Gallows Humour | Watty's 2023

The Body in the Ditch

A chill had settled into the air and a blanket of stars lit the sky, just bright enough to light up the thin spiral of smoke rising from a single house. True eyed it as they got closer, weighing the possibilities. Sleeping inside was safest, but they didn't want to attract attention from whoever was making camp there.

"What do you think?" They turned to Radio, who squinted at the coils of smoke. A shrug. "Helpful."

A light kick in the ankle.

"If you break my leg, I'll die in these mountains, and you'll have no one to hound."

An evil grin creeped over Radio's face, it mimed eating a corncob. True's eyes widened a fraction.

"You wouldn't." But the look Radio gave them didn't fill them with confidence. Neither did the fact they hadn't seen it eat anything except licorice the entire hike. It caught them staring and licked its lips theatrically. Spooky little shit. They shout it a scowl and pulled ahead.

They were focused on the spiral of smoke when they stumbled across the body. Well, the remnants of a body. Gore splattered the underbrush, red dumped out on the earth from a cavernous open abdomen. Dark skin. A small pendant. True recognized the man from the gas station.

Damn, they wondered if the other two were nearby, too. Faint wisps of steam rose from the eviscerated man. He hadn't been dead long. True frowned at him, something wasn't right about that picture. They crouched to get a better look, running a finger over the slippery flayed abdominal skin. The cut was too smooth to be animal.

Radio tapped their shoulder. Brow furrowed, it waved its hand over its belly, then pointed to the dead man.

"Yeah," True grunted. That was it. His guts looked like a jigsaw puzzle. All the thicker tubes branching from purpled organs had been sliced open and sluiced the last remnants of his blood into a pool cupped between his hips and ribs. They were no doctor, but they were pretty sure organs weren't supposed to free float.

What the hell.

"Shadow Dwellers?" they guessed. But Radio shook its head. There went their only reasonable theory. Apprehension thrummed in their veins as they unclipped their shovel.

Habitually, they jammed the tip into the soft red earth. The first scoop of dirt out of the thousands it took to dig a grave. Grimacing, they wrenched the shovel free and propped it on their shoulder. No time for that. They were getting out of here before whoever turned the civilian into a soup bowl stuck a knife in their belly, too.

The shadows welcomed them into the forest. Leaf-heavy branches blotting out the stars and the sliver of smoke. Twigs crunched underfoot, for once they cursed the steel toes of their heavy boots. There really was no sneaking in these things. They would just have to make up for it by keeping a sharp eye.

Radio crept along to their right, a thing of the shadows itself.

A piercing child's wail split the night air. True stopped dead, the scream could have belonged to a fox, but they knew the dead man had been travelling with a kid. They threw eyes first to the village where the scream had risen from, then to Radio.

Motion, out of the corner of their eye. They hadn't been alert enough to make up for the boots after all. Their forehead scraped off rough bark, palms stung. Lurching forward out of reach, they whirled, shovel swinging. The blade winged the woman, a narrow miss. She cracked the butt of a heavy knife between their eyes, knocking them back with a shower of expletives. They had the good sense to keep peddling backwards in spite of the blinding flash of static.

Get the shovel up, a barricade. They blinked away the stars just in time to see her lunging across the brief space True had wedged between them. They lurched to block her, but Radio beat them to it. Leaping from the shadows, it slammed her into the ditch with and audible whud. The two rolled, their bodies disappearing into the tall sweetgrass.