A Shovel Full of Dirt

I pushed the sign deep into the ground and looked at the kids gathering up the street with thinly veiled satisfaction.

Keep off the Dirt

I had seen the way their eyes gleamed when the truck had come to deliver it and decided on a preemptive strike. A tall pile of fill dirt was irresistible for a small child, and I needed as much of this dirt for my project as possible. Having it scattered all over the yard would make that very difficult, and I needed to post signs before the neighborhood rowdies got any ideas. I went back inside then, not wanting to field questions about my dirt.

Sitting in my easy chair, pretending to watch TV, I could see them gathering around to look at the sign. They hunkered over the handlebars of the ten speeds and looked dubiously at the sign I had stuck in the mountain of dirt in the front yard. The sign was pretty straightforward, but I wouldn't put it past these kids to find a loophole. They knew me as the cool neighbor, the single guy who gave out full-sized candy bars on Halloween and sometimes played baseball in the street with them, the guy who drank on his front porch and sometimes let them fish in my canal if it was okay with their parents.

On some things, however, they knew that I was unbending and that it wouldn't do to argue.

They all looked up when I came out on the front porch to lean against the rail and look at them.

"If you're hoping to find a "play in the dirt free" card somewhere on top of that pile, it ain't happenin."

Reggy looked up, and his face was still hopeful, "Gee, Mr. Macentire, that sure is a great lookin pile of dirt you have there."

I nodded, keeping my face neutral as I tried not to smile, "Sure is, and it's for fillin in gopher holes, so I'll likely need all of it. If there's any left, though, I'll be sure to let you kids know so you can trample it flat for me."

They rode off down the road, sitting a little higher on their bikes as they realized there might still be hope. I shook my head as I watched them leave. I never knew anyone to get as excited about a pile of dirt as a bunch of kids. Something about all that fresh, powdery dirt just made them a little bit crazy. As I looked at the six-foot mound of fine white dirt, I almost felt like jumping in it myself.

I went inside to finish my preparations, getting work clothes on and finding my gloves. I sat in the living room pulling my boots on when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I glanced up, the afternoon shadows just starting the lengthen, and saw a pair of small figures standing beside the road. I paused in mid-tie, looking up to see the two small forms looking at the pile of dirt. It looked to be a couple of neighborhood kids, maybe having one last look before going back.

I shook my head; kids were so predictable.

I finished tying my boots and stepped out onto the front porch.

"Looking is fine, but I don't want to see anyone in my..."

The road was empty.

I looked up and down the road. The kids were already playing a game of touch football further down the cul-de-sac, and I picked up my shovel as I thought about how strange that had been. Those two must have really been booking it to make it back to their playmates that quickly. As I started scooping dirt, I thought longingly about having that kind of energy.

It would make my job easier.

I spent the rest of the afternoon filling in gopher holes. It had been a particularly bad season for them, and the dirt was a bandaid solution at best. The gophers would continue to dig up my yard until I invested in a dog or something. I kept slinging dirt until the sun grew low in the sky, one angry chuck actually coming up to growl at me before I threw a shovel full of dirt on him. When it became too dark to see, I thrust my shovel into the dirt pile and shook the remaining dirt off myself. The kids were finishing up their football game, heading home as the street lights came on. They all looked longingly at the dirt pile, but they knew better than to make a play for it while I was standing on my front porch. My cigarette winked on and off as I stood watching the sun go down, and I pitched the end into the dirt as I went inside.

I was frying up some hamburgers when I heard the first tremor of laughter from the front yard. Over the sound of popping grease, I could hear the scuttling laughter of children as they played out front. I walked over the living room window and looked out into the front yard. By the street lights' ghostly light, I could see them playing on the mound of dirt I had out front. There were two of them, both dressed in dirty jeans and colorful shirts, and both having a ball as they capered on the dirt pile.

I was out the door in a matter of seconds, yelling before the door had come fully open.

"Hey! Just what the hell do you think you're doing? Cant, you read? Stay off the..."

The street lights were dim, but even I could see an absence of people in my yard.

I walked over to the pile, looking around to see if anyone was hiding behind it. I saw pretty quickly that this wasn't going to be the case. The dirt pile was hardly three feet tall, and a kid would have to get pretty low to hide behind it. I glanced up and down the street, but the only thing moving on the road was an old chip bag pushed by the wind. I looked back at the pile and was shocked to find that I didn't even see any footprints. The wide, low dirt pile still looked fairly pristine, other than the shovel marks. I scratched my head, sure of what I'd seen, but I went back inside anyway.

Maybe I'd just been working too hard today.

I pulled my fries out of the oven just as they started to burn. I made two hamburgers and added them to the pile of french fries. I tipped a beer into a chilled glass and brought both to the table. After an afternoon spent shoveling dirt, I was tired and ready for a bite, and as I lifted the first one from the blate, I heard my stomach grumble as the grease oozed off the meat. I had just taken the first bite when I heard the metal clanging of my shovel falling over.

I looked up to find those kids playing on my dirt pile again.

I came barreling out the door, my dinner cooling on my plate as I stormed out to send these kids off. I was becoming frustrated. I had made it pretty clear that I didn't want people on my dirt pile. I had been pretty nice about it, posting signs and asking the kids not to mess with it, but it appeared that some of these kids just weren't getting it. If I needed to be a bastard to keep these kids off my dirt, I supposed I'd have to be a bastard.

I had barely gotten two words out of my mouth before I once again noticed the yard was empty.

