Jump to content

Part of the Problem

Guest Chris Sirn

Recommended Posts

Guest Chris Sirn

“We’ll bury him in the cornfield,” said Robert.

The other three boys shifted uncomfortably. It was a hot summer evening. Nightfall had done little to cool off this part of southwestern Ohio. And there was a dead man lying at the center of their little circle. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“No one will find him there,” said Robert with his trademark confidence. “Get the shovels. The rain will wash away his scent, so the police bloodhounds won’t be able to track him. It’s the best possible plan.”

Harry, Larry, and Barney exchanged bewildered glances. The three of them were brothers, nearly identical triplets, and it was hard to tell the three of them apart save for the color of their shirts. They made Robert think of Huey, Dewey, and Louie.

“Get the shovels,” Robert ordered.

Thunder rumbled again, as if God were hungry. The three of them departed for their house, where they lived with their parents. Robert and the three brothers all attended Jordan High School together. The three brothers were all juniors, while Robert was a senior. He was graduating early and going away to college at the end of the summer. He wasn’t going to let a little thing like a dead body ruin his future.

He looked around. They were out in the country, not a house around for miles except for the Huey, Dewey, and Louie residence. And the Hackers, of course. Farmer Otis Hacker owned the cornfield, and planted corn there every summer, except for every fourth year when he planted soybeans to help fertilize the soil. This year was a first year. We keep getting luckier and luckier, thought Robert. Except for the dead body, that was.

Knee high by the Fourth of July, Robert thought. The corn was a bit taller than knee high.

He looked down at the dead man.

The dead man was bloody, all right. Robert Smith reached down and took the man’s wallet. Four hundred dollars. Robert immediately pocketed the cash. No credit cards. Robert checked the ID: Harold Downey Jr. Forty years old. Driver’s license expired six months ago. That was strange. Perhaps that’s why he was riding a bicycle when Robert’s pickup truck hit him?

In the distance (the far distance) fireworks went off against the darkening sky. Storm clouds grumbled as if agreeing with it on something. Robert checked his watch. 9:30 PM. He didn’t like waiting by the side of the road like this. It was like begetting bad luck.

And if a cop came driving by on the old country road…

What was taking those boys so long? A breeze picked up, uncharacteristically cold for the dead of summer. He thought about his girlfriend. She was a year older than he was, and she was already off at college, waiting for him. She had taken a summer semester. He didn’t like to think what she was doing at all those sorority parties. Probably meeting new guys, he thought. Guys who were richer than he was. Fear began to kick in his stomach like a bad baby that needs to be born. Were the Meier triplets calling the police on the cell phones they had gotten for their birthday last year?

“Who?” said an owl from a nearby tree. The tree was dead on its feet. “Who? Who?

“Get out of here!” Robert shouted. And he could afford to shout. He could shout as much as he wanted and no one would ever hear him, save for the Meier triplets and whoever they were calling on their cell phones.

Give ‘em a minute. It’s not every night you hit somebody on the side of the road.

Robert reeked badly of alcohol. And he had been the one driving, too. Larry had been sitting in the passenger seat, and he looked like he was going to vomit in horror, Robert’s driving had been that appalling. And it had been deliberately appalling, too. “It’s okay, I’m used to driving out here,” Robert had assured them. “I know there are no cars on the road this time of night.”

Except there had been someone on the road. And Robert had hit him.

Struck him dead.

Suddenly, one of the boys screamed.

The house was on the other side of the hill, but the sound still carried. He screamed, and screamed. Robert felt his good luck go down the drain: What was happening now? He felt the blood drain from his face. You can scream all you want and no one could hear you, he thought miserably. At first Robert thought that Harold had come back to life like that guy from I Know What You Did Last Summer, then he remembered the guy was still lying beneath his feet. Robert put one foot on the man’s chest, as if they were Achilles and Hector.

“It’s that dead guy!” someone screamed. “It’s the dead guy, he’s come back and he’s TRYING TO KILL US!”

Robert fled.

He ran into the cornfield. Green cornstalks slapped against his face. He ran even harder. He got half-way through the field before he realized he had left his truck parked next to the body. He stopped, trying to decide whether to walk back to the truck. That was an easy question to answer: Of course, he should go back! It must be a joke. Robert would be the first to tell you he wasn’t afraid of nothin’, and he wasn’t going to let some junior’s idea of a tasteless senior prank—

The wind began to pick up viciously. Robert realized he was standing at the same spot where he’d planned to bury the body. He could hear distant screams, mixed with the wind, giving a chill down to his bones, for he was listening to the sounds of several people being murdered at once.

Who was next?


Link to comment
  • 4 weeks later...
Guest LauraSCwrites

Easy reading means clean writing. Left me wanting to click into more of the story at the end to discover what happens. Entertaining and chilling with a great setting to enhance the creepy plot. Can't wait to read more.  Great job, Chris!

Link to comment
Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Paste as plain text instead

  Only 75 emoji are allowed.

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

×   Your previous content has been restored.   Clear editor

×   You cannot paste images directly. Upload or insert images from URL.

  • Create New...