The Field Where They Found Him

The pictures were utterly idyllic and equally terrifying.

A meadow of yellow marigolds that stretched out nearly to the limits of vision. There was a plaid picnic blanket that was laid out very neatly, a picnic basket. Just to the left of the basket stood two empty champagne flutes that had been set out but never used. Just to the left of the flutes was the still corked bottle of 'Veuve Clicquot Yellow Label Brut'. Just to the left of the undisturbed bottle was my uncle's body.

His head was deformed as though something of a great weight had been placed upon it, his arms and legs were splayed at unnatural angles and every one of his ribs was broken. It was a ghastly thing to see. The policeman showing me the pictures told me that almost every bone in his body had been broken.

They wanted to know if he had any enemies who might have done this to him. I admitted that he had enemies, but none that had ever shown a propensity for this level of brutality. It was a short list but I offered several names to the officer to follow up with.

The officer added the fact that no physical evidence had been found on the scene or on my uncle’s clothes or person. Not a single blade of grass or flower stem had been disturbed. The only footprints leading to the picnic were those of my uncle. There were no footprints leading away. There were no signs of a struggle. There was no evidence that his body had been placed there.

The forensic investigation on his body showed no defensive wounds, no signs of external trauma, no marks that might have been left by any known tool to break his bones. As far as the police investigation was concerned, it seemed as though he had walked in, set up his picnic, and then just sat down and waited very calmly as every bone in his body shattered of their own accord.

The police asked me about who he was there to meet. I told them about his love that he had met at a soiree over a year ago. They seemed to be seriously enamored with one another and that he had invited her to this picnic because he intended to propose to her.

The officer admitted that a small box with a gold ring covered in diamonds, rubies, and sapphires was found in his pocket. It had added to their bafflement because his femur had both been broken in several places, but that the ring box and ring were both in pristine condition.

I told them her name. It took them several minutes but the officer returned and indicated that she had an airtight alibi. He did not go into further details about her.

He asked me if there was anything else, any signs of another woman, any signs of another lover; I told them that he only had eyes for her. He talked about her all the time, and I never heard the name of anyone else on his lips. The police seemed satisfied and let me leave.

A week went by. Per my uncle's wishes, his body was cremated without fanfare. No obituary was posted anywhere. The news story of his mysterious death was quickly replaced with more lucrative celebrity gossip. No funeral service was held. His ashes were placed in an unmarked columbarium at an unremarkable graveyard in Innsmouth; located as far from the Innsmouth EOD Church as it was possible to be.

He had always been prepared for his own passing and per his instructions I sent the seven handwritten letters that he had prepared to the seven people whom he had maintained communication with to the end.

His instructions were very clear that his engagement ring should be kept in the family if it were not passed by his hand, so I did not tell his love about my uncle’s intentions. He did leave her a bluebird tail feather, a pressed marigold flower, and a handwritten note. She had cried on my shoulder when she read it. She left and I never saw her again.

My uncle had left precise instructions on which of his possessions were to be given to who and I had followed the instructions to the letter. He had left his house to me, as well as a lordly inheritance, enough that I never needed to work another day in my life should I spend it wisely.

There were entire wings of the house that I had been forbidden to enter in his life that needed to be cleaned and items catalogued. He had many strange artifacts hidden throughout the house. Most of which I had no idea what they were.

One cabinet at the end of the hall on the far end of the house was locked, which was strange because nothing else in the house was secured. I found a rusted iron key in my uncle’s bedroom that fit the lock.

Inside the cabinet was a simple wooden box with a letter resting on top. It was yellowing paper, handwritten, and addressed to me.

The letter said that the contents were highly dangerous and by no means was anyone to look inside. The letter went on to say that if he had died of natural causes to throw the box into the sea. If he had died mysteriously however I was to mail the box to a listed address in Wellesley.

My uncle's death had been mysterious to be sure, so I mailed the package the same day to the provided address with the postage stamps that were provided with the letter. I did not list my return address so that, one way or another, I’d never see the package again.

When my task was complete, I began working on plans to go on a very long and well needed vacation.

I just wanted to forget those pictures.

This piece was written for the "Golden Summer" challenge. In my current style, this was written in a single sitting. This is the fourth part in an eight part series. You can read them in order

"The Barn", "Dinner and Diary", and "The Package on the Table" here on Vocal.

Look forward to part five, "The Iron Bull" in a few days.