I was really getting tired of this. I know what I saw, and what I saw was the same pair of filthy kids on my pile of dirt. No matter how many times I checked that yard, however, there was never any sign of trespassers. The strangest part was a lack of footprints, though. The sand was fresh, maybe even a little damp when you got past the top layer. The kids had been jumping on the sand like a trampoline. There should have been footprints, handprints, or something.

They came back three more times that night, but the last is the only one that really stands out.

That was the worst of their appearances.

They appeared again as I was finishing my dishes and again as I sat watching tv. I came striding out to holler at them both times, but all I found was an empty yard both times. This was ridiculous; what the hell was going on? I know what I saw, but they were always gone the instant I came outside. Nobody could move that fast, especially not a bunch of dirty little kids. And what the hell were they doing out after dark? Most of the parents on this block didn't let their kids out after the streetlights came on.

Something funny was going on here.

The last time I saw them, that night at least, was just before bedtime.

I had thought the pranks were over as the time slipped on. It was eleven o'clock, and I was walking through the living room to get something to help me sleep. I was still a little on edge, and I thought that a nightcap might help me calm down a bit. I was coming out of the kitchen with my tumbler of whiskey, the curtains still open on the front yard, when I saw them there.

My glass slipped out of my hands as the two kids stood crouched on top of my dirt pile.

I was speechless for a moment as the angry fire built inside of me. I was furious. Who the hell did these kids think they were? They came storming out in the middle of the night, trying to mess with me, but why? I had made a very simple request. Why were these kids tormenting me? Because I wouldn't let them play on my dirt pile?

If I had stopped to quell my anger, I might have noticed that something wasn't right with these two.

The night air was cool on my bare chest as I came shambling out of my house like an angry bull.

"Who the hell do you think you are? It's almost midnight! Get your asses over here right now. I'm gonna call your parents and let them know what you've been up. I've got a good mind to..."

They hadn't moved this time, though. They just stood on that mound of dirt like two scrawny scarecrows, glowering at me through the dirt caked over their faces. My god, had they been eating the dirt or something? I had thought them filthy, but these kids were downright grimy. They didn't seem at all concerned with me, but I definitely had their full attention.

I had come half into the yard when I saw their eyes.

They both seemed to have a nasty case of red-eye. They stared at me, their eyes seeming to glow somehow, and I suddenly noticed that they cast no shadow in the dim street lights. They should have, the dirt pile and my shovel cast a long gantry in the failing light, but these two had nothing. I had stopped now, barely twenty feet from the pair, when the larger of the two took a step towards me.

When his dirty sneaker gritted against the loose earth, the red piping looking faded beneath all the mud, I saw the earth draw up over it like a hand.

He opened his mouth, trying to say something, but all that came out was wet soil. Sand and mud bubbled out over his lips, and the dirt that had covered his foot had begun to slide up his leg as well. The other fell to his knees, clutching his throat as he coughed up leaves and mud as well. The sand slid over his hands and up his arms, even as the dirt bound the first boy to the pile by his knees. They both struggled, trying to free themselves from the prison of sand, but their efforts were ultimately in vain.

The sand reclaimed them both in a sudden whoosh.

In a blink, they were both gone again.

I walked backward, never taking my eyes off the pile until the door was closed between us.

The next day, I set to work early.

I wanted that pile of dirt out of my yard before nightfall.

I worked diligently, filling in holes and putting the pile to good use. I used it to fill in a few of the potholes in front of my house even. I just wanted as much of it gone as I could manage; I no longer cared how it happened. When the kids came by on their bikes, I told them to leave. They seemed disappointed, but I didn't want them anywhere near this dirt pile.

I was filling in an exceptionally large gopher hole when something caught my eye.

I had nearly turned back to the pile when something pale and long made me take a second look. At first, I thought it might be a worm, but the more I looked, the more I thought I knew what it was. I bent down, the shovel hitting the ground woodenly, as I reached down to pick up what I hoped was a bleached piece of wood. It wasn't, though. It was cold, malleable if not unmoveable, and crooked like a C of pale, purpling flesh.

The perfectly filthy nail was hardly visible at the tip of the small finger.

I went back to the pile and saw the rest of the hand poking out from the bottom, minus the finger I had accidentally severed.

The cops came when I called, and they brought dogs with them as well as a big white forensics van.

They excavated the body of a ten-year-old boy from the bottom of the dirt pile, his face frozen in a look of terrified disbelief. He was dressed in very dirty, if not very familiar clothes, and his sneakers had the same filthy red pipping that I had seen the night before. When they lifted him free, they found his other hand intertwined with something and as he came free, so too did another hand.

The other boy had been about eight, and the two had died hand in hand.

The police had wanted to arrest me or at least bring me in for questioning, but the forensics guy figured out pretty quickly that these kids had been dead for at least a month. A quick search determined they had also been on the missing persons roster for about three weeks, and their parents had feared they had been abducted by some pervert. They had been playing near the sandpits before they had gone missing, and the coroner would later find dirt and mud in their lungs and mouths. He figured they had been climbing the big sand piles they have out there, piles just waiting to be scooped into a truck and sold as fill dirt, when one of them had been sucked down by a pocket of air or an empty spot in the pile. His brother had tried to help him and ended up getting pulled down as well. The two had suffocated as they tried to get out and been picked up with the fill dirt as they trucked it to the company I had bought it from.

"It happens sometimes." the coroner had told me when I'd asked about it a few weeks later, "Kids never think about that kind of thing. They just see a big pile of dirt and start climbing."

I haven't seen the two since they took the bodies away, and the company I bought it from came and got the rest of the dirt after they gave me a full refund.

I hope they find peace where ever they are now.

I think, from now on, I'll just hire someone to fill in the holes in my yard.

I don't ever want to see another pile of dirt for as long as I live.