Thousand Dollar Death

Angelica Morello stands in the rain, trying to muster up the courage to step inside the pawnshop. The Morello’s only valuable to sell is a gold and pearl rosary that journeyed with her mother from Italy. Since the stock market crash three years ago, havoc has wreaked on families and businesses all across America, and now it’s come to her front door. With her unemployed currently and her father’s masonry business getting so few jobs, they need money to support the family of seven. Nausea burns her stomach as she imagines the meager price this family heirloom will fetch.

“Oh dear, you need to get out of this rain before you catch your death of cold,” a woman says from a shiny red Cadillac idling at the curb. Angie recognizes the face of Mrs. Coldstone, the wife of the richest man in Midnight Lake, who is known for neither generosity nor kindness. Angie’s soaked to the bone in her threadbare dress and rain sloshes in her worn shoes as she takes a tentative step towards the Cadillac.

“I will be all right. I’m about to step inside the shop,” Angie tells Mrs. Coldstone, tucking the rosary into her pocket.

“What are you trying to sell to the pawnbroker?” asks Mrs. Coldstone, her ruby red lips smiling. “I sure hope you’re not trying to sell a wedding or engagement ring.”

She shakes her head no as Mrs. Coldstone beckons with her gloved hand for her to come closer.

“Why don’t Caleb and I drive you home, and I can share with you a better opportunity than selling priceless family heirlooms,” she says as the tall black driver steps out of the car.

“Please, miss, we can drive you home and get you out of this weather.” He whispers, “This is a chance to make a lot of cash quick,” Angie looks into his kind eyes and nods, stepping inside the dry interior.

“Thank you, Caleb. You are the mason’s daughter, correct?” She looks as glamorous as a queen, and Angie feels like a chambermaid next to her as she nods. “I’m sorry to hear that the shop you worked at closed yesterday,” Mrs. Coldstone says, shaking her head. “Now, dear, I’d like to know if you’re interested in working for 24 hours and walking away with $1,000 in cold hard cash.”

The following morning rises bright, with sunshine drying up yesterday’s rainstorm. The wind blows Angie’s curls as the boat departs for the island. Will Young, a carpenter, and young widower, looks solemn as he leans over the railing, his head turned towards their destination. Stanley Doyle, wearing a face mask to hide his Great War injuries, squats across from her. All three of them signed Coldstone’s contract, agreeing to give them one thousand dollars for twenty-four hours on the island. Angie may have signed with a shaky hand and but she’s determined to secure this money for her family.

Sleep eluded her last night as she wondered if she should take the offer. Her parents murmured voices, had her tiptoeing to the door and listening through the crack to her parent’s conversation. The worry in her mom’s voice stung, and she knew she couldn’t squander this opportunity. Before sunrise, she left the house, leaving a letter on the kitchen table for her parents.

“How are you doing, Angie?” Will’s husky voice interrupts her thoughts. “How is the Morello family faring these days?”

Angie sighs and says, “About the same as everybody else in this town, just making sure we get meals in our stomachs.”

Will nods. “It’s all we can do is survive as the jobs in town shrink and the food lines get longer.” His brown eyes show fatigue from taking care of his motherless infant son.

“How are you and your son?” Angie asks.

“He is doing well. My sister is taking care of him.” His shaggy brown hair peeks out under a cap that has seen better days. “I’m hoping this stay on the island will keep us afloat until work picks up.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets as a gust of wind shakes the boat, pushing hair into Angie’s face. “No one is building right now, and no one can afford home repairs.” He shrugs. “I guess we will see what happens to Midnight Lake.”

Stanley Doyle wanders over. “Have you heard the rumors about Midnight Island?” Stanley asks them, his painted mask catching sunlight, “I’ve heard the Coldstones use this island for hunting humans.”

Angie’s stomach sinks like a rock, and she glances at Will. He laughs, bending his head against the wind. “Hunting humans?” he says doubtfully.

“Yep,” says Stanley, “That’s what I heard.” He cracks a smile, and Angie smells the faint whiff of alcohol. “Guns or knives; they’ll hunt you anyway, and who’s going to stop them. Rich folks can do as they please.”

Angie shivers from both the wind chill and Stanley’s words.

“That’s a load of hogwash,” Will says.

