sound of wings beating, disturbing the silent darkness he had known up until now, and glanced around. In the moonlight his eyes focused on a brown owl, perching in the branches of the tree beside his pit. He stared at it, and it stared at him, but neither made another sound. The man shook his head and turned back to his work, gripping the shovel in both hands and driving it once again into the earth. The same repetitive noise crept out into the dark of the night around him. The moon hid back behind the clouds, deciding it was better not to bear witness to the solitary man's work. It left him alone in the watchful gaze of the lone brown barn owl. The man could feel the bird's eyes on his back but he tried to ignore it. Sweat began to creep and trickle down his back, as his eyes began shifting to the side, building his hatred for the bird.

When he could take no more the man turned, shovel gripped in both hands, and he faced the bird. He opened his mouth to speak, to shout at it, but the owl was gone. A wave of relief washed over him and his shoulders sagged from the release of pressure. The owl wasn’t watching him after all, and he was alone again. He almost smiled absent-mindedly to himself as he turned back to continue his work.

“Hoo?” The noise shattered the night and the man jerked, tossing the shovel to the ground in a rush of nerves. His head darted back and forth, searching for the transgressor, and finally he found the owl perched in a different tree, staring at him with its head cocked to one side. The man glared and tried to regain his composure, scowling at the bird as he picked up the gnarled tool. Without taking his eyes off the bird he continued digging, daring the owl to make another sound– any sound– to disturb him. The owl remained silent, staring at him with round eyes. The man grit his teeth and stared downward into his work, looking without seeing at the caked clay and mud lining the walls of the pit he was making, and the growing mound of dirt, mud, and loose soil growing on the edge. His eyes were fixed on the ground but his thoughts were fixed firmly on the bird, perched as it was in the branches of a tree, out of his reach, watching him. Those big eyes, watching, always watching. The man suppressed a scream and dug. The sound of the shovel on the earth grew faster, and harder. As the man worked he grew more frantic, to the point of frenzy.

“Hoo!” The bird called again and the man yelled and reached for a rock, coming up with a fistful of loose, damp earth. He threw it at the bird, and the dirt showered across the grass and the fallen leaves. The man breathed rapidly, arms quivering at his sides, before turning back to the ground at his feet to take fistful after fistful to throw at the owl.

“Hoo! Hoo!” The bird continued, beating its wings against the still blackness of the night. The man couldn’t see it any longer, the night was too dark, but he could hear the cries of the bird all around him. He knew it was still out there. He scrambled hand-over-fist up the side of the muddy embankment, tearing his clothes and his skin on the pointing roots, and yelled to drive the bird away. He stood up on the edge of his pit and searched the treeline for the creature, until the owl’s haunting call sounded behind him. The man spun on his heel with a fistful of dirt and threw, shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Now I’ve got you, you damn bird!” The man felt his weight fall on his front foot, as it failed to touch ground and stepped into open air. The earth gaped open before the man as he plunged headfirst into the pit of his own making, screaming. Useless hands grabbed at walls and brought showers and clods of dirt down behind him. There was a sharp pain to the man’s head, and the woods fell silent once again.

“Hoo.” Came a final, haunting call before the owl took to flight and left the lonely scene behind, as the sound of beating wings receded away into the night.

In the early light of the morning, with mist hung upon the trees, a young man and his girlfriend hiked through the woods, unsuspecting any evil will that might be present. Emerging on a scene of a parked car beside a large pit, cautiously they investigated the automobile. The woman recoiled, feeling sick at what looked like a body wrapped in cloth lying across the backseat. The sight of it wasn’t enough to shake the young man as he resolved to investigate, but the sound of his girlfriend screaming quickly drew his attention. At the bottom of the pit, face down and caked in mud and dirt, there was the body of a man.