Bits of Coin

Dead people are always forgiving.

Wind howled through the abandoned cemetery, breaking the silence that normally settled amongst the moss covered stones and crypts. Benjamin Mayfair made his way through the graves overgrown with grass to the plot of freshly turned dirt in the back of the cemetery. Word of Jeremiah Hawthorne’s death had reached his ears earlier in the week, giving him time to make his plans.

Benjamin pulled his collar up higher on his neck, shielding himself from the cool breeze making its way through the treeline. Behind him Benjamin dragged the heavy metal shovel he used to do his work. An item he had borrowed from the shed of the same men who had helped fill in the grave earlier that day while the tears of Hawthorne’s widow still soaked into the soil. He paused, taking a look across the graveyard that he had come to so many times before. A sigh blew past his lips as he prepared himself for the task ahead. With one final stretch, he slammed the shovel into the ground and began to dig.

Benjamin preferred the dead. They were more generous than the living. They have no use for the trinkets and baubles placed in their coffins, and they barely make a peep when he slid the wedding rings from their fingers or time-aged necklaces from their throats. Unlike the living that screamed and called for the police whenever he picked their pockets for the extra change that they didn’t need. Everyone considered him a thief and a liar but the truth was Benjamin was trying to make the best of the cards life had dealt him. After being abandoned years prior by the only family he had ever known Benjamin turned to the only skill that kept his belly full.

The wind picked up and scattered the freshly turned dirt back atop Benjamin’s head. He brushed it off and paused, leaning his head against the edge of the hole. Moonlight filtered through the treetops, illuminating the inlay of a few of the headstones nearby.

“Mr. Hawthorne I wish I could be even a quarter rich as you were. If I was, I wouldn’t be here,” he sighed, gulping down mouthfuls of cold night air.

A few moments later he set out to finish his task. The moon continued its journey overhead counting down the time until he would have to blend back into the shadows. Suddenly the shovel struck down hard on top of stone.

“Dammit!” he yelled, throwing the shovel against the side of the hole and stomping down onto the stone block.

He should have known better. He should have expected this. Hawthorne had been the wealthiest man in town, his casket would have extra protection. Benjamin took a moment to gather himself before climbing back out of the hole and shoveling the dirt back in. The quick pants of his breath were the only sounds along with the scrape of dirt against the shovel. Once the hole was filled in Benjamin sat down atop the now grave, his stomach growling loudly. It had been a few days since he had a full meal. A few of the restaurants in town took pity on him and gave him leftovers at the end of the day, but right now the town was entertaining summer tourists and a homeless man wasn’t part of the tourist aesthetic.

With his stomach still growling profusely he stood and began the journey back to the heavy metal gates of the cemetery. Anger bubbled up and simmered as he looked over the silver and gold inlaid stones and intricate crypts that littered the field. Others were simply gray stones with faded names. He scooped up a stray rock and threw it as hard as he could into the distance. Over and over he repeated the action with the stones at his feet until his breath came in shallow pants and the aching of the night air in his lungs forced him to stop. Stones dug into his knees as he collapsed onto the ground, using the shovel to steady himself. He picked up one more stone and threw it.

Clang!

Benjamin’s brow furrowed as he looked in the direction the rock had landed. With a grunt, he pulled himself to his feet and made his way down the line of graves. The stones in this section of the cemetery were crumbling away and weeds angrily weaved their way through the cracks in the stones. In the center of this series of graves was a single grave covered in a wrought iron case. The rock he had thrown lay a few feet in front of it. Benjamin paused, his mind racing. He had walked this cemetery many times before and he could not remember seeing this particular grave before. A sliver of moonlight illuminated something just within the metal cage. Benjamin gripped the shovel tighter and made his way closer. There were stories of spirits luring people to their deaths, but he had always ignored them until now. He knelt down next to the overgrown grave and reached between the flattened metal bars. His fingers wrapped around something cool a little larger than a penny.

When he pulled his hand back, a golden coin lay in his palm, or at least a part of one. He turned it over in his hand, admiring the inlay on the edge. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps reached his ears, followed by the distant flicker of light from a flashlight. Benjamin ran even though he could hear someone shouting behind him. He didn’t stop until the wrought iron gates of the cemetery were merely a distant shadow.

The next day he took the piece of coin to the local pawn shop. Normally the shopkeeper didn’t ask questions, but this time his brow furrowed as he looked over the gold coin.

“Where did you find this?” he asked, turning the coin over underneath a lamp.

“Doesn’t matter. What can I get for it?”

“Not much. It’s gold alright, but it’s not a complete coin. Get me the rest, then we talk.”

Benjamin spent the next three nights returning to the grave. Each night he had to cut away at the weeds, or pull out the overgrown grass in order to search for more pieces of coin. After a little over a week, he had collected enough to assemble a complete coin.

“I’ve never seen anything like this. This must be really old,” the man said.

“How much? I found the rest like you asked.”

“I’ll give you $100 for it. It’s really not worth much more.”

“You just said it was really old.”

“Old doesn’t mean valuable.”

“Fine,” Benjamin grunted, snatching the hundred dollar bill off the counter and making his way outside.

Just as he stepped outside, he collapsed to the ground. The world around him swam with swirls of white dots as he tried to breath. Darkness took over his vision even as people scrambled to his side. The medics pronounced him dead on arrival.

Due to the sudden nature of Benjamin’s death the police launched a full investigation. They talked to the shopkeeper, who reluctantly gave up the coins. Once they had the coin in their possession they traced the source back to the cage covered grave. It turned out that the grave belonged to men who had died of radiation poisoning. The radiation from their bodies decaying had leached into the surrounding soil and with each visit Benjamin had unknowingly exposed himself to radiation. The city removed the bodies and redid the graves, ensuring that the radiation was gone from the soil and hadn’t contaminated any other areas.

In honor of Benjamin the shopkeeper kept the coin from the crypt. It was his memory of Benjamin that inspired him to create cryptocurrency that could be mined just as Benjamin had mined the bits of coin each night.