Stanley cackles before spitting on the deck of the boat. “You are fools if you think these rich folks are just handing their money over while we dilly-dally on the island.” He walks away humming.

“His social skills are rusty,” Will tells Angie, who nods, and the two stay in silence until the boat docks.

After they arrive on Midnight Island, Stanley departs for the trees while Will and Angie make their way up the path towards the lodging. Pine trees sway in the breeze as the sun warms their necks. A commotion in the tree causes them to halt, and Stanley bursts out with a frantic look and sweat pouring off him. “We need to get off this island; dead folks are walking around looking like they just arrived from hell.”

“What are you on about now?” Will asks, his voice betraying he has no patience for Stanley left.

“They look like humans, but their flesh is rotten, and they are a sickly shade of green. Festering wounds cover them, and the smell, oh God, it will burn the hairs out of your nose,” Stanley grips his hair with both hands, looking wild. Fear permeates Angie as she cranes her neck to see into the foliage behind him. “I’ve seen a lot of shit in the war, but I ain’t seen no shit like that.”

“How much did you drink before getting on the boat?” Will asks Stanley, who stiffens, and the wild look tames.

“I’ll leave you both to deal with these walking dead on your own.” He stalks across the pathway in the opposite direction, leaving them alone.

Angie quickly moves towards the shelter as Will jogs after her telling her not to be alarmed. When the wooden cabin comes into view, Angie lets out a breath of relief.

As they approach the door, the bushes nearby begin rustling. Angie shrieks as she sees a figure. It’s Stanley holding an ax.

“This is the only weapon on this damn island,” he says, shaking his head.

After getting inside the house, Will grabs a bucket to get them water, and Angie watches from the windows. She can see the distant sparkle of the lake, and her nerves settle at the familiar sight. She sees shaking trees from the back window, so she lifts it and hears dragging and groaning noises. Stumbling from the foliage, a putrid green man emerges, loose skin hanging from his face, and a rattling noise as he lifts his head into the wind to sniff the surrounding air. Another tree bends, and three more emerge behind him, all in various stages of decomposition and dragging along with slack jaws and vacant eyes.

She backs away from the window as horror floods her system. Stifling a scream, she smacks a hand over her mouth, backing until her legs press into the wooden table. She runs to the door and flings it open, yelling for Will. “Hurry! Will! Please hurry” He is carrying a bucket of water and tells her to hold her horses. Stanley puts out his cigarette and joins them on the porch as Will walks up.

“I saw the things that Stanley told us about,” she says, panic dripping from every word as she wrings her hands together. “They are awful, and they are real.”

“Where is it, Angie?” Stanley asks, ax in hand.

As she explains, Will watches her and sees the fear shining bright in her eyes. He can tell her terror is genuine and decides they need to end this nonsense. He asks Stanley to follow him into the woods.

“How will you stay safe?” Angie asks, alarm radiating from her voice. Stanley gives her a crooked grin and shows her the ax. Will looks at them both and shrugs his shoulders.

“Let’s find a living dead guy. Angie, lock the doors and stay inside.”

Inside, she paces from window to door as her anxiety gnaws her brain, trying to process the grotesque humans. Minutes pass until she hears Will shouting her name. Heart pounding, she unlocks the door and flings it open to see both of them running up the porch. They barrel past her, slamming the door and barricading it.

“What is going on?” Angie asks, watching them.

“I don’t want you to be scared, but the dead have risen from their graves. Stanley and I saw them and their empty graves.”

The chorus of groans and grunts emits from outside as the horde of the Living Dead surrounds the cabin. “The legend of the island is true,” Stanley says, wonder bleeding from his voice.

Will and Angie exchange a glance as long-term residents of Midnight lake; they are familiar with the tale. According to the legend, the island is a portal to hell, and souls buried here will rise again to feast on the living. She shivers and looks outside, the brilliant glow of the sun at odds with the dreadful beings huddling around.

Will bounds up the stairs as Stanley whistles, and Angie follows Will. He pulls the hatch down, climbing onto the roof, offering her a hand. Midnight Lake sparkles, and she shields her eyes as she looks at the water surrounding the island.

“Do you see that boat?” Will asks, pointing towards the glittering surface of the lake.

Angie nods. “It’s the Coldstone’s boat.” She has seen the boat enough times to know.

“Why does your dad call you the mermaid?” Will asks Angie. She’s startled for a moment until she remembers Will often worked with her father for the past decade.

“I’m an excellent swimmer” She smiles, watching the boat bobbing in the lake.

Will and Angie discuss their plan before heading downstairs to share it with Stanley. To their relief, Stanley is on board, agreeing to be the distraction. He smiles, showing off his brown stained teeth, and apologizes to Angie for frightening her on the boat earlier.

“I shouldn’t have done that, dearie,” he says, bowing his head.

“Water under the bridge,” she says, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Removing the barricades, Stanley steps out swinging the ax, “All right, you smelly dead folks, come and get me.” He pounds the ax on the porch as Will and Angie sneak out the back window for the lake.

Boots off, she shivers prematurely, thinking the lake in October is a chilly beast. Will has a blanket waiting to wrap around her shoulders. “Are you ready?” Will asks, “We can think of another plan, you know.”

“I feel confident that they have weapons on board, and we need them to take out the dead.” She looks back towards the path they took and sees none of the putrid green beings have followed them. She turns to Will. “ If we take them out, we can wait until morning and get our money. I have four younger siblings counting on me.” She says, standing straight and looking him in the eye.

He nods, understanding her predicament, and he says, “Knock them dead.”

Angie dives into the chilling waters of the lake and swims for the boat. Her dread washes away as confidence pours into her as she does what comes naturally to her. Reaching the craft, she pops up for air. On the boat, a man is snoring, and she hears no murmurs of conversation. Like a ghost, she slips onto the ship undetected. Mr. Coldstone is asleep on the deck, and no one else is present. She feels a hand on her shoulder and another wrap around her mouth.

It’s Caleb, the Coldstones driver, shaking his head with a finger over his lip and pointing at snoring Coldstone. After removing his hand, he hands her a bow and a quiver of arrows, helping her slide them on. “I did not know the island legend was true. May you be safe and go with God,” he looks tortured by his employer’s actions and gratitude bursts from her. She mouths a thank you before slipping below the lake’s surface to swim to the dead-infested island.

She makes it back to shore, handing the bow and quiver to Will as she wraps herself in the blanket. After catching her breath, they race back to Stanley while Angie recounts how Caleb offered his valued help.

As they crest the hill, they hear Stanley shouting “Die you bastards” and the sickening thud of an ax hitting a body. Angie wheezes from the exhausting combo of the swim and the run. As Will cocks an arrow, slippery fingers touch her arm and pull; before she can scream, Stanley hits him with the ax. It gets stuck, and they both tumble down. Horror bleeds from her as she watches the living dead man take a bite out of Stanley’s arm. She picks up the ax and slams it into the dead man’s head, watching old blood spurt out, and she gags from the smell.

“My brother died in the Great War. It Should have been me,” he says, his breath rattling as Angie tells him saccharine lies about how he will survive this. “Don’t cry for me; I’ve been ready to go. You live, Angie, you’ll make it through this ” His eyes close and don’t reopen. Angie cries over him until Will scoops her up and carries her past bodies with intestines pulled out and gaping head wounds. He places her on the bed inside the cabin before starting a fire to warm her; as she’s shivering hard enough, her teeth are rattling.

“Are they dead?” She asks Will as she drifts off, feeling safe with him in charge.

He nods. “You sleep, I’ll keep watch,” and Angie does, drifting off. Will heads outside to bury a grave for Stanley.

The following morning, Angie and Will watch the Coldstone’s shiny red Cadillac pull away as they each hold a thousand dollars of cash in their hands.

“I can’t imagine having so much money. I run out of ideas on how to spend it,” Angie says, dark circles under her eyes.

Will shakes his head and points to his rusty truck parked under a tree, red leaves littered across its front. “Would you like a ride home?” he asks. In shared silence, they drive from the lake, with the island visible from Angie’s window. The Coldstones have a desperate pool of victims to drag to the island with the terrible economy. Angie pulls the rosary from her pocket and considers praying.

“Do you still believe in God?” Will asks, nodding at the rosary.

“I have to believe, or I’ll never survive in this cold, cruel world. It comforts me to believe God is protecting the innocent and keeping the guilty from overrunning this world.”

Distant thunder rumbles as storm clouds gather over the island, where a man is digging himself out from a fresh grave. Stanley Doyle rises from the earth to await the new arrivals to Midnight Island.